I’ve got a question. Why are some people always acting so big with their heads and their egos up there in outer space? Are they coming back to Earth? I don’t think so, why? I’m not sure, maybe it’s because up there, they’ve got them Os, not the Os that give our lungs purpose but the Os that keep their bank accounts healthy. They need to get their heads straight but they’re struggling to see things from a different angle, acute in their minds, obtuse towards the haters, they can’t understand the gravity of my situation when they have nothing weighing them down. In fact, they’re travelling at the speed of light, that’s so fast they can’t even hear their consciences trying to reason with them.
From up there, their heads don’t see shit below but they’re still getting antsy, tryna make sure the ants stay down there, stepping on them and if any of them survive, they’re bussin’ out the glass and magnifying them to death. Meanwhile, there’s this guy, he’s called Jack, man is tryna climb up into the skies, man is tryna see what the others see with his own two eyes but before he has one chance, he’s being cut down to size. He ain’t a giant, he’s not even big and pretty soon, those heads are gonna make an ant outta him & condemn him to the same fucked up fate all ants have to deal with when a big ol’ foot comes crashing down on ’em.
We got big cooks, little cooks, greedy cooks, sneaky cooks, cooks of all different classes, heaped together, mixed together and what do we have here – a recipe for disaster. I bet you’re thinking how can there be a disaster with so many cooks around but please, lemme explain; they say that too many cooks spoil the broth so when you have all these cooks in a dog bowl trapped inside a dog eat dog world it’s only a matter of time before they’re cooking up a bone to pick with one another. The dogfights in this world, they’re brutal, you’ve gotta pick out of being The Red Baron or you’re just falling right out of the sky. Red barons are worst barons than Rupert Murdoch, targeting all the dogs who look like Xs on the spot, I guess they all spoke Simon Cowell before they went into the sky because they’re all gunning down the dogs who don’t have the X Factor.
If you ask me, I’d rather just play a game of Snakes & Ladders. But in the dogfight, Snakes & Ladders are played with a twist with ladders to the stars and snakes down into the craters & no one wants to be in a crater otherwise how would it be possible for a dog to have its day. There are methods to get up there, some more unorthodox than others; perhaps you’ve smoked so much dope that you reached that higher level and then you realise you’re so high, the comedown would be too hard to bear, so instead of accepting that, you smoke some more, hoping that way you stay up there in space.
But before you know it, you’re getting stuck in with the barons up there. You’re trying to dodge all the tycoons, hoping to stay safe whilst they blow up some typhoons; you looking brave or you looking dumb because in the end, you’ll crash down into the bin and pretty soon, you’ll be looking for Thai food like you’re a hungry raccoon. Coming down from the high to see me playing with words but to you, it ain’t a joke, you’re not even laughing, hell, I can’t even see you abs popping out. I guess I’m still playing with words but it’s what I do, my job is to put words together, keeping the flow on point like a metronome. I’ve got more flow than water in a great, big lake because water in a lake don’t go anywhere, it just stays there. I’m a river, I’m going to places, I keep things moving, I’m always on my grind, keepin’ it trill, I should have been called Kermit because if it ain’t my business, it’s not my problem so I can drink my tea whilst the haters are still thirsty for someone to pay attention to them.
So you ask me, choose out of going to space and losing my mind or staying down on the ground in control, I think that’s a straight-forward choice, I’ll just continue on like nothing changed.