God gave music the power to carry his light into the darkness. That’s a mighty privilege. It means intentionally telling stories and writing songs that bear truth that outlasts the songs themselves. If I did this in hopes of thunderous applause and piles of cash, I would have quit years ago. But there are moments on the stage when I sense something magical, a connection with the band and the audience, when our stories intersect and suddenly we’re wading in an ancient river. Suddenly the song is secondary to the greater story being told through each of us.
We still wading in the water. . . Cocaine, blunts, marinating in the water. Lean and took a puff, and then she gave it to my father, Used to take the bullets out so I could play with the revolver. Satan serenading ever since I was a toddler, Tell 'em talk is cheap. . . niggas living for the dollar.