There is nothing more clandestine, more stealthy...than time. And with that...comes your age. Two different mothah fuckin things. You see, time is relative, it is all over the place, omnipresent, forever moving.
Now age, on the other hand, is finite; ergo, yo ol Black ass. A wrinkle here. A wrinkle there. Less hair now than you had before the old you. And before you know it, there goes the fuckin neighborhood; as in life, yo ass knows you're in trouble when the whites start taking over the blacks!
Then all you can do at this point is smile. Look at yourself in the mirror, and of course say to yourself, because there's no other mothah fuckin body that wants to be 'round yo ol tired ass, and ask, "Well-well! Now, what say you with yo ol Black ass?" And you got to just love the old coach because Time tells yo ol Black ass to just say back to your withered reflection:
"I'm still in the game coach! I'm still in the game!"
Damn right bout that!
No comments:
Post a Comment