You don't know strength until you have been a real ***,
You have no idea how deep this **** really goes,
Its not for the faint of heart nor you squares,
Too much of the game is not being sold but shared,
The cold breeze that chills your bones at night,
The dark eyes of other girls standing under the streetlight
They don't understand our struggle or see our strength
They only know the bad and try to stop it at any length
Yet we all share the same vision with similar goals
Inspired to stay down by his game that has no holes
We have all been given instructions to carry out fast
Breakin a trick make him give you his very last
Show him your down for him add it up
He will take care of your trap and stack it up
Every real 304 stands up when her folks is around
Every real p loves a real one who's down for his crown
Some say its silly to pay a **** your hard earned doh
But it races through our veins so when he sends me I go
Maybe I'm a dreamer and he is the merchant of dreams
And I am investing in our future crazy as it seems
But when he speaks I believe in the words that are spoken
And I make sure that I don't get too deep in my emotions
A **** is a born and from day one he is already game
To build himself a stand up *** and and get his fortune and fame.
So a message out to those of you who don't know
They say pimpin ain't easy but it takes true strength to be a real ***.

Dumpsters are cold
Shelter grow mold
and slim is the spanging

Whiskey is warm
Dreads are the norm
and our sanity is estranging

Food out of cans
Roadtrip plans
The highways are always changing

Flying deceiving signs
Waiting in foodstamp lines
Sympathies constantly rearranging

Constellations are the roof
Provides strangeness aloof
Capitalism's fat ca-ching

Dirt inbetween toes
Where to? nobody knows
Life on the edge of healing

[Verse 1]
I wanna be free, I wanna just live
Inside my Cadillac, that is my ****
And I throw it up (I throw that up)
That's what it is (that's what it is)
In my C A D I L L A C ***** (******)
Can't see me through my tint (nah ah)
I'm riding real slow (slow motion)
In my paint wet drippin' shining like my 24's (umbrella)
I ain't got 24's (no oh)
But I'm on those Vogues
That's those big white walls, round them hundred spokes
Old school like old English in that brown paper bag
I'm rolling in that same whip that my granddad had
Hello haters, **** y'all mad
30k on the Caddy, now how backpack rap is that?

[Hook: Hollis]
I Got that off-black Cadillac, midnight drive
Got that gas pedal, leaning back, taking my time
I'm blowin' that roof off, letting in sky
I shine, the city never looked so bright

[Verse 2]
Man I'm lounging in some **** Bernie Mac would've been proud of
Looking down from heaven like **** that's stylish
Smilin', don't pay attention to the mileage
Can I hit the freeway? I'm legally going 120
Easy weaving in and out of the traffic
They can't catch me, I'm smashing
I'm ducking bucking them out here
I'm lookin' ******' fantastic, I am up in a classic
Now I know what it's like under the city lights
Riding into the night, driving over the bridge
The same one we walked across as kids
Knew I'd have a whip but never one like this
Old school, old school, candy paint, two seater
Yea, I'm from Seattle, there's hella Honda Civics
I couldn't tell you about paint either
But I really wanted a Caddy so I put in the hours
And roll on over to the dealer
And I found the car, junior, problem with this geezer
Got the keys in and as I was leaving I started screaming

[Hook: Hollis]
I Got that off-black Cadillac, midnight drive
Got that gas pedal, leaning back, taking my time
I'm blowin' that roof off, letting in sky
I shine, the city never looked so bright

[Verse 3: Schoolboy Q]
Backwoods and dope
White hoes in the backseat snorting coke
She doing line after line like she's writing rhymes
I had it hella my love, tryna blow my mind
Cadillac pimpin', my uncle was on
14, I stole his keys, me and my ****** was gone
Stealin' portions of his liquor, water in the Patron
Rather smiling like I won the ******* lottery homes
(******' lottery homes)
Tires with the spokes on it in the 4-2
Mustard and mayonnaise, keeping the buns on 'em
My dogs hanging out the window
Young as whoosh, ******' like we ball
Tryna **** em all, **** the ******' wimps
See what's poppin' at the mall, meet a bad *****
Slap her ***** with my palms
You can smoke the *****, I was tearing down the walls
I'm *******' awe,some
Swear these eyes tryna hypnotize
Grip the leather steering wheel while I grip the thighs
See the lust stuck up in her eyes
Maybe she like the ride or did she like the smoke?
Girl does she want it low?
This **** a Coupe de Ville so you'll never know
So we cool with ******, my ***** **** the limit
Got a window tinted for showing gangstas in it
Slice off when the gas is finished, Q

[Hook: Hollis]
Off-black Cadillac, midnight drive
Got that gas pedal, leaning back, taking my time
I'm blowin' that roof off, letting in sky
I shine, the city never looked so bright

I Got that off-black Cadillac, midnight drive
Got that gas pedal, leaning back, taking my time
I'm blowin' that roof off, letting in sky
I shine, the city never looked so bright

.

