Cut Down
Well, shit. My original intent was to put up and interconnect all of the epiphanies that I've had recently about social and environmental justice, capitalism, and the human condition. However, it is finals week, I'm moving to my posh new retreat, attending what better be my last PHS graduation for a while (in Pendleton for a two-night shot, June 3 and 4), hanging with the Neigh-Bros, saying goodbye to my Bro-Mates, and searching for any last-gasp summer internships all in two weeks. Time really is of the essence, so I just can't make this entry for a while. But do let me know how you're doing since this is the primary means of communication for many of my friends and I. Feel free!
Love to all wherever you may land, 54]
Windmill, windmill, for the land
Turn forever hand in hand
Take it all in on your stride
It is sticking, falling down
Love forever, love is free
Let's turn forever, you and me
Windmill, windmill, for the land
Is everybody in?
54 gonna make ya clap, clap; that’s that
Get up deep in that ass like a Tampax
Never catch me bullshittin with bad tracks
Don’t really need to mention no gats or macks
Still burn you so bad you’ll need HazMat
But if ya wanna blaze, homey, got fat sacks
I’m a better man kind of like Bacharach
Stickin it to the masses like Madmax
We sap chaps, and stack cash, in a mad dash. Feel the backlash?
We flatten tracks just like flapjacks; this whole landmass must have cataracts.
Open up your eyes, we’re all in a damn trap
I’m revolting with my lyrical anthrax
One voice or we’re fodder for the fatcats
Pop a Xanax, these are the sad facts
Love to all wherever you may land, 54]
Windmill, windmill, for the land
Turn forever hand in hand
Take it all in on your stride
It is sticking, falling down
Love forever, love is free
Let's turn forever, you and me
Windmill, windmill, for the land
Is everybody in?
54 gonna make ya clap, clap; that’s that
Get up deep in that ass like a Tampax
Never catch me bullshittin with bad tracks
Don’t really need to mention no gats or macks
Still burn you so bad you’ll need HazMat
But if ya wanna blaze, homey, got fat sacks
I’m a better man kind of like Bacharach
Stickin it to the masses like Madmax
We sap chaps, and stack cash, in a mad dash. Feel the backlash?
We flatten tracks just like flapjacks; this whole landmass must have cataracts.
Open up your eyes, we’re all in a damn trap
I’m revolting with my lyrical anthrax
One voice or we’re fodder for the fatcats
Pop a Xanax, these are the sad facts