I’ve been doomed from the womb to the tomb, SS Va. by birth and not too far by death most likelihood. This is fine because they can bury me down in my side field under the red maple where I buried the goats and like to sit around at night when no one is can see me because that spot is shielded from down-the-road security lights and houseshine and all that other stuff, so I can take my clothes off and smoke a bowl and feel the world. Not a lot can be done about what I am at this point, and though I try to make myself marketable – as both employee and international commodity – nothing can spit shine the grime that was born into my bloodstream. I was freestyling some styles in my truck riding back from sliding a floated check through the payment deposit slit box at the electric company today for tomorrow’s cutoff notice, hoping the floated check doesn’t try to get turned into a coach before payday or else they’ll just be holding $157 rotten pumpkins (where the fuck my fairy godmother at? – nice family man aside, the littlest one River who is nearly 3, I’ve been reading to her in bed at night and she absolutely loves Cinderella and she cuddles into me and as hardscrabble and fucked and rough edged or even edgeless as I am a lot of times, those three girls got me), and I was cutting back roads from Palmyra back to the compound and pumping some sort of fucking beat, maybe DJ Frane, I don’t know, and styling a freedom of somewhat rhyming words from my discombobulated neurons, and came from my mouth by my brain was “anybody can get a ghost to write a whole batch of words, and speak ‘em for a camera to get the sheep to be herd,” and I my conscious mind interrupted my unconscious mind with a “fuck yeah bro.”
Yelawolf wears his hair a lot like people I would know. Honestly, he looks kinda stupid, which makes him more real in my mind. His flow is the best most honest whiteboy flow in a couple coon’s age, no pun intended though ironically it was there, and I hope the motherfucker actually has an album before his flavor of the month status dries out or before they stop actually even trying to sell music to people anymore and just put viruses inside of all music files that make you sick with auralyphilis and the only way you can cure yourself and hear things again is to buy some drug from the record companies and every record company would have their own virus encoded in their songs so they would make money by signing great young musical acts that people couldn’t resist stealing music from and would get sick. That shit’s about to happen. It’s in Revelations.
STEAL "Deer Mama"
NEXT UP: More junkie country (which should really be a new genre because “outlaw country” is Wal-Martinized and “alt.country” is full of fruits!
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