Seems that I'm spending
most of my time down at the Karaoke King.
Under more normal circumstances
I wouldn't even say a thing.(But...)

I need to invest some more time in me
or I'll never become a star,
because I've sunk a pretty penny
just pimpin' out my car.

And this Mississippi mud
is even bogging down my truck,
and if I don't keep it rockin'
I may never get unstuck.

Success always comes from hard, hard work
it never comes to you from afar.
Would you please remind me tonight
to change the strings on my air guitar?

And I've been too tired to dance
with my own silhouette.
I just want a house out in the country,
and a brand new black Corvette.

My future's slowly rising,
it shouldn't take me long.
You see, this stage has been my home
and this here's my new song!

I need to invest some more time in me
or I'll never become a star,
because I've sunk a pretty penny 
 just pimpin' out my car.

And this Mississippi mud
is even boggin' down my truck,
and if I don't keep it rockin'
I may never get unstuck.

Wont you help me,
please; won't you help me?
Because I want to be a star.

Just do me a favor and remind me tonight
to change the strings on my air guitar.
Please do me a favor and remind me tonight...
to change the strings on my air guitar.






.

Epitaph for My Depression
My depression is the dead, ugly thing in the corner,
The decaying creature whose carcass you don’t want to touch
Lest its innards, festering and bloated with the gasses of decomposition,
Explode on you.
My depression cannot be tuned up in a funeral home.
It’s wearing toe tags in the morgue.
They say, “We know you want to bury it.
For the love of God, choose a closed casket.”
My depression is lonesome.
It has no friends to attend the funeral.
It hasn’t spoken to a human being save for whispering in my ear.
You cannot maintain connections
When you’re too busy sinking into the floor
As the gravity of this sadness pulls you into Earth’s core.
My depression is unholy.
There are no biblical words to exorcise this demon,
No priest who wants to deliver this service.
They are thinking good riddance when I toss dirt into the grave.
The epitaph on the headstone reads,
“It comes when it’s not called.
It lingers where it’s unwelcome,
Yet I cry now that it’s buried.
Maybe they are tears of joy.”
Yet, depression rises from the dead like Lazarus from the tomb.
No saint is my depression.
It is more resemblant of a character in a poorly made zombie movie.
Limbs hanging from sinews and a clear desire to consume my brain
The same way it lays ruin to my life.
I have tried to **** my depression many times,
Made weapons out of diet and exercise,
Swung therapy like a sword,
Made bombs out of sheer will power
And mortar out of medications.
I have even attempted to **** my body,
To put an end to this endless circle of fire,
But this illness and I forgot
That without my physical form, we are both homeless,
And we have already spent too many hours washed up and soaking wet
In the cold December air on my mind’s street corners.
Depression has become synonymous with resurrection,
But how is it being saved?
It does not believe in a power greater than its own.
There have been many tombstones and many epitaphs.
A “Here rests depression in solemn, silent repose.”
An “Its lingering malice revives it out of spite.”
An “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
A “Please make it stop.”
They read:
“Depression is not romantic.
Don’t play dress up in a game you don’t understand.
Depression’s persistently pretty pimpin’ is really old by now.
Please, dear grounds keeper, do not dig here!
Have you tried melatonin for your eternal sleep insomnia?
I am sorry you’re so angry that you cannot stay buried,
But I promise Satan will happily bless and keep you
If you would refrain from all future reincarnation.”
Still, I am always writing new epitaphs
When depression comes to visit.
It’s as reliable as the seasons and heavy as the world’s mass.
I no longer hate my depression.
I just am tired of sitting in a graveyard
While my depression isn’t dead.

Put yourself out there,
no simpin.
Stay classy,
Stay Pimpin'.

