What would make you march? Sha Stimuli asks that very question on the third installment of #TheRentTapeSeries entitled The March.

Similar to his 2008 release March on Washington which tackled social issues like racism, gang violence, and the new president, this EP contains social content that deals with today’s ongoings.

The eight-track release features songs like “Praying For Aliens,” which delivers an interesting twist on discrimination across the globe, “Kill the Babies,” an ironic message to military leaders, and “Satan’s Song” which touches on everything from child molestation to rape by suggesting the devil’s involvement.

The title track embodies the entire EP as Sha lists issues that affect the world and questions the listeners about which one would make them stand up and make a change.

The March is an abstract approach to topics that surround us all. At the time of the Trayvon Martin shooting, the music is the soundtrack of the moment. Support the movement.

Sha Stimuli releases The Chills today, the second EP from The Rent Tape Series, 12 Ep’s to be released in 2012.

“The Chills confronts the fear that I always had of getting older and not being financially set,” says Stimuli. The Calling was released in January.

A continuing theme with “The Rent Tapes” and Sha’s live performances is showing that he’s understands the struggle of today’s blue collar American, by donning a uniform shirt from establishments where many Americans work. Even as an artist, he too knows what it’s like to struggle to make ends meet and has considered the likelihood that one day he may have to pick up that same uniform. Sha kicked the series off with The Calling, a full-length LP digitally distributed by Coast2Coast Mixtapes via iTunes and Amazon.com.

Volume prod by V Ladian Productions

Verse
Dear Stimuli Good morning
I don’t know if you hear your life calling,
Last night you was sleep at eleven,
Now it’s eight twenty seven your ass is still snoring
Folks ask for songs and you stalling,
Last rhymes you wrote were real boring,
You be talking bout God, doing joints for the broads
What happened Sherod you’re not touring? Huh
Are you giving it up?
In 06 you would live in the club,
In 07 you was spitting it tough,
In 08 dropping shit every month,
In 09 you was getting a buzz
But right now you chilling,
What? You in pain
‘Cause Kampane died
And it’s heavy on your brain?
Mad ‘cause you put in so much time in the game,
And you still do shows and they don’t know your name?
You upset?
You depressed?
What you think, your career’s been a test?
What you thought, it was ‘sposed to be easy,
That people should see that your flow is the best,
‘Cause you speak on life,
Talk about death, bleed on beats and it’s not for a check,
Bars you release they be hard to receive,
Like the Garden of Eden when God blew breath
Do you know why you’re here?
Can you even understand His plan?
You think it’s all about flows, songs, hoes, broads,
Trying to get fans,
There’s folks out here that can’t even stand
That sleep on the street, living on land
Everybody talking ‘bout marketing brands
What about the heart of a man?
Damn
They compare you to Sky,
Compare you to Sai,
Hip-hop awards never there, tell me why
Maybe you’re done and preparing to die
Man up is that a tear in your eye
Look
All that you want,
Is right in your reach,
You’re writing is deep
They like when you sleep
Rest, sound real weak
Yea they smile at the sight of defeat
But they get tight when you start throwing heat,
And you dead competition
Putting life on a beat
Yea some say that you nice in the streets,
But I don’t really see too many nice people eat dog
Fight like it’s beef
When they bite pull they teeth
Do everything you didn’t do on My Soul To Keep then, then
They’ll fall like the season
You do songs for a reason
You don’t just beast, well you beast but
You mix in teachings,
They critique it but who’s gonna reach ‘em if not you
Cats call you out, said you couldn’t hang with Slaughtahouse
They don’t see what it’s all about
You don’t wanna be in Slaughtahouse,
You want a family, you want a house,
You want kids, cars and a gorgeous spouse,
Get mad if you wanna shout so they hear you
Just turn up now and don’t let ‘em ever turn you down
They gon tell you that you can’t, won’t, try to convince you
That you’re wack, broke, get in your mental
But you can’t fold
Never back down
Volume on ten
I aint turning back down
Last year waterboy
Quarterback now
I’m starting at the point guard
You get the point God

Me feat Lelabizz prod by DJ Pain

Verse
17,440 spitters
3,000 corny and 5,000 are bitter
2,400 love weed, pussy or liquor
In the game just so they can get fame and money quicker
4,000 imitate Weezy, Drizzy or Jigga
150 try to work out like Fifty to get bigger
990 using beats from the 90’s hoping Ninth wonder finds em or signs em and pulls the trigger,
1,600 emcees are saying nigger
Even though they’re Caucasian
It’s crazy
But here’s the kicker
There’s 99 dudes that’s nice, the only hiccup
Is their music really deals with real life so you don’t pick ‘em
And there’s 200 women with not so pretty figures
So you see they video and you dis em,
And it figures, bout half of these dudes want major deals to get richer
When they see the freshman cover they mad as hell at the picture
17,439 rappers tell you that they’re hotter, iller and sicker
Than anybody alive, and it might be a lie,
But they beg for you to follow them on twitter
And then there’s me…
Music’s keeping me from death,
When everyone is just all right I’m what’s left
Used to blame everyone else but I accept
My path, my choices, my steps, I’m blessed
Can I get an Amen?
Looking in the mirror like Sha say when
The future’s getting nearer matter fact it’s right here
So I gotta stop playing tomorrow became today
Are you hearing the shit I’m saying?
Good…God!

From Me To You prod by Black Metaphor

Verse
From unsigned hype to unhype signed
From Sha rhymes nice to Sha still rhymes?
Back in the days it was
Take these drugs and bag that dime
Then hit these clubs and bag that dime
To get that shine
From small ass crimes
To long ass grind
I crossed that line
Took all that time
And forced my mind to switch
From messing with girls that’s already taken
To dealing with women, from smashing to dating
I went from being impatient
Dissed the Creator sometimes praying to Satan
To realizing I was bitter and hating
I went from wishing and waiting
For things to happen now I snatch it and take it
I went from wack to your favorite
I went from attic to basement
I mean mainstream to underground
You can’t even place me inside a box when I rock
Went from rapping real basic
To making soul stirring, earth spinning classical statements
It makes your skin twitch, spine tingle can’t even trace it
Went from acting and faking
And rocking shades on the stage
To being passionate making people relate to my pain
I went from hard to difficult
Switched from spitting to bleeding
I was rhyming for money now I view money as freedom
I was nobody, now when you ask who could beat him
The answer’s nobody now, later, ever I’m heated
I was hot, flame scorching now I’m like the human torch
I went from metaphoric orphan to a spiritual fortune good…
God

