I need to sort out my shit
Before i get shot
I don’t care if its a shit shot
Ill give it a go, yo
He who points the finger has three blames pointing back
And a fist half clenched is good for nothing
Not a thing notatall will save a tale told tallish
And then who’s at fault
A fault in the earth is a dish served cold
Nothing but rubble comes from a troubled people.
Culture is the story told as we look back on what has been said as we look at where the conversation is going. Up and out it seems. Out of the chocolate factory through the glass ceiling and away to a cleaner, greener, meaning well sort of land. Why fight with a finger when you can fight with a heart. And you can hear the language sifting it’s way through the calculations of cultural preambulations.