Ronald McDoland & cousin Kentucky
had Iraq: ji had ji had ji had e ha e ha e ha oh!
i told you about the heresy of war,
the Soviets are back, success rate
up 1000% from Afghanistan to be the next
Uzbekistan - well, less Mongol tsunami down that
alley; it's still heresy to do puppet upon the head
of former state with oligarch tyrants selling
us bone marrow as meat: Iraqis just said:
let's keep it kosher and local and less global
and less treadmill!

the orb's lost & found song from the dream album is
so hard to follow at first; i only came back for the psychopath
avenue theme tune: ah... ******* ready to depose
Saddam Hussein... but now ******* in their pants to send
soldiers into the land of crucifixions and be-headings?!
how strange the correlation between actual warring
fake pacifism, simulated warfare and excess
theories with atoms but incompetence with
the elements.

i watched democracy fail... the foxes stole nothing,
they stole nothing because they were sloppy!
i thought this while hanging the washing on the line today...
*******... puck-puck-yellow-yanks... larynx by larynx on the tiles...
let's paint it red! spare me Slob Bogdan Maso Kiev Itch...
ah, when it was all under wraps... oh but the western
media are so ******* vociferous for those shady
gamblers known as shareholders, no casino,
just a house in suburbia... wankers... football hooligan me
into acting when it comes to practice!

sho you'sh shoor you'sh want'sh to shoo your shon
to shwastika access on return? me tshinks sho...
Bex is a girl's name Rebecca, we hear more of Bex's
past than anyone's.*

Colonel Kentucky can shove that chicken drumstick
up his **** and sing me a lullaby about his
famous discovery of deep baked **** batter!
crumbs ahoy, aye aye captain, my
stratosphere of anally commanding the first-mate
into coherent motivational propaganda of:
women outside of war will treat the dogs of
howling and barking as companions -
the stresses invigorate... no second chances are given
to buy a ******* toaster or a chimpanzee,
both do tricks, it just depends which one does the trick
quicker - it takes more than just a homelessness
from the realm of the cube to see how many
is an insect although not in an atheistic strict sense
of expressing nihilism: man the disharmonious
swarm can hardly keep queen or king:
unless we all were ****** by the king and unless
we all ****** the queen: insects are strict Martians,
they have no time for concubines or horse races
of football matches, or other coliseum distractions:
unique insecticide of insects against individualism
that's thought in being human so fondly kept
with the pyramid as with a book of some obscure
philosopher championing wear & tear & tatters
looking more for a tailor than a god:
appearances must be kept, after all, so few of us are
prisoners in the bedding chamber of perfect
genetics of post-******, and the dumb neo-****
scapegoats along with Israel are kept being fed
cinnamon sticks laced with sailors' *****
that's nutmeg.
**** you not... ere come the clueless klaxon hakuna
matata bob dylan bums... like two police officers
in reverse of the stereotype: one plays the harmonica
(i.e. can read), another strums the guitar (i.e. can write) -
but we're missing the elephant's
molesters:                          we're missing four of the six,
that's enough for the tetragrammaton verb,
we have the trunk and the leg, that'll do us just fine:
we can just say it's a fire hydrant...

with my new regime i understood the blanket
of un-forgiveness of english teachers,
i exported the idea of haiku to the east and
received the notion of esnō - i said double that
up, thrice it, make the thrice square,
add a hundred ballerina twirls and create
a hurricane from the ensō; what did i
get on my return? hardly a butterfly effect,
i got stenotype, the beheading of
Anne Boleyn - quick like a marriage with a black
widow spider or a mantis: an orphanage on my back...
so many more sperms reach the pyramid end
than in mammals, but look at what the Darwinism
rainbow gave us to feel depressed about...
comparative existentialism to insects, arguments
against parasites... might as well argue about
eating and **** evaporating rather than the pleasure
of faeces squeezing through the **** muscles...
(if you had *******, i'd tell you about the pleasure
of *******, and not needing to bother women
to stretch a muscle that's hardly an oyster of skin,
keep the flowers in Eden of comparisons,
mine ain't beauty, yours' ain't either:
it ain't a flower, it's a seashell protein, thing, the end):
oh yeah, the boys and me were watching salmon
in the school, we were using index and middle fingers
to slingshot shoot the salmon buds to dumb down and
forget feminism and remember the village life...
ha ha... worked like steroids to those fake muscle-heads
when looking at gymnasts and scaffolders:
PUMPIN' IRON PIMPIN' MOLLUSCS!
what a hydrochloric-hydraulic combination to non-grammatical
coordination from (0, 0) to (20 kilometres west,
50 kilometres east) in comparison to an epic literature
output of Russian angst origin in epilepsy shadowed
over by the joy of gambling... i have drinking,
now imagine Halloween on Hawaii.

I gotz no life.
I gotz no cash.
All I got is these pimpin' hashtags
#money
#grill
#dddddaaaamncheckoutdatfineassgirl