Chorus 4X
This goes out to you and you and you and you and you

Verse 2
I used to be a
Young emcee wit an old soul
Did a little pitching, swore that I had a dope flow
Listening to Twista but they said I should go slow,
I was so close to blowing up but I got exposed though
From kidding and playing
To shifting the way that my shit was conveyed
And then
Cops stopped me on a trip to get paid
Searched the whip, made us strip, I envisioned the cage,
Made it out, swear to Christ life was different that day
Just imagine you’re a surgeon with a kid on your table
And you lose ‘em by twist of fate from a simple mistake,
And it’s killing your faith
In other words I’m missing my patience
Went from improv to improving
Been in the Matrix
I was focused on radio play and getting fellatio
To trying to change the globe and the college to prison ratio
Used to smoke alone in my zone
Sitting at home, writing hit records
Now I write records that hit home
I be
Killing dudes with every bar thrown
Composing stupid verses in a smart phone
This is not a sermon or a long poem
Sorry if it comes out in a harsh tone
From shooting shots on the court off the bench
To taking shots from a judge in the court on the bench
I was aiming and squeezing and chasing the cheese as a
Atheist heathen almost died started changing my reasoning
Went to sleep, saw my wake in a dream and I started maybe believing facing my demons
Now I’m thankful I’m breathing
Lord

Chorus

Conception prod by Big Fraze

Chorus
Mama gave birth but she really never had me
Mama gave birth but she really never had me

Verse 1
The creator blew breath
Beat the pill, skipped abortion I have battled thru death
Six months first words, 32 steps
Told Moms I’m done playing, ref gave me two techs
I’m
gone
She was looking at me weird
Like you been here before
I said fatherfucker yea
Nobody got that joke, until a year or two later I was writing on paper
People was scared
Y’all don’t see I wasn’t born
I was hatched, I’s created, I was built, I was formed
I was sculpted I was molded I was crafted I was carved
I was generated made, from the image of a God
Now the standard has been lifted
And the cheers are going up
I was sent to raise the bar
Walking in cheers everybody yells Sha
So you I’m not the norm
Y’all don’t get it,
Y’all been warned look

Chorus 4X
Verse 2

School didn’t help
My parents gave an effort
But I swear I was raised by Melle Mel’s message
And a Public Enemy that had Flavor and a professor
And a crew that rocked Adidas with a rapping future reverend
A radio toting emcee that was confessing
How he needed love and was bold enough to address it
A DJ that ran for president with a legend
by his side,
Monotone and wise infusing lessons
In my bloodstream when I came up
My daddy wasn’t there but Big Daddy Kane was
Queen Latifah, Fresh Prince, royalty I witnessed
I was learning how to act before I even paid attention,
Craig G’s verses, G Rap’s wordplay
Pun spit it perfect
Masta Ace and my brother Lord Digga
Can’t thank that man enough for teaching me to pen a scripture
Peeping Dana Dane, Slick Rick stories,
Grand Puba, man you would see me flowing as a shorty
I was
Bumping Naughty, and Tribe when I was young
Just watching and dreaming of joining The Native Tongues,
Black Sheep was different,
GZA provoked thought
Snoop gave a nucca style
By 96 I was caught
I clowned around when I hung around with the underground
But when my hood was crazy violent
I was holding on to weapons, I was on the corner dwelling by the dumpster one night I heard Brenda’s baby crying,
I watched Bishop turn into Lucky before he died
And I aint hold it all inside..
I let it out studied
Ten crack commandments, Friend or Foe, illmatic
Nas made his memory lane so graphic that we shared a project window where he was seeing the static
It was just like mine in my mind,
Dope addicts
It was Ice Cube’s solos, KRS cover with the burner in the photo,
Looking like Malcolm
Shit when Busta went dolo
I was so inspired
Saw that Roc-a-Fella logo
Then I got hired
My mob was deep,
My rhymes was shallow
It started coming from the soul
When I got into battles
And right now I’m afraid ‘cause these rappers are babbling
So I’m looking at the future it’s baffling I don’t know
Shit is missing
That Wu Tang look,
NWA essence or a Nate Dogg hook
or Gangstarr’s purity
Can’t you see it?
Yo the game’s looking old I’m a brand new being
I was spawned, I was merged from the clouds perspiration
And the sun hit my mother with light from the constellations
And it took one day to bring you this here creation
So I got the Lord beat
I’m telling you,
Don’t sleep on me

Chorus

Walk on Water III prod by Emazin

Verse 1

I walk on water
I take flight like a hit from a dealer
Better yet like a blitz from the Steelers
Name a spitter that’s realer,
Half artist half spiritual healer,
I turn that water that I walked on into tequila
I am past passive, I smash tracks in a fast fashion
Flipped ASCAPs like crack packs and got cash stacks and
I surpassed bastards, outlast masses you ass cracks
I just joke and smile took Yoda style and I rapped backwards
Do anything
I can
Stage show high hands
Up keep them please
Emcees
I ran
I run
I’m dumb look at me
My Soul is exposed and even my fans said I’m over devoted
I’m so sick
So sick
I don’t know where I’m going
I’m the difference
In between a summer cold and a coma
You can be like me if you close in and focus,
I’m feeling close to Jehovah
Like I was Moses or Noah
I go in it’s so effortless
Don’t think that I’m a Christian ‘cause of biblical references
I’m here to bring you hope while you dealing with deficit
A lot of us complain about the paper we’ll never get,
Young money, cash money, money’s the emphasis,
Unfunny crash dummies drive and they wreck they whip
Y’all not seeing what’s in front of you negligent
And I don’t got insurance but my listeners benefit

Chorus
It’s like I walk on water I battled pastors I been nailed to the cross
On crucifixes you my witness, I ain’t frail I ain’t soft
It’s like I walk on water
You compare me to rappers that’s spitting bars,
While my function is to give you a touch of my gift from God
It’s like I walk on water
I talk in tongues, my hip-hop is gospel
Make vodka out of agua I ain’t gotta pop a bottle
It’s like I walk on water
Brought Brooklyn bullshit to the pulpit
Aiming at the game with a full clip
I walk on water

Verse 2
I can bless a congregation
Spit out holy saliva
Switch sinners into saints win Amazing Race and Survivor
Turn tides shift climates, talk to animals and fly
I been hated, jaded, reincarnated I can’t die
I can
Stop tsunamis
Take the cancer out a body
Make daddies bring up they kids even if they don’t stay with mommy
I promised to help the youth with my music the day they signed me
So I
Put those industry issues so far behind me
I can walk on water.
Cry a whole river, write a novel I’m an author
Verses make you shiver I deliver give offer
Whatever you want to call it
Rather die than not try to live larger, that life is torture
I make women out of daughters,
Run circles round ciphers,
Do songs that relate to the killers, dealers and lifers,
I’m Lazarus when I’m spazzing I’m Jonah praying and fasting
I’m Joshua fighting battles,
Falling for chicks like Samson
Doing stupidness like Judas repenting and bouncing back
Giving blessing like John the Baptist
Avoiding the devils rapture
You can play my verse to educate your child in your womb,
You can bump my songs to get over your child in the tomb,
There’s an under mentioned elephant inside of the room
My mind is in bloom, my time’s coming soon

