I will not tell this story in a full linear (or complete story), though here’s some of what happened.
3x CDs, though I only remember two of them. Snoop Dogg: Da Game Is To Be Sold, Not To Be Told and Soundbombing by Rawkus Records….
Point of time… Some point near 1998-1999. SFU days.
Location: A the middle of a field between Calgary and Edmonton.
The entire trip happened in my 92 Dodge Shadow ES and included teleportation attempts.
There was extreme hallucination, both physical feeling, and visual.
Though my car was parked in the middle of the field, I had started to wield ideas from the CDs and revealed a link to the pink character from Marvel, Shuma Gorath. I know that I don’t add up like math, yet the extension from one star to radiate to eight from the audio gate is what I saw and heard while in the car.
The night was clear, and though nowhere near a set of train tracks, I heard a train pass. The fears of attacks will pass as they amassed a shwack of writ way before I was in the pack of this class. The cows in the pen I saw when I pulled up looked terrified in their yard, as they knew they would be made to meat. Though the real G’s run the street, I am one who’s just so often fallen into the deep tones and beat.
(as we know that I should not divulge the full amounts of fact, because of how the title of the album is stacked).
There was a physical feeling of inversion upon the conversion of the spark of a lighter. They know that the marks were made to be lit like a smig or joint, I have not a point to this, rather that the divine kiss of Holly from SFU was in the meld with the minds of True.
The cues of the album come from codes I believed to be stolen from brains, yet how can I call back to the past events of the Ruby? Stain’s one who went all violent, yet that name was not yet made in the paint of the game, yet still I wonder the aims that are made upon the one who said the sunset’s to fade.
The albums held some severe links to how I plough the seeds of the needs we hear. Keep the secrets clear from slipping from the lips. Drug trips often written off as delusion to keep a conclusion of those outside a club with lights. Though there weren’t any fights, they make be putting me between the sights, the CD discovered some MCs to shoul with me and prove the sky’s lights.
No Limit is a substantial key, and not of the snow, yet rather how the flows find the rows of text to sight the sects. Though their Pound directs some from the CPT, I can’t even come close to claiming to be a G. With the DNA I guess I’m just a C lyrically and have stolen their lyrics and mix while knowing that they were to play me up with the digital clicks.
If asked where it came from, or what they should do with some, I cannot know that if asked, I don’t even have a clue to give, let alone know why another let me live, yet glad to know the Contialis has helped let the lyrics not need to be masked.
The links to Rawkus carry to Mount Fudge and how Mos Def lined into the budging some lyrics into a different mix that added me to the CD, even if a projection, and not actually the points of a tree. Talib Kweli also one that I looked up to in 1998. Rewind back also to the flows of Shabaam Sahdeeq and the Arabian Nights where I thought of the field of green. The links to World Peace are also held in the piece that Master P set with the lyrics shared with one they’ve not met. How they cast the lyrics across the universe with my own meek insights into how there is a thirst to gleen. Though I don’t know Medina, there is the link to Enguleena (though that’s from the ward, and not where this stories chord stemmed from)
Back at the point of the Roxtagon trip, I was two years past 19. I was in the drugs, and not just nicotine. I was extremely free, and though the ideas of CDs made me exactly a linear line, so shall share the sign of how we now view the show you too know as the symbiosis of a flow. I need to heed that the seeds of the plant will slant the ladder up on the bladder of the wall that peed upon the shall and found the Spidey link crawl back to how I never was one to ball, yet y’all that made these discs have shared the gift of how lyrics are meant to lift, and not be lifted, yet sifted the need to read as a way to remind me that you help me heed the street and not bite or jack the beat.
The need of love and not the weed are the branch held in the mouth of the dove.
The word Roxtagon was stolen from one of Talib Kweli and I twisted the word into the incident of how that night went, I know that some Rappers in my past remind me that there is a cast and crew circling how we are and what we do. I am glad for the fact they let me have the tracks stacked up in the cup to drink, and though they’re now called the Lion, the ethics are still applying me to write rhymes.
I thank you Snoop and No Limit for the fact you keep me in my own pact of making sure I keep the lyrics for the kitten purr, even if not safe around you sir.
To the Rawkus crews, thank you too for letting me rhyme with you, even if not one that you know. The flows that were shared have been torn and worn, and though I’ve sworn I shouldn’t bite beats or lyrics, the Evil Dee mix was one that’s been used to have spun the plan and plot into how I ran from pot and land like a band back onto my wrist with an elastic twist. Please recall that there are times when I have zero clue what you, they, or I should do.
It’s true that the full crew will show another that the bothers are across a star and will spray anything but a bar across the rep that I have danced out and in bounds of some sounds that send some to swim. With the snare’s rim to carry the heart, soul, spirit and mind of one called Silky Slim.
PLU8R Snoop…. Thank you for being foundational to my form and practice.