"Re:Definition" by Black Star

I was tromping through the snow in the same fucking pair of Fila sneakers I've had forever today, to try and water my goddamned pigs, in a pair of ragged jeans, and it felt stupid to be walking through 20 inches of slushy snow in a pair of Filas. They are white and faded as fuck, and walking around in my faded white sneakers with no money or job in some jeans, it makes me feel like my dad, as in useless. That's not to say dude was a complete failure, because mostly he just never lived up to his potential, not allowing himself, riding that crutch of drinking and snorting and smoking a little too hard to self-medicate himself through the hard times, which in retrospect were most of his adult life apparently. The funny thing is I bought these Filas years and years ago, before I ever owned Filas, and wouldn't wear them for a while, trying to save their freshness. This was when I lived in Richmond still, and I finally busted them out for an afterparty drunkdown after a Black Star show in Petersburg, which I'm sure was scary as fuck for Mos Def and Talib Kweli, being Petersburg is not exactly the most enlightened place on earth. At one point in the '80s, it made the cover of Time magazine for it's retarded fucked crack problem. But I wore those Filas, feeling fresh dipped as fuck back then, and now here it is a decade later and I'm slopping hogs with my old dented truck hood for a gate to their pen, held up by rebar, five-gallon buckets dripping mucky water all down my leg, Filas long since past their fresh expiration date. Always chasing turkeys, that seems to be my modus operandi. But there is something hopelessly, endlessly for generations, white trash about walking around with facial hair in some ragged jeans with shitty dilapidated white sneakers on, and it makes me ashamed of myself, all by my lonesome with no one around to feel ashamed in front of. But the clouds are watching, and I know they're like, "Hahaha, look at that guy, watch this go down, I've seen it before."