Chorus

The Realist prod by DJ Qvali

Verse 1
This young kid around my way said he saw me spitting hard on The Deal
Then he asked me was my life real,
I pinched myself like I think so I’m standing here breathing,
He said “Nah you don’t know what I’m meaning,
Did you ever get shot, stabbed, been to jail?”
I said “Damn if I was dead or locked up in a cell, I’d be the man,”
He said, “You need some murder in your marketing plan,”
I laughed and said, “I have held a burner in my hand
And froze the fuck up ‘cause I couldn’t understand
Why God would give me power to put someone under land
I get what you saying
I used to be a fan
But fake rappers lost their appeal, is my life real?
I’m not sure block wars when I was younger I love my life to death,
Never starved, felt hunger, coulda swore around my way I wouldn’t make it through summer,
And as dumb as I think you are son, I was dumber
That’s real

Verse 2
My father was there,
We lived on the 8th floor
He would clean floors and bathrooms I made more
Money out on the block than allowance
Until I found out the powder in my pouch wasn’t flour
I’m just playing I knew I wasn’t real not real like hard I was real like my Momma’s real job,
Is her life real? Waking up for work 45 years
When all I do is make sure my words come out clear
I had guns pointed at me but y’all missing the point
I played the shooting guard, three but now I’m missing a point
I need direction, ascension, I’m giving you joints,
Songs, records and music with an image that’s confusing
They say he’s alright but he’s not real what if you real but you not alright
How does that feel?
Have I shot? Have I killed? Did I rob? Did I steal? Not to get a record deal

Do I gotta walk around wit a game face all the time
Or try to imitate The Game’s face when he rhymes?

Verse 3
That’s me I don’t think looking tough is tough
I can’t front central booking was enough
I’m straight I’m good,
Look, I can be real and be really out the hood
If you could you would,
No legal income helped my self-endurance
For six years big fears no health insurance
I’m a Leo match wit Taurus’s and flirt with Gemini’s
Turn Virgos to whores but got cancer on my mind,
That shit killed my pops,
My fam says get a job, my fans won’t let me stop
My music is not the hardest but it’s me and I’m an artist
I lived, I cried, I hurt I’mma die,
The kid looked in my eyes said, “Motherfucker damn
I just wanted to know if I should buy your album or Cam’s
I’m downloading yours nigga you be kicking knowledge,
Real niggas don’t be finishing college,”
I said that’s real talk

Brenda’s Baby prod by Louis G.

Verse
Brenda’s baby is grown
While I’m out here watching a throne
Trying to reach thugging teens with a poem
Maybe go from unknown to people saying Stimuli done blown
The eff up guess what,
I just sound like a clone I’m sorry
Spitting it raw but shifting my course
It’s been 15 years without Mister Shakur
And if you think about the shit that he saw
I hope the pictures I draw can come close
‘Cause I give you my all
It’s real,
It’s funny to hear my flow
Never dreamed I would be getting money to bear my soul,
Thinking bout the times and the hoods where we reside
Shit is wild Brenda’s baby’s like twenty years old
Pac thought the world was cursed in,
Felt the adverse of the slogan live by the gun
I’m still stuck in this game he tried to run,
Well he did kind of run it I’m sad his time is done
But the issues he was bringing up, stories that he gave
Are the issues still facing us,
Call us mental slaves
I aint talking just blacks, in the hood we all the same
The government sees statistics so Brenda’s kid has no name
Father is her cousin
Grandmother punks her
She hears plenty stories bout being left in a dumpster
So she’s not supposed to make it
The ghetto should take her under
You expect her on the pole or something since nobody loved her
Mama died prostituting
No one heard her cries
Pac was busy yelling hit em up
When she was turning five
We was worried bout the coastal war
Picking choosing sides
Bad boy made noise
Then our biggest heroes died
It was like we lost the Malcolm and Martin
Of our young generation they was just getting started
No arrests even made when there’s rappers that’s targeted for assassination
They ain’t even pressing no charges it’s messed up

The country is falling, disease is spreading
My people are dying, economy’s hurting the seeds are embedded
With pain and desire to try to get the cheese the bread
The papers, the dollars, the politics are keeping us dead,
And the labels are losing and Youtube is winning
The students are stupid, the teachers ain’t getting no pay so they missing
The president’s different, he tells us his vision
But then television is probably killing the minds of the children
The brothers are niggas the sisters are bitches the rappers are liars,
The mamas are babies the babies are crying,
You hear it, thee alarm clocks are going off
Y’all not listening, little girls are showing off
They big tits and they asses
The shit’s sickening, pastors are stick pricking the catholic little kids,
And I’m rapping this slick shit while the,
Haters are stabbing the teens are slicing
America’s chuckling at us, while we rocking our ice and
We think we get money, we making it rain and we paying the strippers we popping the bottles the owners get richer
They owning the clubs, and they owning the drugs and they owning the liquor We taking the shots and they keeping the picture
It’s real, the music is weaker the albums ain’t selling
We talking bout nothing the albums ain’t selling
We talk about hustling, clapping and selling
And half of us was really clapping or selling I used to rap like you I was seven

Dreamgirl prod by Black Metaphor
Verse 1
Damn I just damn I want damn I used to lust her but my homie got her pregnant and that dude was like my brother I
Seen her out in Georgia at my show and I just hugged her and she said they not together
Maybe we should have some lunch or
How bout dinner
And then breakfast she suggested but she laughed
Like she flirted I diverted when we met she sounded sad
I said you working, she said

“Daily, making doe I bust my ass to feed my kids,
You got two kids?
“I got two kids with different dads”
She said her crib is halfway decent,
“I thank God for what I have
But I’m living check to check its like I’m paying for my past,
I be dating I be hating when I’m dating dudes are fast
Wanting pussy but they pussy
Hope that I’m not sounding crass
But I saw you on that stage and I’m so hype you chose your path,”
I said
Sorta kinda but the road to making cash
It got some bumps it got some hills and they forget you in a flash
Think she thought I wanted sex but then again I might be gassed
I remember when she sang her voice was Fergie mixed with Jesus
Now she said she only sings to make her babies fall asleep
and
I said maybe you should write, I could send a couple beats
She said I should spend the night instead of trying to come and preach
I used to be a mother fucker but it left me incomplete
And she was fine but I declined and then I finished up my speech
I said passion is a start to finding out the missing piece
To know your calling, if your want to capture happiness and peace
You got to dream girl

