Pictures of the Day: Photo Series on the Kissimee Region & the Prairie Lakes of the South Central Floridian Peninsula

I spent the day driving around the great orange grove that is south central Florida between Tampa Bay and Cape Canaveral. Kissimmee and the Prairie Lakes are directly above Okeechobee Lake, which is that great round lake in Southern Florida west of Miami that merges south and westward into the Everglades that embrace the entire southern fourth of the state west of Dade County.

Tomorrow afternoon I'm going to drive down to the lake, then east to the Atlantic, then south down the coast toward Miami.

This is a watertower in an orange grove in Frostproof, Florida.

Frostproof: a charming poetical incantatory name for a citrus growing town, I thought.

Charismatic megafauna sighting: tropical jungle deer along road at Lake Kissimmee State Park.

Florida black buzzards at roadside dinner in orange grove. Not the same deer as above..

I took a cool video of them chowing down, but it's maybe a bit too visceral for public consumption? Eh? I'll post it if anyone dares me.

Driving in the "hammock" forest at Highlands Hammock State Park.

One of many pleasures particular to Florida: Swimming with Alligators. I'm still enough of a neophyte here to find signs like this novel and funny.

At first I thought they were limes, but I guess they're immature oranges. Also, my camera lens is cloudy. I've just cleaned it, we'll see if that helps, tommorrow..

Cargill has a huge juice plant in Frostproof. Their moniker's emblazoned on that watertower.

This banner was on the fence by the Cargill plant entrance.

A second sign by the Cargill gate, this one lampooning former governor Charlie Crist (who ran for the Senate as an independent against the ultimately victorious Republican tea party candidate Marco Rubio this last election cycle, so the banner's a little dated) for being polite to the President.

I guess that all pretty much clears up where Cargill's management stands on Mr. Obama.

This is the sign in front of the Masonic lodge in Sebring, Florida where I'm sleeping tonight. You can do the occult symbolism and numerology on that inverted pentagram and pentagon yourselves.

The more I look at Masons, the creepier they seem, and less I like them.

And lastly, an ugly statue of Our Lady of Lourdes in front of St. Catherine's, the parish where I'll be going to mass tomorrow. They have a 12 noon Spanish celebration, and I think that's just my ticket..



---

A Nomad Song

lyrics:

I thought I was moving but my legs were broken,
Words were coming out but they were left unspoken..
Maybe I was dreaming in my head, in my head.

Memories were noted but I hadn't lived them,
Swords were on my heart but I had long forgived them..
Funny how the hurtful voices seem to slip away.

Chorus:

Where am I now?
I don't know how
I wound up in this place again.
How am I now?
Just bringing me down.
I'm looking for a house where the door is open,
My body's moving fast but my spirit's broken..
Where am I now?

Oh, anytime you break and turn the cycles change.
Water starts pouring down your face again,
You find yourself falling in the safety net you used to call home.

When you focus all your little thoughts and troubles
To the place of clear and cloudy clouds that rumble,
Standing in a field of open avenues with no place to go..

Chorus

Ah, my lips are set and parted but my head is empty,
I try to spit it out but it won't exempt me
From feeling like it's out in the open said and done.

Telling's just talking that turns into speeches,
Doesn't aid the body with the hand that reaches..
Stumble in the void to find there's no one there.

Chorus



---

Picture of the Day: Aardvarks at Play

These two guys were playing tag in the middle of the road when I did the rounds at Hillsborough River State Park this afternoon. I say they look like Aardvarks. But they could be Capybaras, Voles, Coypuses, Feral Pigs, Opossums, or Armadillos? Or some other exotic critter..? I dunno.

They sat there for a good minute rolling around in the road, which gave me just enough time to grab my camera and snap this crappy shot. In my defense, there was a car behind me, and it seemed that I had no other option than to take the shot through my windshield, which explains the cloudiness of the image.

I obviously need to learn how to use the damn thing, and take a good picture here..

To that end, I hereby vow to post an image a day of mes voyages, with the aim of actually producing images worth looking at..



---

Discursive Beginnings: My Great American Road Trip..

These coming few months I am going to follow John Steinbeck, Herman Melville, Chris McCandless, Bringham Young, Lewis & Clark, Johnny Apple Seed, David Bowie, John Ross, the Lilies of the Field's Homer Smith and all the rest. This blog will serve as a waylog, a testament to my journey across this great continent. This was one of the things I was debating whether to write out. I've decided I'm not only going to write it out, I'll film some of it too.

