I am bumpin’ some Ganksta shit cuz that is what I feel like this morning. I feel walking around with a wooden Louie-Ville as cane whilst puffing some hashish to prevent the beast from being unleashed. Is this capisce-ed? At least I still have all the pieces to my puzzle, right, or did I lose my brain last night?
Bang-bang.
Here’s the thing, I can make my words sting, so tell the bitches to bring it on cuz’ I got thug love for my nation. I gottcha tasting the ghetto, lovin’ the waste of true potential, so let me tell you something, you can never fail if you never try. Don’t lie to yourself, you will never amount a serious wealth enough to fly. You’re just a modern day slave, and nothing but will change this but your grave. So get your slam on, and rave, act naïve, do what you have to do, whatever you do, just be you. Don’t give in to the external pressures to measure up to the rest. It is a test to see if you’re controllable, numb able, to see if you will crumble. So you must not stumble, do not even bumble one word. Avoid the herd; avoid the mess.
Yeah, read on, as bring this shit on, as I storm this castle to find a women a swinging a pair of tassel. Let me show you how I do, WWE shit, bustin’ words and rhymes and shit, busting oak chairs and shit, busting pounds to dimes, busting rocks to lines, busting broads so fine. Making the world mine and shit, yeah that’s how I do it and shit.
So get wit it, and then drop that shit, yeah, like Brad Pitt. Grew up and threw a fit and found solace in a badass bitch with a fine pair of tit.
True grit.
That is what you get.
Pure shit. Like some LSD bought from the laboratory, oh the glory days, the sun waves dancing with the sound waves and the maze of individual epiphanies with a shelf life labeled from here to infinite and beyond shit.
Fond of this blond; fond of every blond. Even if it is not apparent, but it is always adherent in their personality. Their reality is always a little off, like a moth attracted to a bright light at night, although they are burned every time the lesson never is learned. It eventually becomes the death of them, down in a burning blaze of glory.
This concludes the freestyle section of my daylog.
Thanks for sticking in this long; you do not know how much it means to me. I just want to show you the Promised Land. Just follow my lead and if you follow me, I will trick you into believing in yourself by believing in me.
We are going to fly, fly like a super chicken.
Music speaks to me, does it speak to you?
I guess that was a little vague, wasn’t it? Do you want clarity? I suggest mulling it over for a while, while I tell you a couple stories, a couple stories above the ground.
Visuals, messages, Ideas, revelations, reevaluations come, some literal but the rest metaphysical, with the exchange in music.
Friends made, and pathways paved with the exchange of music.
Wars created, enemies generated, and lives destroyed with the exchange in music.
Blood bathes, good laughs, and wizard staffs. Moral, turmoil, and a dream unfolded.
Another fold marked on the palms.
A forked tongue.
A new vision.
For you with the exchanged in music.
On another note, not enough words yet and the date, just another looming number.
Faster, faster Mr. Rastafarian.