Chorus
Dream girl dream girl
Dream girl
Turn your life into a movie and just dream girl dream girl
Dream girl dream girl
Everyday you got a duty that’s to dream

Verse 2
Yes I give my number out to those who are supporters
So I met her through the net and I was blessed to come across her
She was special she was helpful when the industry was torturing my soul
We got close when she exposed she lost a daughter
That was only seven months, it was tragic I was asking
How her man was holding up she said the dude had packed his bags
‘Cause she went in to depression
And he said he couldn’t hack it
He was mad that she was sad and now she’s mad that he abandoned her
And
I’m getting messages that I can’t even answer
Lotta what the fucks and why’s and how the hell did I get cancer
How am I supposed to tell her not to hold on to the pampers
And the room wit decorations and the teddy bear and pandas?
I
Can’t help her, even songs that I be sending
They uplift her for a second
Make her value her possessions
So I came up with some crap about the child being a blessing
That was meant to grace her presence for a moment or a segment
And she’s
Never dead
‘Cause her soul is still existing but its best to let her go
While I was flowing she was listening
Even though I never met her ‘cause our residents are distant
She would call me like a friend she asked me if I had a mission
I said
Well a little see ‘cause rap is like a vessel
Got me speaking to the masses I’m a sent from heaven devil
So
Girl I know you trying to hit that upper level of your life
You can reach your child forever at night when you

Chorus

Angels & Demons prod by Emazin
Chorus
I got these angels on my shoulder
3X
But these demons keep on talking and they trying to win me over hey

Verse 1
I wake up with the voice in my head that says God’s watching
Studied scriptures and even skimmed thru Allah’s doctrine
Minutes later I’m thinking of killing haters and ways to bring in some paper so having faith is a hard option
My moms told me that praying will get me far in life
And anytime it gets hectic just give your heart to Christ
But I don’t know if the Lord can help my bars get tight
Or make the fans think I’m a star that’s nice I’m an artist writing
Real shit real feelings
Angels in my ear
Like do better be better, pick a new career
Maybe teacher, preacher, counselor, physicist, engineer
Someone doing things with meaning for people
But then I hear
These demons with the horns like rap, rhyme spit it
Do a song wit a dance, talk about the slutty bitches
Put half naked chicks in the video pour liquor
on they asses,
Throw some stacks at the camera and yell nigga nigga nigga
I’m ill I’m getting it, fuck school,
Sell drugs, get a buzz, rock some shiny fake jewels
But the angels come back screaming make smart cool
Put depth in your music, reach the youngest, dumbest fools
While you kill it over beats and they sleeping
You break the rules
And have ‘em thinking while they smoking and drinking and gripping tools.
And I choose the dark side, sorta like Trey and Doughboy in that car ride
And then I shout Dough let me out
Knowing that this is wrong
I’m conflicted in my life and in my songs y’all don’t hear me

Chorus

Verse 2
Got me thinking bank robbery Obama I need change
I envision car jacking this old man in the range
Angels – work hard at your craft and deal with the pain
Everyday ain’t always sunny you want to just make it rain
Demons- Sha look at how long you been in the game
Aint nobody trying to hear what you yapping, you sound lame,
You ain’t shooting, you ain’t selling
You ain’t balling, you the same
Dude rapping bout your raps in your raps then you complain
Damn
But the angels start to whisper
Wife up a queen then the demons tell me diss her
The soldiers with the wings say lift brothers and sisters
But the creatures with the tails say get money consistent
Angels say God’s son showed you the path
Demons say the savior was hated until he passed.
Sha you was born broke, parents called you accident
Jesus got gold and a holiday named after him
Angels want me Christian or catholic with wife and kids
Demons want me flipping bricks getting clapped or doing a bid
Angels
Forget the whores and the groupies, the music biz
Demons, thinking small you’ll never be Pac or Big stupid

Chorus

The Awakening prod by GZ Beats
I walked up in the office
It was Monday
Mundane, no one really talking,
I was typing, it was quiet, asked my boss
I mean my supervisor could I probably get this Friday off
‘Cause I got an obligation
They don’t know I spit and they don’t care my occupation
Is eating any shit that they keep stacking on my plate and it was killing my spirit, before I left I looked myself in the mirror like Wake up!

Kids growing up in my hood,
Survivor’s more than a game show
Teenagers drink and they smoke good
And rep gangs with the colors from the rainbow
My dumb ass tried to intervene
Saw my little man told him get his cream
You don’t got to go to war homie live a dream,
Even if you use the triple beam, cut the killing scenes
The youngin laughed so hard, pulled up his skinny jeans
Said you don’t know what cripping means
Or what Bloods do
I love your music
But the neutrals are lame
It’s not an option I can’t get out the game Wake up!

She called my phone with the sad voice
Said she bout to take a good sleep made a bad choice
My words that used to get her mad moist
Got her letting out tears I let her be near
But not near enough and I’m wondering is she bluffing
Maybe she wasn’t so I got to do something
I ran to her rest I saw the pills on the table
I said the afterlife is not gonna save you wake up!

We all equal
But I boldly discriminate
Each time we say pause that’s exhibit A.
Doesn’t mean I exhibit hate, short story
Out with shawty on a dinner date
She spotted this dude that used to penetrate
Her way back in college I said I don’t think that kid is straight
She said now he’s married to they classmate
So why’s he holding hands on a man date?
She ran over with the mad face
Called him a fag wit mad hate
He said I’m not gay,
The other cat rolled his eyes
And said no he’s happily married and just bi…bye
She yelled out why
Dude was looking shook, claimed it was a lie
I love my wife,
I creep on the side
So the fuck what?
The girl almost cried.
She said “I bet you tell her you in the studio
While you in another man’s booty hole
Then you go raw in her coochie yo
If you gon’ do it, don’t do it low”
I pulled her away, she said, “I’m not homophobic
But I think as a man, you should really know your choices
Can affect peoples live,”
He was tight, she was right
I said dog go confess to your wife wake up!

I used to hit the block
I ain’t even hit it, I tapped it
And not a lot
Just made enough for some Jordans and a watch
Small time runner delivering to the spot
A girl that always copped, came wit a coat and
It was June, is she stupid yo my dude snatched it open
Saw a stomach we was bugging like ma you must be joking,
Couple months pregnant and you smoking,
The next few words,
That I heard that were spoken
Had me up the next morning in college fucking enrolling,
The fiend said, “Y’all know I got a teenage daughter
She’s real pretty, y’all can have her if y’all want her,
This baby here I can’t afford to abort her,
So I’m hoping that the smoke will put the fetus in a coma.”
Then she said, “Look
Y’all don’t worry please,
About God cursing you for nursing me,
Blame that same God for birthing me
And letting that man molest me back in nursery.”
She said, “Can you imagine what it’s like
Wishing that your child would runaway every night,
Hoping each day is the end of all my strife
So I go to sleep praying to Christ that I don’t wake up!

