So apparently, I've always been chicken shit.
Brave, but chicken shit (Alanis Morrisette's words).
I'm not a big fan of fighting.
I think it's kinda gay.
But since this is worship season and everyone is either trying to be God or defining who their God is, it's only right I defend myself from those with unclear intentions.
Which means I have no friends.
Such makes me look back and see who was a friend to begin with.
At the same time, it's a test of faith.
But to have faith in someone/something, you have to believe their every word.
I have never lied to you.
And when I did, it was to protect you.
I don't know what to believe anymore.
I even have reason to doubt "Hamilton, Charles" will ever actually drop.
Strange, considering management gave me a release date from the label.
But will you actually buy it, considering how much doubt and controversy surrounds my name?
I don't go anywhere.
I don't do anything but make music.
And there are people out there who know I'm worth more, but will demean such because they believe (and have faith in the fact) that they are worth more.
Harlem is full of Black gods and goddesses.
Egypt, I believed I was The One.
Thank you for proving that I need violence to stay there.
You've made my life a living Hell since you first entered me.
Happy Hell-o-ween, you all.
Wear your costumes and masks of wonder and fright.
I'll still be the scariest ghoul yet in this reality.
The above beat tape is from Bred Wondah.
One of my best friends.
He introduced me to Fat Beats.
Which is where I met The Audible Doctor.
I introduced him to Dr. Dre.
Which is where he (somewhat) met song composition.
Enjoy your day.
I'm gonna muster up some self-esteem and take some pictures for the album.
Gods have high-self esteem.
Of course, Jack...
I know why I still exist.
But can it be another reason to love me, as well as any beauty you can find?
"Smoke with me, Weed Man!"
December 2nd, 2016 (finally)
~follow the buzzards~