Keep Your Eyes On The Highs

I was going to label this entry "Die Die Die" but I'm not going to do that. 

 

I must say being a parent changes a lot of things and I feel all of my Tupac is dead. Like you can give a dope ass acronym to T.H.U.G. L.I.F.E. all you want but a nigga is a negro is a nigger. 

No matter what your color being misguided is being misguided. These days I can relate more to Malcom than I can with Martin, but I can relate more with Martin than I can with Rick Ross. 

He ain't special I just picked one of those motherfuckers. Put anyone in that slot.

Last night in Philly, my son is sound asleep, and a wave of very cheap weed comes through the vent and under the door.

If you want to get lifted save this Hilton money nigga, go to someone's crib who smokes and use the room money for more weed. 

I don't want son smelling that or smelling like it. Fuck, I don't want to smell it myself. I smoke cigars, I know I can't walk in Wal-Mart lit up. EVEN IF I COULD, I wouldn't because cigar smoke is not cool around kids, adults, anyone who doesn't smoke cigars.

I'm telling you, the talented 10th is alive and well. But that fucking 90% needs Jim Crow Tutorials and The Keep Your Eyes On The Prize DVD constantly running in their house.

This ain't about weed this is about dumbasses. 

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