Call On Me feat. Danny Sky High prod by J. Cardim

Verse 1
S to the T
I to the M
U to the L
I once again
Give you my words, speak with my pen
Healing the world, let me begin,
Since I was 10, told all my friends that I would win
I never been one to pretend I apologize if I offend
The same way you singing out hymns
Every time you singing about Him,
Asking can He give you forgiveness because you done sinned,
Or you need a miracle or somebody lyrical,
Why you looking at me all funny? Am I hysterical?
Am I too facetious? Saying that I’m Jesus nah this is me just appearing to be what people might need in case they was looking for someone to lead I know I be coming and switching my speed, but, that’s the hunger that’s the greed that’s the eagerness I’m bringing I can hear my phone ringing
I’m like Spider man to Mary Jane,
Superman to Lois Lane a fireman to kill the flames,
Preacher man that made a change

Chorus
Ladies throw your hands up gangsters throw your hands up
Everybody in the congregation throw your hands up
Get your books out let’s pray together
Everybody rise let’s say it together,
It goes Bs, Cs, hustlers, Gs
I’m the savior of the game you can call on me

Verse 2
I was wondering who to pray to
This Spanish mami told me Jesus
Hey who wait whom you talking bout the savior the same dude
Heard that I accept him I’m saved too
I guess that great news
But you gotta follow and stay true
Go to some church and pay dues
One day I went,
It was like magic something happened to me I had a break thru
It wasn’t the sermon, it wasn’t the message, it was the people,
Everybody had that vibe that we were happy and equal
Yea some folks was extra and I couldn’t believe em
And they was dwelling on good against evil
I understood though
Started thinking
That men women and children
Can change their hearts just by walking in a building
Preacher man spitting, his words were like a lesson
Choir made me shiver, some stranger gave me a blessing
I’m here pondering hell and is there heaven
And if I might be an atheist late wit my confession
I told you I believed on my last CD
But I been shaky for the last three weeks
These are the convos you have when you passing the trees
Or in the bed trying to catch you some Z’s
But you can’t…
The same way you sing about Him
Every time you singing out hymns
I want you to feel my music when its like you can’t win.
So I send songs and show you that I sinned
I lose my way, I cry, I stray, I get down, I get up, I have dreams, I pray
Thru text thru email, twitter direct message
And I never woulda made it if somebody didn’t get it
I ask who’s the boss with the power to hire
I applied for this position, there’s a power that’s higher
And I’m
So damn scared that the day that I die I’ll
Be sent to eternal fire
For pushing, cheating and lying
God help please
I was trying to pattern myself after the son
I’m not rapping for fun
Can you tell me?
Why I’ve been created
I know that I’m not your favorite
I’m like an angel
That’s jaded
I’m just saying I’ll pray if you make me immortal
Thru my lyrics or a little son or daughter that would call on me

Bridge
Don’t know where I’m going heaven or hell
I walk around free but my minds in a jail,
Going thru things and I know you can tell
If you feel like me I can help you can call on me

My Calling prod by Nicademus

I know you ask yourself a thousand times
Should you just keep dreaming are you out your mind? .
Its like if I get in the booth and doubt my rhymes
It’s like you giving up on your mission without you trying.
Sometimes you gotta leave your house to grind
Make different circles that connect just like that Audi sign
They ask me when will I run out of lines
That’s like questioning your father
Don’t get out of line
But I know what you mean
You peep your competition and some of em in they teens
Got you in the fitting room wiggling in your jeans
‘Cause you trying to fit in
That’s just too extreme
Had a homegirl that was a singer now she teaching
Got another friend that was a stripper now she preaching
My dude was a rapper but his lyrics had him reaching doing videos w hoes fake jewels flashing heat and
When I saw it and he asked my opinion, we was speaking I said,
You got some shit but I really was meaning feces,
He started second guessing what was coming out his mouth
Month later son called me up like what’s this all about?
They writing comments on his shit it made him want to switch his route
He said he bout to get a Luger beat and say he’s from the south
And I pretended that my signal dropped
Yesterday his single dropped
Wish they had a red light on youtube that signaled stop. .
But people keep going
And who am I to tell em that they not the illest flowing
I was over at the Wendy’s bout to cop a number ten
Cashier looked at me with a spooky, silly grin
Said he seen me on the blogs, yo what’s up your name is Stim right? Sha that’s You, yo I told you that was him
I was hype for a second but I kind of held it in
Son gave me a pound, then called over his friend
Like yo my man’s nice we get busy we go in,
We just working so we stack up this bread, we bout to win
I was thinking yea right
But looking like I’m real involved but mostly hoping that they speed up my order ’cause I was starving,
Then they handed me a CD with the name written in marker
And an insert wit misspelled words I said you charging
They said, free for me and the meal is on the house,
And they gave me extra barbecue sauce I walked out
Feeling weird, sort of happy that they seen I wasn’t balling
Now they know I’m down to earth and since I’m there I’m never falling
But my thought were steady drifting
‘Cause those kids believe their mission is to spit and feel like rapping is their one and only c

Every time I write about hip-hop or speak on it lately, I find myself drifting into a world of negativity. And I am not alone. Whenever my brethren and I get together we are reminiscing on the golden era or saying how much we don’t listen to the radio or don’t have any albums we’re looking forward to. Part of it is due to the fact that in those convos there are at least four out of ten people that wish they were on radio or MTV or whatever. The other interesting thing is that even if we were in a golden era right now, we wouldn’t recognize it.

But most of it is credited to an evolution of a genre that has grown up right before our eyes. It started out pure and different, it is one of the only art forms that can be used to address issues, inspire, express, tell stories and also humiliate. It became industrialized and calculated, but it is now making a desperate attempt to return to its roots as a voice of its followers. But is that possible? Is it too late? The answer is not simple, but first we must analyze the question. And that question is: How did it happen? How did hip-hop just become hip?
Of course we can identify the obvious: The lazy human that wants his/her information fast and easy. The Internet is the gift and curse that allows artists to reach more fans and simultaneously shatters the invisible shield protecting “talentless” individuals from becoming artists. We know that CDs are being replaced by mp3s and television visuals are being threatened everyday by those seen online. You’ve read blogs about that stuff before, and the evolution began way before the worldwide web.

Some say it started with the death of the DJ. No, not the radio DJ or the club DJ. I’m talking about the artist’s DJ. The DJ was a part of the bill. Eric B and Rakim, DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince, Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock.

When you knew a rapper, you knew his DJ. Kane had Mr. Cee, LL had Cut Creator, Guru had some dude named Premier, the list goes on and on. But somehow the DJ became less and less relevant as an attraction once labels got more involved, the marketing strategy switched and cuts on records weren’t as necessary.

