As the paradigm shifts, y’all looking at me like “What’chu Talkin’ Bout Willis?!”, and I’m stuttering and stammering…tryin’ to told y’all brickhead motherfuckers that that toilet was full and no more schitt was gonna go into it without a fight. And y’all keep fighting to put more schitt on top of schitt, making a big schitty mess.
Everything you had faith in turned out to be bootywack.
I have faith in this struggle, fool. The destination is more important than anticipating another thousand rounds of choreographed Janet Jackson head fakes, Thriller neck twitches, and crack-tastic booty popping.
I address a generation that took the fun out of titties, and put a stink on film and music (recognized only as worthless celebrity) that’ll take 200 years to wash out of those art forms.
You’re cute alright,baby. And you don’t realize you’re cuteness is a cell that keeps you from realizing your real beauty.
So what have you done with that time?
Do you realize it’s slipping through your fingers?
Or are you so smokey, so desirable, so on point that you’re just tuned in to your montage?
“Slow-mo, go youtube the promo, get in the know…sign up for Twitter,bro. You got the balls to wear your heart on your facebook walls? But you can’t do the jitterbug, let alone cut a rug… Life is a dance, you’re here for the drugs Who you gonna lean on when you pull my plug? What you gonna say, when you can’t get in? When you’re all alone where are your lame ass friends? ”
You’ve got this spring to make a man/woman out of yourself.
Find a mirror without looking for your reflection everywhere.
Find someone in that mirror and figure out what’s really going on.