| Eight o'clock and as always, it seemed like a normal day
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| two brothers and a destiny, a mother and a father
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| seven years old was the child, of whom I come to sing
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| but i'm going to go back a week
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| My 18-year-old son, he started to go off the rails
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| his average was very low, rude to his mom
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| he locked the room, supposedly his privacy
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| but of weapons in my house, he hid an arsenal
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| On Thursday of that week, I met a couple of friends
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| they wore another countenance, they were not people of their type
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| strange things he kept silent to me, as long as I was his friend
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| and not to see him angry, he fulfilled any whim
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| And that day was the end
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| that the youngest son would go to school to study
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| the accounts mafia cartels were going to adjust
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| and with a stray bullet, they destroyed my home
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| surprise is fatal
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| that the 18-year-old son is very involved
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| with death, with drugs, he participates in cruelty
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| and in his brother's death he was the mastermind
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| I am another in the sum nothing more
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| that he is a victim of the newspaper in the corrupt society
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| we all know of someone who hurts others
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| and his mistakes I used to overlap
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| And today I come to reveal
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| to the thug that walks in the street, he is part of my home
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| one less that is loose to the world will serve
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| If you know a son just like mine, please report it now |