There’s no exact moment when it occurred, but it was sometime in between the Nice & Smooth song, “Dwyck” catching people’s attention and Pete Rock lending his horniness to any and everyone that wanted the soul brother sound. The outcome…people wanted Gangstarr beats, or the ones CL Smooth was spitting on. And the fans did too.

The “producer” was stepping up, Howie Tee, Hurby Luv Bug, Dr. Dre, Erick Sermon, the Shocklee brothers were providing sounds for their artists and rappers wanted those sounds. In ‘91 an artist named Nas totally eclipsed the DJ as all the focus was on his Illmatic release that was being worked on and built up as a debut that would alter the game. He sought out Q-tip, Pete, Premo, Large Professor, L.E.S, and all of the producers were excited about him and his poetic style.

By the time Wu-tang came around, “the artist” was alone in the forefront, “the producer” trailing in second place and the DJ became the guy that could possibly come on the road but was easily interchangeable.

So you ask what that does to hip-hop.

DJs began to stand up. Becoming gatekeepers of songs that break, getting jobs at radio and distinguishing the difference between a disc jockey and a button pusher. Some of them followed behind Kid Capri, Ron G and Kay Slay and began putting out tapes with different artists music blended together. And some dude who called himself Clue decided he wouldn’t even blend, scratch or anything; he dedicated his tapes to premiering exclusive songs that he got from labels by any means necessary.

And just like that, some balance was restored. No DJs were in marketing meetings anymore but they were still a big part of the culture. It was a new era though. The fans didn’t care who was spinning for Biggie or Snoop or Jay-Z or Redman. They just wanted to see them in a cool video that was vastly different from the lives they themselves were living. Introduce us to Cristal and Moschino and yacht parties and superior Cali Chronic.

Then hip us to your deadly projects you were raised in and the cocaine-pushing life, and money machines and firearms. This was hip-hop; slightly fantastical yet seemingly attainable. We didn’t want to go to the slums of Shaolin, but we wanted to hear all about it.

Not until 50 Cent’s meteoric rise using the mixtape, did DJs become powerful again, but with technology also came fraudulence. And without blending, cutting or mixing being part of the criteria of a turntablist, fake DJs began popping up almost as much as emcees.

Making CDs in their home and coming up with cool covers and an echoed voiceover allowed them to charge up-and-coming rap guys to be featured so he too can be like 50. Whoever thought DJs wouldn’t need crates of records, or turntables, or skill? Not I.

Nor would I think that the monster called “The Industry” would exist. I don’t know the first time a rapper said the name of the producer of a track on the actual track, or the first time someone whispered their label on a song’s first five seconds, but it all became a part of the living breathing mechanism meant to industrialize hip-hop by alerting the audience to what and who was involved to make this music you hear.

I do remember being familiar with BDP, Def Jam and Cold Chillin’ and I knew they were subsidiary labels that were part of a bigger machine, but I never thought it would get to the point where Bad Boy, Roc-A-Fella and eventually Cash Money took it. Michael Jackson wasn’t saying Quincy Jones at the top of each joint on Thriller; you had to read the credits. But this wasn’t pop, this was rap, this was about bragging, being the best and it made sense.

Here we are in today’s world with an art that has been advanced and reduced in the same breath. As for the Scoob and Scraps, Hot Dogs and S1Ws of the world, we remember when you guys were a part of hip-hop too. It’s a testament to how the actual performance side of the game has diminished. But the sacrifice for the Kid-N-Play kickstep and the Bizmark has been a futuristic leap in lyricism. If you view hip-hop as a technology, which it is, that has advanced with some negative side effects you may understand the vast difference from 30 years ago. And to simplify the advancement think about how important a beat is to a record receiving airplay, spins in the club, topping the charts and generating money. And think of when the genre began and the music behind lyrics was often not a beat at all…it was a beatbox…with someone’s mouth.

Let me know how you feel about the genre.

Don’t forget to support my first book here!

1.Merry Christmas
When is anyone ever really merry? Unless you’re a leprechaun, or a Smurf, or a gnome, or an elf, or one of the Merrymen, I can’t see it. Merry includes sing-talking, jovial dancing, and spreading cheer to others so they feel better or worse about the life they’re living.

Chances are they’re going to feel worse. When I think of anyone being merry, I envision tights, footsies, ukuleles, rainbows, orange moons, green clovers…you get the idea.

Not even slaphappy toddlers fit the description. How did this word become the sole adjective responsible for well wishes on December 25th? No one ever says, “Have a delightful Christmas,” or “Hope you had a swell Christmas.” I’m just saying, I don’t want to be merry.

2.Carol Lyrics
What the hell is a one-horse open sleigh anyway?

I’ve never seen a two or three-horse open sleigh, nor have I seen a closed one. How do I know what fun it is? Who’s standing by this testimony? “Jingle Bells” sounds like a big lie to me.

Not only does dashing through the snow on one of those things sound dangerous, but I doubt I would be laughing all the way. And if I did, whose laughter sounds like “ha ha ha ha” anyway? Not mine.

And you know what else I’ve never done…decked a hall. I’ve never had halls to deck. I’ve had hallways. And we didn’t deck those. Deck is short for decorate I’m assuming.

I never knew what boughs of holly were as a child. I still don’t know what a bough is and it sounds like I wouldn’t want holly in my hallway or my halls.

Either way, ‘tis the season to be jolly. Jolly and merry are pretty much the same to me but I do think jolly isn’t meant to describe poor, deprived people. The rest of the words in that song have something about gay in them. I do dig “Joy To The World” although someone jacked up the possessive pronouns with “preparing him room” and all that.
It happens.

3.Giving > Receiving
It’s better to give than receive? Is it? Sure you feel great inside for a brief moment, and maybe it’s cool to light up someone’s life with a gift that they love…but what if they hate it? What if they say, “This is…niiiice, thank you so much.” All while they give you a fake smile. And what if you’re not even there when they open it? So you get an email thank you.

“Oh I loved the scarf you got me.”

Did you? Love? A scarf? No you didn’t. You appreciated the gesture. I’m broke, you’re broke, so the fact that I got your kids something was really enough but hey some of us try and go the extra mile and brighten someone’s Christmas morning.

Most of the time we fail. Your life partner was expecting something that says, “I will always love you” but you got something that says, “This is what my love can afford.” Or maybe you told them the day after Xmas is when the sales go down and they got something hot coming by the 27^th the latest. Most likely life won’t play out like those sappy Lexus commercials where a car is the Christmas gift. Really? I didn’t even know Lexus had a jingle.

It’s all about the kids anyway. In that case, it is better to give because presents from kids suck unless they’re really from a parent who writes the kid’s name on it. I used to hate that, I was three years old and totally upset that I would get included on a gift for some old person that I had nothing to do with. But I got over it eventually and started shelling out cash for my own Christmas contributions.

