Life Is Flimsy

Too much pressure. That's my problem: I can't-- I can't handle pressure. Sometimes pressure makes me talk different. I'm serious. Have you ever had that social pressure... have you ever talk to someone who's fake and they make you fake? Like, that guy would be like:
"Hey, how ya doin'?"
And you're like:
"Fine, how are you?"
And you're like... I don't even talk like that.

I get sick of that shit. I do it and it just makes me sick. Sometimes I'll talk crazy just to make myself feel better. Do y'all do that? You start talking like crazy.
You ever hear this voice? "MAH."
That's how bad guys used to talk in the 40's, in the old days. See, I used-- I talk like that. Not all the time, but if somebody put the pressure on me, fuck it. I gotta... I gotta cut loose. When the police pull me over I'll talk like crazy.
"Son? Son. Do you know *why* we pulled you over?"
"Nyah. Cause I'm Black, see! That's right. MAAAH!"
I do it.

It's not illegal to talk like that. How do they know I don't talk like that every day?
"Stop talking like that."
"Stop talking like what, copper? Mah.
That's how I talk, see."

You gotta make life interesting like that cause the shit is flimsy. Life is flimsy. You-- you think you're gonna live, but ain't nobody gon' live forever. It's dangerous out here. We know what's going on.
I travel now, you know. I used to think that D.C. had the roughest ghettos in the country. Nah, nigga. Mm-mmm. I have seen some shit now. Oh, there's some rough, rough areas outside of D.C.

Yeah, everybody should go to the ghetto. I was taken to the ghetto one time. That's the worst: when you get taken and you're not expecting to go. You know, usually you wanna know when you're going to the ghetto, like, "I'm gonna see some wild shit. I gotta prepare myself. I'm gonna see somethin' crazy." When you're taken, it's different.

I had a limousine driver-- it was after a show, it was late at night, it was like 3:00 in the morning. I had a limousine driver, he was a nice guy, talking to me and shit.
"Oh, hey, where you from, dawg?
D.C.? Word?
That's a rough city, mang."
Then his cell phone started ringing.
"Hold on one second.
Hello?
Oh, what's up, nigga?
What? What the fuck?
Slow down. what?
What the FUCK?!
No!
No!
Noooo!
Fuck that!
Nigga, FUCK THAT!
I'm on my way!
Hey. I gotta make a *stop* real quick."

At 3:00 in the morning-- I didn't know he was taking me to the ghetto at first. I started looking out the window, I was like, "What the fuck? There was a gun store, gun store, liquor store, gun store. "Where the fuck you takin' me?!
This don't look good."

He didn't say shit. He just pulled up in front of an old, rickety building that looked like a project. Now, I never been there before, I'm not sure if it was a project, but it certainly had all the familiar symptoms of a project. A fucking crackhead ran this way. And then another one jumped out a tree and shit. The driver said, "I'll be right back," and left me. Took the keys with him, he just left me. At 3:00 in the morning, in front of a project, in a fucking limousine.

This was not good. I was like, "Man, I gotta look around and see if I can see some landmarks and figure out where I'm at. I have to escape on foot.

Now this is when I knew I was in a bad neighborhood-- you only see this in the worst neighborhoods. Remember, it's 3:00 in the morning. It's 3:00 in the morning. I look out the window...
There was a fucking baby standing on a corner. For real.
And the baby--the baby didn't even look scared. It was just standing there.

I mean, it made me sad. It made me sad, really, cause--. You know what I mean? Cause I wanted to help the baby. I was like, "Mm-mmm, I don't trust you either. I'm sorry."
(Click. Cllllick!)
The old baby on the corner trick, eh?
Not gonna fall for that shit.

So where's this limousine driver? You know, I start feeling bad. As time goes by, I start feeling worse. Like, "Man, what is wrong with me? What the hell is wrong-- I am scared of a baby. You know, this baby could be in trouble. He might need my help. I gotta do something.
But I wasn't gonna get out the car.
I'm serious, man. I just cracked the window a little bit.
It was an old limousine. I could roll it down and shit.
"Hey, baby! Baby, go home, man. It's 3:00 in the morning. What the FUCK are you doing up?!

The baby said, "I'm selling weed, nigga!" I said, "Ohhh shit."
I wasn't expecting that.
I'm serious. I had to buy two bags from him to calm my nerves.
"Let me get two. Let me get two times."

Got back in the car and rolled me a joint. That shit was scary, man. Every once in a while, like, a crackhead would come up to the car, and look in the window. It was like Jurassic Park and shit. He'd be looking around the car--
"All right. Get outta here, cracky."

That baby was still standing there, man. I was like, "What the--"
Then I started feeling bad again. You know how weed make you feel guilty sometimes. You be like--
"Man, what is wrong with me, man? I have just bought weed from an *infant*.
I can't condone this kind of behavior. What am I thinking? I can't let the fear ruin my morals.
Gotta do something."
(Rolls down window)
"Hey baby.
Stop selling weed. You got your whole life ahead of you."
He said, "FUCK you, nigga! I got kids to feed."
I was like, "God... DAMN."
Sad.

Now just at that very moment, one of the crackheads was running across the street and got hit by a car. Now I know it was a hit-and-run: the police did it.
That's all right. They sprinkled some crack on him and he got back up.

? that kind of shit, man? It's-- what it is-- they use the TV to program us, from a young age. You ever watch, like, a cartoon that you used to watch when you were little as an adult? That shit is-- is wild shit..
Some wild shit. I mean, I was with my nephew. We're sitting there, we're watching Pepé Le Pew. And I say to my nephew, I said, "Now pay attention to this guy, cause he's funny.
I used to watch him when *I* was little."
And we're watching Pepé Le Pew and I'm old now. And I'm like--
"Good God-- what kind of fucking rapist is this guy? Like take it easy, Pepé."
My nephew was sitting there cracking up: "Hehehe.
See? Sometimes you gotta *take* the pussy like Pepé."
You're like "No! Nooo!
Nooo!"

I had to turn the channel real quick. I turn on Sesame Street and I say (phew) "Sesame Street. This is much better cause now he'll learn how to count and spell."
But now I'm watching it as an adult and I realize Sesame Street teaches kids other things: it teaches kids how to judge people and label people. That's right.
They got a character on there named Oscar... and treat this guy like shit the entire show. They judge him right in his face.
"Oscar, you are so mean. Isn't he, kids?"
"Yeah, Oscar. You're a *grouch*."
He's like, "BITCH, I live in a FUCKING trash can!
I'm the poorest motherfucker on Sesame Street!
Nobody's helping me."
Then you wonder why the kids roll up and step over homeless people.
"Get it together, Grouch.
Get a job, Grouch."

So don't even tell me how to get to Sesame Street. It's a terrible place. I wouldn't go there if I knew the way. Who would wanna live in a neighborhood like that? Fucking six-foot pigeons walking around and... and elephant that's a junkie.
"HI, BIRD."
Yeah, that's right. Snuffy!
"HI, BIRD. I'm sick.
I need some smack, BIRD."

The Cookie Monster with his eyes popping out of his head, screaming:
"Cookie cookie cookie!"
You're like, "Ergh!
What kind of cookies are *you* talking about?
Chocolate chips don't do that to people."

And they had the nerve to put a pimp on there. They didn't come out and say he was a pimp, but I know a pimp when I see one. They-- they called him The Count.
Had a cape and everything.
You'd have seen him pimping.
"Bitch, where is my money?
You've been late four times. I've been counting.
How many times must I smack you before you act right?
(smack) One! (smack) Two!
TWO SMACKS! Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah, ah, ahhhh..."