[HOOK — full gospel choir, deep male voices, soaring female harmonies, slow and haunting] Don't do the criiiiime... If you can't do the tiiiiime... (Oh Lord, oh Lord!) Them streets will take your freedom, Leave your mama behind! Don't do the criiiiime... If you can't do the tiiiiime... You can run from your enemies, But you can't run from LIFE! [CHORUS — massive layered choir, heavy drill 808s, church organ] DON'T DO THE CRIME! (IF YOU CAN'T DO THE TIME!) You was tough on the corner, Now you're crying for your life! DON'T DO THE CRIME! (IF YOU CAN'T DO THE TIME!) Four letters change forever, When the judge says L-I-F-E Listen closely.... L! (Lord have mercy!) I! (Hear his mama cry!) F! (Freedom gone forever!) E! (Twenty-one and doing life!) [VERSE — THE SENTENCING, raw emotional storytelling] Twenty-one, standing shackled, looking nervous in the court, All the gangster talk was gone, now his sentences were short. Used to stare down opposition, never blink, never hide, Now his knees were getting weak, couldn't hold the tears inside. Judge said, "Young man, do you have something you wanna say?" He said, "Your Honor, please, I swear I've changed my ways. I was young, I was stupid, I was caught up in the streets, Please don't bury me alive, I'm only twenty-one, please!" Voice cracking, hands shaking, tears running down his face, All that tough-boy reputation couldn't save him from this place. Mama crying in the back, victim's family sitting near, And the silence in that courtroom was the loudest thing he'd hear. Judge said, "I've heard your words, but a young man's life is gone. There's a mother who must wake up knowing he ain't coming home. The jury found you guilty, and the sentence is for life." He screamed, "NO! PLEASE! YOUR HONOR!" as the deputies held him tight. [BEAT CUTS OUT — only courtroom reverb] "No, no, no... Mama! Mama, please! I don't wanna die in here! I'm only twenty-one!" [Four-second silence] [CHOIR — a cappella, almost whispered] L... I... F... E... [VERSE — slow, devastating delivery] Four little letters, but they weigh a thousand years, Four little letters turned a gangster into tears. Four little letters, no more summers with his friends, Four little letters, and the road just reached its end. All them pictures with them pistols, all them threats upon the net, All them brothers screaming loyalty, where the hell them brothers at? Ain't no gang signs in the courtroom, ain't no set to save his soul, Just a mother watching deputies take her baby down the hall. He kept looking over shoulders, searching faces for his crew, But the only one still standing was the woman who raised you. He screamed, "Mama, I'm sorry!" as they dragged him through the door, She collapsed against the benches, couldn't take it anymore. [FINAL CHORUS — explosive gospel choir, cinematic drums] DON'T DO THE CRIIIIIME! (IF YOU CAN'T DO THE TIIIIIME!) You was king around your neighborhood, Now you're prisoner for life! DON'T DO THE CRIIIIIME! (IF YOU CAN'T DO THE TIIIIIME!) You can throw away a moment, But you can't rewind your life! L! (Lord have mercy!) I! (Hear his mama cry!) F! (Freedom gone forever!) E! (Twenty-one and doing life!) [OUTRO — choir fading, lonely piano] [Spoken, broken male voice] "They told me I was a soldier... They told me I was a king... But kings don't sleep in cages. And soldiers don't leave their mothers crying. I thought I was ready to die for the streets... I wasn't ready to live forever without freedom." [Female gospel solo, distant] Don't do the crime... If you can't do the time... [Whispered] Twenty-one years old. Life without parole. And the streets already forgot his name. GRIND UNIV MEDIA. The Harvard of the Streets.