And I found out counting toys so I could go back to school bragging about how much my parents loved me was way cooler than telling people I spent my allowance on some cologne for my dad and some decorative piece for the house that was meant to be a present for my mother.

I was a much better receiver than quarterback, pause.

4.Merry Xmas
How did Christmas turn into Xmas? I don’t know. I think it was a joke that was started by the folks that tried to out Jesus on the cross. He came back in a few days, and years later dude got a holiday and a religion named after him. Someone said “well let’s abbreviate this long ass day with a C.”

“No, no, an X is better because it’s two crosses like he died on.”
“Oh word. That does mean something.”
Voila. There you have it. Xmas was born. And some people get really pissed off when you write it. If I were a big Christ aficionado, I would denounce the term too.
We never call him Jesus X. Unless I missed something. I kind of like Jesus X though. Sounds rebellious.

5.The Santa Lie
If you grew up in apartments with no chimney, you stopped believing in Santa very early. I was one of those kids. The holiday was ruined because some of my presents still had the guy’s name on it. It just didn’t add up to me. My mother made up some story about him taking the elevator or coming through the window to pacify me. But I think it would have been better to just tell me Claus didn’t come to certain neighborhoods.

6.Rudolph’s Dying

7.The Grinch Factor

I kind of feel sympathetic when it comes to The Grinch’s story. He was just a man-looking, money-colored creature with a mission to prove that presents and toys didn’t define the sacred holiday. It’s not like Grinchy took the gifts and sold them for drug money. He didn’t even open them up. He just wanted to steal the joy from Whoville. And in essence, he proved that Christmas was about love and a bunch of other crap. Man I empathize with that dude.

No one saw that he was the outcast in a group of little people that looked like each other and all he had was his dog. There were no Grinch girls around for him to spend time with and his moves were sort of similar to a dictator. Or maybe it was like a poor people revolution where they rob all the rich folks, or it was kind of like an Occupy Whoville movement.

Critics argue that the book criticizes the commercialization of Christmas and satirizes those who profit from exploiting the holiday. I got that from Wikipedia but who needs some smart criticism? All hail the great Grinch for his efforts to even the score.
8.Apple Revolution

iBooks, iPhones, iPads. There is a secret plot to get humans to kill each other for the sake of self-preservation. But the plan will not be revealed until iFood and iPeople are created. Steve Jobs’ soul will not rest. Don’t be a part of the revolution ladies and gents. Fight the i.

9.Secret Santa Sucks

Prove me wrong if you dare. But you know what it’s like to get something for someone you don’t dig. Or receive something from someone that doesn’t dig you. Then there’s spending limits so you have to be thoughtful. And other times there’s no limit so someone goes overboard and cops an Xbox when all you bought was a Bath & Body basket. It’s the thought that counts right? I’ve never paid for anything with thoughts.

10.Jesus Was Black

Or maybe he wasn’t. Personally I don’t care, but those pesky African-Americans want him down with their team. Who cares what color he was?

“Oh it says in the bible, his skin was bronze and his hair was wooly.” He was Rasta, I get it. Y’all own the man.

All this says to me is that people want to claim Jesus. My whole life I’ve been viewing him as a Kenny Loggins/Michael McDonald type guy. And I was comfy with that. Then all of a sudden I get the news that Christ is mixed with Blackness and the original man is one of color and I got all confused. And now here I am trying to make sense of it all. But then again I’m not.

A Black Jesus doesn’t change anything. But it does make me wonder about the whole effect that holidays have on the economy and how churches get big money around this time of year. Don’t be a part of it. Become cynical, put coal in stockings, join the naughty list, Santa is close to Satan if you have dyslexia.

Fine don’t listen to me, get presents, sing carols, spread cheer, be with family, eat food, do what you want. Merry Xmas!

Oh yea…Buy My Book!
Click here! It Will Be Your Best Friend

The first official leak off of The Calling. It’s been 20 years since 2Pac’s first single “Brenda’s Got A Baby” was released. Sha Stimuli offers an ode to Brenda’s offspring which sheds on light on the current state of the world.

Take a listen, download and share below.

Download

Produced by: Louis G.

The Calling hits iTunes and Amazon.com on January 12, 2012 via Coast 2 Coast Mixtapes.

People ask me why did I decide to write a book, and I tell them I didn’t make the decision consciously. When I was a kid and I watched Saturday Night Live and Jack Handey’s Deep Thoughts flashed on the screen, I thought they were the funniest things ever.

Thoughts like these:

“I’ll never forget the time my friend Stew went skydiving. Boy, what a mistake that was! First of all, his parachute didn’t open. Second, we didn’t have the right address, so before we got there we got lost and went driving all around for almost an hour. And third, when we finally did get there, Stew tried to back out and we had to talk him into going.

“The crows seemed to be calling his name, thought Caw”

“The other day I got out my can-opener and was opening a can of worms when I thought, What am I doing?!” 


See, if you smiled a little bit, that’s what used to happen to me. I would even laugh out loud and forget what the hell I was pissed about some days. Of course I would look around and I’d be at some odd job, or living in my childhood bedroom, or I was trying to devise a plan to pay my phone bill, and then I’d instantly remember why I was sad about my life. But for a brief moment when I read something funny online from Jack Handey I was good.

I wanted to do the same thing for other people, but I was never good at being a comedic rapper. I mean I have some funny songs, a few tracks that make you move, but for the most part I enjoy doing records that are enlightening without preaching, and the words make you feel something other than humor. So the day I received Jerry Seinfeld’s Seinlanguage comedy book, just like when Hov saw the dude in his hood rapping in front of everyone, I thought “I could do that.”

I had already been jotting down random thoughts that I figured I could give to a comedian friend of mine but they never really sounded funny out loud. So with all that said, when I began writing blogs for hiphopgame.com and hiphopdx.com, I was sick of blogs that just name-dropped and promoted whatever the hell I had going on. I wanted to touch on something else that was insightful, slightly comical but would still be accepted by a hip-hop audience; so the topic “Is It Me?” was born.

What I didn’t realize about the Internet back then was the power of direct feedback, and how it can make one feel as low as dirt or on top of the world. I stopped reading comments on my music because I can’t take it if something coming from my heart gets stomped on, but when people said they almost laughed at my writing it pushed me to continue.

So long story short, I put a bunch of rants about nothing together and I started reaching out to publishing companies. But I realized with maybe 2,000 fans or people that know me; I would need to reach more than just a music audience with a book. And since I know everybody poops, the marketing genius that I am came up with the idea to do a bathroom book.

