Coined at the Oregon Symphony experiencing Tchaikovsky v. Drake, this is my life story told through song lyrics with poetic ruckus. Find your favorite line and maybe I’ll share the story behind it… But first, thank the artists—who bring our stories to light. Their words and art are an expression of their people, and their people are you!
December 12, 2018
No pop, no style, I’m strictly words—majority truth.
Mistakenly a cocky son of the dead rich. And with no will over his dead body, I cry up hilltops of glory, telling stories since Bone Thugs N’ Harmony.
And so, these songs finally have resonance with me, and not just hopeful pipe dreams, but a vocal beast who cares for me.
Coming to Fruition a bit early, and overstanding why the Sun shines with you, it wouldn’t be until after I cried over his dead body that I’d fill an ocean blue thus widely.
Before I got caught up in girls, girls, and more girls’ worlds, I wandered about heaven’s ghetto in diamonds and pearls.
Crazy girl, you know that I loved you. It took gallons of tears to become fool proof from you. You made my days blue, and that’s the best I got from you…
Because Blue is my color. Blue is my throne. Blue is my home, the one my father and I had lived and grown. Now, another Blue ranch house they say I’ll fiduciarily own. Much further than Dekum’s home; down below the Hilltop of glory’s dome.
So if they wanna’ know what was going on in the South, Blue’s also my kinfolk’s house.
You woulda’ thought we come from Trench Town, freeing the people through music. But we come from Portland, Oregon—amwriting to free people of anxiety and stupidity’s amusement.
Baton Rouge’s roots sent me. My dad’s dad was heaven’s devil so excuse me if I’m aloof, shit…
After all, Umi did remind me to shine my light on the world. Shine it on those who feel today couldn’t have been the best day ever.
But who woulda’ thought it’d grow from the scary days on my concrete floored apartment? I’m now the flower who once couldn’t learn as my mind spent bent.
Through an evident War With God, I learned to breathe. I first couldn’t breathe without you, but I had to. Later accepting that people are people and sometimes it doesn’t work out.
But today, I make me proud. American Dreamin’, Can I Live?
Let a nigga live….
…to reminisce the days off Ol’ English, Black Panthers, Illuminati, Free Masons, and now a freelancer, better yet, world enhancer.
Don’t blink twice this is an uptown society. I’m often cocky with a subtle mental capacity. There, can you read me?
Anyways, I had an excellent father, and his strength didn’t make me stronger until he died. Yeah, I cried over his dead body.
The tears evaporated off his shell, and I inhaled them to become untouchable, unstoppable, and undesirable if you get it. At the time our vibe wasn’t right. This is top ranked writing. No corporate fighting.
I told leaders I’d be rising up yonder; but they ain’t listen. Now I speak broader as they laugh at subordinate emails by those bitchin’.
They’ll hear me speak on accident murderers—the sucka’s of society. Making people cause a ruckus, what’s wrong with our policies? Regardless, they’ll spin it to remind niggas we aren’t heard entirely.
They’ll ignore truth, because it’s easier to admit to their own; learnt in their home.
In closing, I heard a few great men speak on the new album with Meek.
Because most of us are truly ignorant of a plan. Ignorant of world demand.
Don’t mistake this for GOD’s plan. Your attention. Which is often spent from command. Now you have a man dangerous, relentless, and saying fuck you 🙂
Label me how you feel, it’s often mis-scanned.
And when you meet me, I’ll welcome you to the good life—summa’ time Chi….
That’s free. Thanks, me.
So go and strut your white collar. Wipe the blue collar you claim. I write to avoid fame. Most influencers calling the kettle black—underwhelmingly lame.
Ya’ll see that fancy Alto Saxophone? Well, last week it was delivered to my home. Another art form for the people, a culture overworked under a made up throne by an earlier creature outgrown.