dose always brings it, but this verse rips raw from start to finish

shit ill buy a cd just for this comment

They're just normal men!

We're all doing the best we can...)

​@@handsmadexyzI can't seem to tag this p kinggg complaining but I did a thing along those lines for Vundabar, repurposing the video made with an older cut to make it fit a later cleaner recording off their Gawk LP, but if I'm gonna do unauthorized labors of love perhaps i shouldn't limit myself to the random indie rock I got into last year and the Muerte fam i know first hand, not second hand like how i know JJ... aka Mestizo... a brief convo at a show booked in SF by Cadalack for tour that Exist headlined + Mike Gao and Stizo... w Gao going on to do his solo set as a palate cleanser before Courtney got in just enough bars to thoroughly wreck our shit beyond rep cognition, despite being mildly dope sick, nothing to help him make it on stage to perform but a bit of x, one of the same pressed pills Robert Paulson also blessed me with, just because he was taking care of his business and his peoples, as this was during what later proved to be the last of the solid six years sober we'd ALL enjoyed tbh because of how it proved essential, clearly allowed him to make something of all that talent I saw from the day I met a dude, when we were so just kidsz still at Reed, smoking far too much weed, suddenly he'd yelled up at me to ask who's bumping Griots, when that year maybe I saw Book of Human Lnguage on a hip gal's night stand, but FF albums? Not so much, there hadn't been any wider release of Haiku D'Etat, All Balls Don't Bounce, or Shakadoom, fuck I don't think Elektra had put out a non bootleg version of Black Bastards yet, The Unseen & Project: Doomsday were hot off the presses but they had not yet proven the market exists, and so Cadalack and I were ostracized by most of the other kids, even the ones that were rappity rap hippity hoppers because our taste was not a polished, presentable product, meant as identity upgrades, to attract mates, it was very deeply personal, with no one else we'd hope to please if they didn't nod to the beat or find the wailing hooks relatable because we wouldn't bump music we'd not been won over by, and admired the work deeply, but everything was rather haphazardly eclectic, driven by moods, to either make anyone that might hear us sit through 20 or more minutes of a Herbie Hancock solo or maybe it was Silkk the Shocker repping C Murder... 187 cuz i don't give a fuck! Usually you didn't go long before I would force the degenerate art of a Keith M. Thornton on my unsuspecting victims due to an unhealthy fixation Keith himself did at one point address, when i emailed the address listed for business inquiries to ask him to forgive Cedric, allowing any beef to land in the deep freeze storage unit where they put Disney, let bygones be bygones, since Ultra is still honestly my favorite, Big Time still blows every other rap record before its release out the water, setting the stage for all that creative output, neurally divergent in a groundbreaking manner, its innovation carving out the new frontier, that'd find itself populated by biters and imitators but occasionally also writers, until the day 8 times 8 times 8 is 4, until the day that is the day there are no more, until the earth starts turning right to left, & until the earth just for the sun denies itself, until dear Mother Nature says her work is through, until the day that you are me and I am you, innovations so well camouflaged within a concept so very simple it seems as uninventive as you can get, to rap an anthem about staying blinged out, NY to LA to make it in the BIG TIME, and yet it asked for the first time, which reality, exactly, do you pride yourself in keeping a candle lit for, representative of WHAT exactly, besides DNA pure and simple, and if it was what felt most viscerally real, how do you reconcile this with such bizarre privates being eyed, where we keep all our money (in a big brown bag) and all you need is love for legs on a giraffe... Look at the ass on that animal, I mean, "monkey"... and also... "doo doo", but I didn't go on at length like this, I simply begged of him, that whatever sneaky bootlegs got leaked to support a habit that was retro (back in the 70's, it was all about DRUGS) why can't we get the band back together, and your little girl, how much for the little girl... And so it was that I received a response, telling me, quite rightly, I admit, "don't be such an obsesed [sic] fan". Anyway, you can probably grasp how the two minds in question got feared, reviled, but more than anything, we were always largely dismissed by peers who took little to no interest in the fact we were behind the only radio show at the small liberal arts college that allowed for a hot mic so attendees could spit lyrics over the airwaves, one inevitably dubbed CHUD, with myself named for a lesser known CoFlo LP, of breaks and instrumentals, Little Johnny, and Robert, receiving the message within a dream that he must reinvent himself as a now larger than life character who'd find his infamous fate, in equal measures fortunate but also just as oftrn inopportune, reviled, by himself as much as anyone with the misconception they knew the man well enough to pass judgement when what they should do is "listen to these lyrics and see what I become", as he recites on Barracuda Yakuza, still underrated among so many scorchers without any chorus or musical structure aside from the relentless power of such unfiltered heat, readily felt by doze dat slept less than the average listener, sopping wet from the puddles somewhat less than dynamic, so we were freaks, but likely embraced this because we already got disrespect for listening to music folks still musta considered to be "racially inappropriate"? Really, they just didn't think it's music good enough to receive respect regardless of your background as if Bosnians can't listen to Coltrane... Okay but Croats, tho, they should stay away from Alice, My Favorite Things is fine... But Journey in Satchidananda is weird, like are you trying to piss off the Serbs as if you think that you're Roma, dude, you will neverr be accepted and live among the Romani, accept the sad facts, listen to A Love Supreme maybe but PLEASE stop humiliating yourself with Spiritual Jazz on that level Alice was doing, ok? Anyway, I lost myself in digression after digression, but thanks to the mdma, Stereo 13 had the energy to spit the fire that he did... Dude came at us like a gatling gun, or at least this is how I remember it now... just seems impossible ExistAll didn't get into that languidly delivered, half sung, &:blued the fent out soul sound he's also as skilled at delivering with all the finesse necessary to bring out the poetry of it. But I don't know the man, myself, and I forgot to mention, along with Cadalack another opener was Rheteric Ramirez, who was also hungr, and so because we walked over to grab a meal at this taco joint down the street, he was the oniy one I could really say I befriended after the rime spemt, hanging out with him, mostly just listening to ideas that he felt passionate about, regarding a distinction he argued was vital for all citizens to understand and yet it was largely misunderstood, differentiating rights from privileges. So Eric being the notable exception the othees are not my friends except for the degrees of separation involved, because esp. Courtney and Rob were clearly fairly tight. And Robert was my best friend, and I clearly never really met anyone I could say came close to replacing the role he played in my life, one that just feels like an unfillable void that I only stretch wider with diss•appointments, betrayals, and such banal heartache. So I should have time to see if I can make this video fit to the remix that you prefer. If I could steal this vid's visuals for the 'Game of Thrown' vid readily discovered among my listed uploads on this RU-vid account, a track from Serp's Wigger Juggalo LP, which really wasnt an album, since it's just a collection of songs the man put down, tryna catch himself slipping, & I successfully repurposed a vid for such a different recording of 'Ash in the Sun' that the bridge seems to be an almost entirely different animal, then I should be able to do what this man is asking. And since I'm doing it for free? I don't expect to get complaints about it not belonging to me. You all belong to all of us. You definitely dont belong to a brand that you need, in order to sell a image for the sake of the sound of our souls slowly being scraped out of the fentanyl tooter till nothing is ledt and no one even cares or remembers if it isnt a funkopop on a bookshelf aince the ideas and the practice of living it, innovating it, was allowed to die. I Was Forgotten, as a dead man; out of mind. The rough is the roughest, the rough is the roughage, yo what say what? Why can't anyone UNDERSTAND that I'm meticulous... I reek of putrified flesh, the soul serrated, contaminated, with rhymes ill laminated, exhuming every last cell from ya, etc.