I’ll tell you about the loyalty that comes with the shadows of poverty. The brotherhood born from the ghetto. The genuine love that sprouts in the dusty air of slums. How selflessness is born by misfortunes. When you cry, you don’t do it alone. Everyone counts when the sun shines and when it rains everyone gets under the umbrella of concern. The best hearts I’ve met, the greatest souls I encountered, I met from the gutter. A wrong is reprimanded harshly in the gutter, too bad so many are misunderstood from these shades of poverty. Them people from the gutters know not how to spell betrayal because they’ve trecked the same path of lacks. A brother born of another woman will die for a brother in dire need. The slums bring out nothing but the best a soul can sprout. In this gutter of loyalty friendships don’t break, relationships don’t stop and nobody goes hungry. Because together they learned the hard way. When the rain comes it’s felt together because nobody walks alone in this mad. It might be messy but in this gutter lies the deepest Loyalty.