OLD TIMES

“Little Hip Hop” by Frank Morrison

For the sake of holding on to my dreams. I’m reminiscing like Mary, Pete Rock, and C.L. smoothing out wrinkles of good memories. Giving myself more time to be held in hearts of ones I love.

Bad ones I wish I would’ve followed my instincts to get away from. I’m sorry was the shit I never said enough. Now that taste won’t let me get it off my tongue.

When you see me shake my head, I’m regretting never killing that evil side before it breathed negativity. Now I think of wishes as a moment of silence at a birthday party-trying to hold on to happy endings.

Young nostalgia. Young greatness. When Black meant family, cookouts, music, dancing, that relative getting a little too tipsy and running of at the lip. Back flipping on mattresses before flipping left bodies inactive. Before playing with rocks went from seeing how far we could skip to the other side of the water change to watching how far fiends got before they sunk and refused to go any further.

I miss my Brothers and Sisters, they were my Blood cousins and friends. I grew up with Love so thick we couldn’t be separated by housing differences. We crossed towns, hoods and streets to enter and leave blues. Never knew the importance of Bro I love you, until we grew up and had kids of our own. Learned late that’s how men save each other, lives and homes.

Learning finances at 40 showed me I went to the hardest school of psychology. Banking on risking our lives. Connecting riches and respect to the most hustlers with the most chicks.

I tell my kids, to avoid what their recent ancestors did. My OG told me he regretted chasing money. Once he lost them, he realized his riches and wealth were tied to his family.

To all the Father’s wondering “HOW THE FUCK DO I DO THIS!”

My advice is Just Don’t Pull Out.