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MURS • “18 w/a Bullet” • 2002

See my life is like a song, I just don’t know the words,
So as I try to hum along people say that I’m disturbed.
Stare and call me a loon, say I’m singin’ out of tune,
But my musics’ got direction so I know what I’m doin’.
Don’t know where I’m goin’ but I got to keep movin’,
Even if my next step is obscured by the present…
Gotta find the next rung on the stairway to heaven.

– MURS, “18 w/a Bullet,” …The End of the Beginning, 2002.

My first offense was possession of weed,
Now I’m in the major leagues, and
That muthafucka Bill Clinton is a son of a bitch;
Had the nerve to throw out the first pitch.
I’m just tryin’ to get rich like Trump,
The home run king is now in a slump…pass me a hunk.
How the fuck can I stay out the Pen,
When its 1-2-3 strikes, you in?
Ice Cube, “Three Strikes You In,” War & Peace Vol. 1 (The War Disc), 1998. More from O’Shea…
Always knew that I would clock G’s,
But welcome to McDonald’s: May I take your order, please?
Gotta serve ya food that might give you cancer,
Cuz my son doesn’t take no for an answer.
Now I pay taxes that you never give me back;
What about diapers, bottles, and Similac?
Do I have to sell me a whole lotta crack
For decent shelter and clothes on my back?
Ice Cube, “A Bird in the Hand,” Death Certificate, 1991. More from Cube…
They say the richest 400 Americans make more
Than the other 180 million combined,
And if that sounds fair, then you’re out of your mind.
So fuck a Republican, I’m out on my grind,
Cause being poor, being black, and Latino’s a crime.
That’s why we use the underworld to survive,
And I hate to admit I connive, but I’m alive cause I strive.
Make a dollar out a nickel and dime
I’m a hustler, I’m a hustler…
I could sell pussy to prostitutes, you a customer.
Ras Kass, “Stone Cold Hustler,” from Semi Hendrix’s Breakfast at Banksy’s, 2015. More from Ras Kass…