I’m not really a genius and every company turned me down. I came up with mondayramble.com to target folks at work that needed a few minutes of distraction that might spark a thought, or even produce a giggle. A lot of these rambles come from the book and of course I began writing new ones since I wanted fresh topics that captured the present time.

Now I’m almost 60 blogs in, Red Head Publishing gave me a shot and The Toilette Papers: The #1 Number 2 Book is here. I know the grind in this business is slow, and I’m not expecting to be a best-seller over night. But I am excited to have people supporting and hopefully enjoying my sporadic excerpts.

So with this short story about having an idea that was just in my head, and over a few years turned into something tangible…and then was met with adversity that was overcome by reaching out to people…I hope to inspire you a little bit. I hope to inspire myself actually because I can’t seem to enjoy any accomplishment or believe in myself the next time around. We moved almost half of the 100 copies made available over the weekend so I have to be thankful for all of you out there. And I also thank Jack Handey and Jerry Seinfeld. Check out the promo.

Buy My Book Here

The Toilette Papers: The #1 Number 2 Book

Author: Sha Stimuli

Pre-Order Now

Retail Price: $11.99 (plus SH & Tax)

***ATTENTION: We can NOT ship an order to an unconfirmed address if you do not RESPOND to the email we send out every time we receive an order with an address not confirmed by PayPal. PLEASE make sure you check your email after ordering. ***

Pre-Orders Ship December 20, 2011

About The Book               Sell Sheet

Cover artwork by: Bendix

Monday Ramble #56 “The Numbers Game” (My Book Is Here!!!)

For those of you that don’t know, The Brother Victorious, our co-host Jasmine and I have a Blogtalk radio show that we broadcast every Tuesday evening at 8pm called The Emotion Picture. I am dropping a new CD entitled The Calling with coast2coastmixtapes.com hopefully on January 12^th of 2012.

On December 10^th of this year, I am pre-releasing my book full of these rambles and 100 copies will be available.

Why am I telling you this? So you can tune in, buy, listen, support or whatever it is that will cause the numbers to go up. Why do we want numbers to go up? Why does anyone want numbers to go up? So people can see the numbers, think you’re doing it big, follow you on Twitter, talk about you, make you halfway famous and somehow, someway, one day the numbers in your bank account can magically go up.

The only numbers we want really low are bills. When you open up a bill you always hope that it’s zero. Like maybe the bill people messed something up, or the phone company forgot about you, the landlord or mortgage company didn’t count November for some reason, or possibly you didn’t use enough electricity so they gave you a month on the house. That never happens though. Instead, those numbers represent what you owe.

And your bank account represents how much you have. I try to have multiple accounts just so when I see a low number I think to myself, “This isn’t the final count of my worth. Somewhere there’s more.”

That doesn’t work though. Numbers rule my life. I’m a slave to digits, to counting, to an eternal abacus that keeps going and going. I walk around with measuring sticks calculating how much things cost, how many hours I have left, the price of gas, how many times a week am I going to wear these pants…It never stops.

The first time I learned how to count to ten, I was like seven months old. And my family was pretty impressed. Then I did it backwards, then in Spanish, then I went to Rome and learned their numeric system, then I skipped a grade. Life moved fast back then. But if someone would have told me that the number game would never end, I would have chilled out right then and there.

People ask if you know how to count, how old you are, what grade you’re in. It was so stressful that by the time I was two, I was already paranoid about my receding hairline and my lack of allowance.
But now here I am, 380-something months later, and all I do is wake up looking at numbers. The time on the clock, the weight on the scale, the digits on the microwave, the elevator floors, pin numbers. Help me. We all want to be number one but we’re sad if we have go out and request a table for one.

What did we do before Soundscan sales, video views, downloads and page visits? How did we know if something was good? I think we trusted our opinions. Recently I asked someone about some rap guy, and I wanted to know if he was good. The person answered, “I think he’s hot, he has 2 million views on Youtube.”
“Oh” I said. And I meant that “Oh.” Like I was convinced. What the hell was I thinking? I know what I was thinking; Hov said men lie, women lie, numbers don’t.
And now that’s like some holy doctrine repeated by rappers everywhere.

Do I think numbers have lied before? Yes. And I’m not personifying them like Sesame Street does…

I’m saying people pay to make it look like they’re more famous than they are, and I’m saying that 2 million followers can still result in 13,000 albums sold. Ask Soulja Boy.

All I’m saying is you can’t really trust a numeric representative all the time to tell you where talent lies. But at the same time, those reps justify you nowadays.
The resumé is being replaced by page visits.
How can one call his/herself a good blogger/rapper/business person with only a small amount of site hits?

Math is one of those subjects I didn’t dig once I got to high school because the answer to a math problem was so final.

I realized I needed room for error. There are no short essays on math tests, and no chance for me to make an instructor believe I might have read the chapter, or I might remember the cause of some war or something. With math, it’s just one answer. Sure there may be a fraction or mixed numeral equivalent, but most times it is what it is.
Sometimes they can be cold and brutal. A number you don’t like just stares at you. Scales do it all the time. Online bills can be evil. The page loads when you pull it up, and the number is bold or in red, and it looks like it’s flashing and snickering at you, and you have no idea how that number got so high.
And it’s not going to go anywhere until you do something.

There was a time when numbers were friendly. When the answer to “How old are you?” could be displayed on one hand…back when home phone numbers mattered…a time when an argument outside about sports was based on knowledge of the players, and not just a phone-searching-stat-checking debate.

It was an era when someone gave you a time to pick you up or meet you, you respected it because they couldn’t call you to tell you they were there after they left home. Numbers meant something way back then. Now they mean everything and nothing.

It really makes me think that sometimes I should focus on cheating instead of winning. Don’t you sometimes wonder how videos on a site like worldstarhiphop.com have so many views? What if I was to cut out the middleman and instead of waiting on comments, I put my own. Instead of trying to get organic views I learn how to jook the stats like they say in The Wire.

Fix the books, make it seem like my numbers are up so people will see my numbers up, then check me out. It sounds backwards. I know it’s been done, and this isn’t a unique idea, but I wanted you to think about it. A broken scale that reads the number you want to see doesn’t really change anything does it?
If I buy 50 copies of my own book, does that make me foolish, a failure or a smart guy that knows people need to know something sold out to think that it’s good?

So with that all said, on December 10^th, 2011 I will be making The Toilette Papers: The #1 Number 2 Bookavailable. Well the first 100 copies will be available, and if you read any of these rambles at any time I would appreciate your support so that I can really get some promo for the release at the top of next year. I don’t want numbers to govern my life but I am aware of the fact that I need them just like we all do.

So when you’re doing number two in the bathroom, this book can be the number one choice to join you in there. And if you don’t read in the bathroom, just put it in there anyway, it will make your trip smoother with my animated face staring at you.