Your firearms are too short to box with God

Mad sht on the brain keeps pushing recaps back. Much props to Much Music in Canada for calling fake mufuqas out.Jim Jones' retort was pur bullshT and we all know it. It ain't got sht to do with integrity - maybe a hint of loyalty - but I'm sure we all can see through the smoke screen. Anyways, reading that dumb sht took me back to a conversation this evening with a buddy of mine going through some serious drama with his fam. Let's just suffice it to say that I feel his pain and I hope he does hit me back to connect and get some respite and his mind off the stress.

The whole day reminds me of a tightrope. Work is mad busy and can barley find time to handle simple tasks because I have become so inundated with all sorts of busy work to do that it's starting to get overwhelming, and DO NOT like being overwhelmed; I despise it vehemently. But anyways, the tightrope analogy was also a reference to the street scholar moniker I picked up a few years back. As much as I'd like to cling to the streets, the streets to me still ain't as street as street can be, because I have always shunned the low-life thuggery. I can understand the perspective, but don't put me in the middle of some drama becuase I will fuq you up afterwards. So I guess this a kind of a make-up rant for what the conversation I had in Woodside projects this past weekend and also a lament for other brothers out there just trying to live who don't necessarily have any aspirations whatsoever to be involved in the dumb shT, but still have to walk a fine line of balancing conflicting demands with their own dreams and goals. This post's title comes from the Black Star track, Thieves in the Night. Some real talk right there, potna. Anyways, I also had a simultaneous flashback on my adolescence and a few disconcerting incidents that played minor roles in helping shape me into the man that I am and the one that I aspire to become. I have my kinks, dents, quirks, and good qualities as well that make me a complete package, but I'm still a work in progress and I hope to be able to lend my help to any other of peoples' in progress as well. Word...like a mutha.

Reflection rarely seen across the surface of the lookin glass
Walkin the street, wonderin who they be lookin past
Lookin gassed with them imported designer shades on
Stars shine bright, but the light -- rarely stays on
Same song, just remixed, different arrangement
Put you on a yacht but they won't call it a slaveship
Strangeness, you don't control this, you barely hold this
Screamin brand new, when they just sanitized the old shit
Suppose it's, just another clever Jedi mind trick
That they been runnin across stars through all the time with
I find it's distressin, there's never no in-between
We either niggaz or Kings
We either bitches or Queens
The deadly ritual seems immersed, in the perverse
Full of short attention spans, short tempers, and short skirts
Long barrel automatics released in short bursts
The length of black life is treated with short worth
Get yours first, them other niggaz secondary
That type of illin that be fillin up the cemetary
This life is temporary but the soul is eternal
Separate the real from the lie, let me learn you
Not strong, only aggressive, cause the power ain't directed
That's why, we are subjected to the will of the oppressive
Not free, we only licensed
Not live, we just excitin
Cause the captors.. own the masters.. to what we writin
Not compassionate, only polite, we well trained
Our sincerity's rehearsed in stage, it's just a game