Happy Birthday, VSDiamond.

[a poem]

Whatever we are, we make sense.

I want us to match.

To be a match.

To spark.

To spark without error.

A perfectionist never rests.

We sleep in the same bed when ties no longer bind.

As the knot loosens, we relax.

Yet untied combat boots is a trap.

Cleanliness is divine insecurity.

I let my self go with you.

I let myself go with you.

For every reason not to trust me, I reflect it on you.

We could easily get along.

But we don't know each other.

Madonna's words of Austin ring bigger in the inner city.

My pain-induced racism has a bitter aftertaste, as I kiss you deeper than the racism pain-induced.

You were my influence before I met you.

You met I before influence could see.

I am sorry for my passively barbaric nature.

You are a smooth criminal.

I already said I don't want to be a victim.

What can Pearl Harbor say to Hiroshima?

The very brilliance that explained the beginning developed the end.

Just stand next to me in American Gothic.

Allow me to cause the grin of your Mona Lisa.

I have fallen so many times, I am paralyzed.

See?

So allow me time to heal and forgive myself for all I have to give...

...of myself...

...to keep you.

[that, and this]

A gift for VSDiamond.

[everyday, I get accused...]

Happy Sunday, StarChasers.

~phenomenal~

Power 106/Cruz Show freestyle official lyrics

They been holdin' my back. Holdin' me back. So, I ain't wack. You know it's a fact. Every time I flow from the cap, niggas know it's a crack sentence. And I get sentenced in a prison when I distribute this crack for you to listen to. In fact, it is true. I have fallen off. And I landed on a pile of money. How is it funny? If I fell off, gravity got my back. I guess gravity's the management now. Standin' my ground. Damn I'm profound. Hamilton's sound on a Dre track makes me go back in the day like, "This is the cypherin' phase!". Can't decipher my face. Am I really upset or am I feeling myself? Like Nicki and Bey. Pretty as can be, but I'm ugly inside. Such a beast. You can't fuck with me! That's just how it be. Every time (like I said) when I rap off the skully or ball cap, I run all (w)rap. But a lot of cats like to disagree. Little trolls... yeah. They like to be dissin' me. But I give them they respect online, because they all gon' be on line to cop that album of mine. Bottom line.(,) I respect the hate. But I don't wanna speculate on yesterday's hatred. It could've been a fan or a celeb. Damn. This is all from the head. So I'm reflecting and memorize all the things of these niggas enterprising. They all sayin' "It's dinner time!" when it's time to make a comment. But then, I bomb shit. Like I said. I'm a great musician. And I'm in a great position. "Hey, just listen!" Every time I rock, man... it's so amazing. This beat is great. Simone, don't hate it. My favorite chick from back in the day. But lately, I can't seem make up my mind. I got a new chick. Ass fatter than... whatever you can call a planet that sat her in (Saturn). Rhyming in different patterns. Having mad fun. Got 'em laughing and shit. I wish I could go in the direction I stay in, but that'll leave me mad vacant. So I'm on vacation. Mind spacing out. Blanking out. What I gotta say about now? Rock to the rhythm. Like this shit. Dre track. Pardon me for cursing, but I'm nice with this.

(explanations)

Dr. Dre has a video where there is a torture chamber with hooks on the wall. In the movie "The Cell", the killer was a paranoid schizophrenic who would attach hooks to his back to go to sleep.

Crack viles have caps on them. The Rockerfeller Drug Laws (repealed) would sentence someone to 25-life for possession.

"Even if I fall, I still land on a pile of money..."
-JAY Z, "Success"

I disagreed with management's direction, but was successful.

Nicki and Bey weren't happy with the song "Feelin' Myself", but were very open on the song.

My listeners can be rather disrespectful.

The difference between online and on line is space.

"Head" in Harlem means indirect disrespect via making one feel good.

Everything else, only Dr. Dre would understand.

~phenomenal~

GOAT CH Radio freestyle

Thank you, Cruz.

I covered the last 7 years (to date) in 3 months.

12 years, actually.

A lot of feelings expressed.

Trying not to get teary-eyed now.

Mentally, I was playing "New York Raining" and following the chords lyrically.

"It's too much, my babe; I need you..."

Lyrics to be posted soon.

~phenomenal~

From there/here... [ADHC rolls on]

After dissecting his own heart and pleading for true love to forgive/enable/vindicate him, Dr. Robotnik put his tech tools to sleep for Valentine's night. Upon awakening, he fired up his latest invention: a time machine with the capability to affect/impact wherever in time his presence is felt/not felt. Since Valentine's Day is in Black History Month, he thought he'd start a playful yet vicious fire.

He went to The Cotton Club, circa 1940s Harlem. 

The love he was looking for seemed to be very present there, and... what better way to get love/revenge than to show up all the guys in the band? Much like Charles Wellington in "Down To Earth", he's a wealthy, overweight white man in a majority-Black establishment, looking to outdo those responsible for the culture. Problems are destined to arise.

Blue Notice is a new series of music, venturing into the sounds of jazz. Dr. Robotnik and his latest (perhaps most deadly) invention creates moving, audible still shots of time and gives room for him to do his... Robotnik thing. As with The Rise Of... and Love's Sight, he's in his chamber, traveling physically and through quantum physics, narrating the commotion he causes.

Blue Notice: Sight On

Has the genocidal Dr. Robotnik switched to the suicide side? Or is there something more diabolical up his sleeves?

~phenomenal~