Ugh. We had our primary election day. It was . . . pretty intense.


An election is supposed to be the pinnacle of live journalism, running all over fuck and back trying to keep everything updated.


And we did good. We smoked the competition. We drowned them like a toilet seat, so to speak.


And yet I feel only spent.


Tonight, I think about the future and the past. . . so I bring you a dual . . . and perhaps a duel lyric of the day:


 


We can expand, buy a little land
hand the dope game down to the next man
Buy a little business, clean the money
look at the cops funny
 hey hey hey
Frontin in your caddy or a beat up Taurus,
got the baby gangsters sellin shit for us
we can dance underwater and not get wet –
Sell crack on the internet


——–


In the darkness before dinner comes
Sometimes I can feel the itch
I got a cold mind to go tripping across that thin line
I’m sick of doin’ straight time
My uncle’s at the evenin’ table, makes his living runnin’ hot cars
Slips me a hundred dollar bill says
“Charlie you best remember who your friends are”
….
Kitchen floor in the evening tossin’ my little babies high
Mary’s smiling, but she’s watching me, out of the corner of her eye
Seems you can’t get any more than half free
I step out onto the front porch and suck the cold air deep inside of me
Got a cold mind to go trippin’ ‘cross that thin line
I’m sick of doin’ straight time




5 thoughts on “

  1. Lest you not forget… you covered the Election in between the Olympics!  That good sir is a good job.

    Now sit.  Lie Down.  Roll Over.  Stay.  Staaay.  STAY!

    STOP!  DESIST!  HEEL!  OH GOD NOT MY FACE!!!!

  2. The station was running at full capacity like a well oiled sort of news making and meat eating machine that covers elections.

    …Fuck, I think that analogy got away from me.

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