Can't Kick the Chronic

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Every week I will be throwing back to a “that time” story. They will nine times out of ten be a mixture of absurdity and embarrassment. So here goes… Remember that time I wrote a rap?

Let's just dive straight into the insane world that is my brain shall we? I wrote this chronic illness rap, when all true rappers write their best shit...at 3am. In bed. Unable to move due to recovery from my latest surgery and ironically, dead sober. Took an unsexy turn there didn’t it? I spent the next hour furiously on my I-Pad typing notes to myself so I wouldn’t forget it (although I really wish I would have.) There was even a note to myself saying *compose chorus on piano. I mean…

I'm sorry did I mention I had been stuck alone in my 1 bedroom apartment unable to walk for the past five months? Yea context may help me plead my case of not being a total weirdo. Or not. Ok, ok, I'm procrastinating. Without further ado I present a sampling of my mad skillz. And three, two...

 

mm yea. mm yea. (picture sick beatbox, got it yet? mmm feels good)

Verse One:

Jacked up off that chronic, if you don’t fix me up I’m talking plagues-Bubonic.             Got it in my veins and I’m going insane.                                                                 So damn ill can I have another pill?                                                                        I'll be your patient but my patience runs kind of thin, like my skin.                     Losing sleep and piece of mind, someone get this girl an Ambien.

I've been up a creek, no paddle. Put to pasture moo, cattle.                                  But I keep climbing up that hill, like Humpty Dumpty took a spill.                        Don't know about all these kings’ horses and men but docs put me back together again.

Uh what up doc? Like bugs bunny I've tried to be funny.                                       But to end lets take a serious turn. The world has got a lot to learn.                        It's not outrageous we're not contagious EB won't spread, that's what I said.      Spread love not fear because we're people and we hear, and we see, and we feel.    We all bleed when we are cut, real deal.

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I’ll spare you the rest of my insomniac delusions. But Wiz Khalifa if you read this, you know where to find me.

See you all on Friday and I promise I won’t be rapping…

(drops mic)