rebel music

i saw us at our corners with no holster decked glocks, no one snorting crack rocks, rich from shorting tech stocks... we were smokin' marijuana on a golden deck yacht... but shit, was just a dream about the cream we have not, snap back to reality at sounds of gun shots, take a peek out the window and get a whiff of that endo, if i pray it's for strays to miss my grand mama's lot, else the bells'll start tolling like that grandfather clock us niggaz stole from the landlady's shop, cuz we ran out of time, to earn dimes to pay the rent and the cops... so there's crime to engage in, rhymes spun in rage and, those who didn't make it out, homes locked in cages, shiiit i love life because hate gives it flavour, spice to the taste of scraps paid for our labour, as if bread crumbs was some shit to savour, master enslavers, muthafuck this i'm coming for you...

* * *

"marc, why don't you write about all the happy things in life?"
"because i'm a moral person."
"what in the world does that mean?"
"well, while you basked in the blissful ignorance of your first question all around the world thousands of impoverished little kids were suffering as a result of flawed man-made political economic institutions. and while i can't do much to help them because i'm currently broke, i do the next best thing: i choose not to ignore such issues; in fact i bring it to the center of my attention by telling myself these stories. if i'm mindful about it now, when i make myself rich off of the money of privileged folks who pay to have their wealth managed i'll hopefully remember and take some action, though i'll probably buy a sports car first."
"silly marc, you mustn't think so much. you use too many words in your sentences. oops sorry, that's my iPhone, gotta run. ciao."