A car pulls up, who can it be?
It's a fresh El Camino rollin' Kilo G
He rolls down the window and he starts to say"It's all about makin' G.T.A."'
Cause the boyz in the hood are always hard
Come talkin' that trash and we'll pull your card
Bored as hell and I wanna get ill
So I go to a place where my homeboyz chill
The fellas out there tryna make that dolla'I pulled up in my six-fo' Impala
This always make me laugh, I thought it would be a good opener.
With an unexpected spring in my step, I walk. One foot goes in front of the other, one foot goes in front of the other, while my mind is consumed by the motion. There is nothing else to think about, it's not worth it. Actions have an incredible power over thought and speech for me. Movement has an abundance of weight in my imagination. It crushes everything else. Often, this has a negative effect on my life day to day. I do. I don't not do. I run, I dance, I talk to myself sometimes, but it's never enough motion. Maybe it's time to just jump...back into the stagnant pond. Murky, murky, mossy, mossy, it's refreshing. At least it's saltwater. My knowing that is lucky. Wait, no, luck has nothing to do with it. I discovered it all on my own long ago. But that's besides the point. the point is, something like this: no. yes, yes, no, no.
well the point I was trying to make is.... I know I can't drink any of it, no matter how thirsty I am. "Have I confused anyone yet?" "yes? Brilliant." "It's just as lost on me as anyone else." (Not really... I am the keeper of the key.... If you want in you have to go through me.)