i'm most def going to read this shyt at work tomorrow morning. And I might contribute some stories of my own I was on the national team for a country i shall not name for my protection.
I would tell my nikka that no matter what you do and no matter where you go, the ugliness of the world always finds you. That the contradictions within the human heart that make so many people do vile things don't make me lose faith, it sustains my faith in the complexity of the human condition. I would remind him that there are places where the trains come on time, and women who genuinely love their husbands, and sex that doesn't serve as punishment, degradation, racist fetishism. And I would ask him: was that ass fat, and were them titties big? Because I never did ask him that.
As well as the dude who tried to put me on to the Oyster Bar at Grand Central - which I eventually hit up. 
ah, man I am dying over here. there is something especially demonic/eerie about cmw.music to driveby is a classic though. *raises glass of bulleit*
I remember freshman year of college putting my white roommate who dressed liked Indian Jones and played clarinet in the school orchestra onto CMW.
Yo, I just flashed back to the first time I heard Eiht's We Come Strapped, which was in my homie Rome's truck. I'll never forget the sheer funkiness of Eiht screaming at the women doing his chorus "bytches, sing!" Then they come in like "don't fukk wit Eitht, ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh ooooohooo"
Ayo, da way you wrote dese stories mah nikka. Da imagery.. 