One of the things that I've been failing to do is document my travel well. That's going to change, and I'm going to share the proof of it here.


The first of the month my lease in Vermont ended. I packed all my stuff I had in that apartment into my car and drove south. The first week of June I spent with my brother Rich and sister JD on Long Island, playing checkers (her very first game no less) with Izzy and celebrating Sam's third birthday. When I got to Florida, I stuffed almost all my stuff back into the 11' by 11' garage sized rented storage space that I've kept most of my possessions during these last four or five years of nomadism, and then spent a few days visiting with my parents last week.

Then, I hit the open road. Just me and Emma. When I bought her, I made sure to take a tape measure to the rear with the backseats down. She's a very svelte station wagon, dubbed a "sportwagen" by VW, and has 67 cubic feet of storage space back there. With the shotgun seat all the way forward there's well over six and half feet of room for me (at 6' 2") to stretch all the way out and sleep in.

Which I do every night. Crack all the very tinted windows an inch or so, open the panoramic sunroof all the way and close its screen all the way forward (usually there's no rain expected, I check the forecast before bed) and open the back hatch, leaving it slightly open, resting on my rubber imitation croc sandals. I have a rechargeable battery powered fan with two batteries that I charge off my car's circuit (cigarette lighter y-jacks on the car's two cigarette lighter outlets power my GPS and let me recharge all my phone and other batteries simultaneously).. I can also recharge my laptop and run any other appliance because there's a normal 120 V 60 Hz household plug on the back of the center front seat arm rest..

I find far dark corners in Walmart parking lots or along a dead-end road in a state forest or other such cozy places where the cops and other annoying types will leave me alone for eight hours, to get some rest.

I've been sleeping in my shorts with two pillows atop my sleeping bag, inflatable pad and two warm throw blankets. Gallon of water and back scratcher close at hand, fan suspended from the roof handle by the door, blowing air at my head all night long. Battery lasts until just after dawn, which acts as a nice wake up mechanism. Fan cuts out and I start to sweat, a nice sauna effect that tells me it's time to get up.

I get online at least once a day at McDonald's or Starbuck's. Can I say once again for the record how much I love the remodeled Micky D's by the way? I hit them for a grilled chicken Asian salad and wild berry or pineapple mango smoothie for dinner, or a bacon egg and cheese bagel and large sugar free iced coffee for breakfast every day. Even Starbuck's is getting better, in that they don't seem to be over- roasting their beans to the point of mildly unpleasant bitterness anymore.. Huge props to both chains for the free WiFi, anyway.


This is how I've been living this last week. I was initially uncertain if I was going to take to the road for long, but it has been bliss. Every day's been another release, another small revelation. This, without much effort: I've merely been mucking about the Orlando area, going to the local state parks, and exploring the city. I've been trying to swim every day, and discover all the beaches and natural first magnitude springs around here. I'm trying to scout as much as I can so that when everyone's visiting Florida we know where to go. There's more than the theme parks to be had, and I'm beginning to gain much more respect for this place. I'm beginning to really like it here.

No absolute clear idea where to go or what to do, though, so I've decided just to live my way forward and let the road take me wherever it will. I do have a series of ideas of things I want to see - Burning Man, Civil War and Revolutionary battlefields, Branson, Catholic and Orthodox churches, temples of any denomination, good independent movie theaters, any sort of park, good bars and honkytonks, natural swimmable springs, classic diners, Mormon pageants, stuff like that. But the methodology of actually encountering these things (the rhythm and art of arriving, which is not as simple as just driving wherever there happens to be - one must know how to encounter such places, know how to meet the people who come with them well.. ) is something I need to grow into.


I just need to relax, I think. I want to fall back in love with this country. It's been a rough decade, and she and I have been having issues. It's time to spend some time with her again, have a second honeymoon and recapture that magic we used to have.

So I'm just going to plunge in, and let whatever happens come. I've decided not to push or plan too much, and let the moment unfold and carry me where it wants. This is my favorite way of traveling, and always brings good things with it.


I was initially going to go canoeing in Maine next month, to do the most epic trip possible, but decided that because no one has the time or interest to come with me on short (two month it was) notice, that I'll postpone that.

I've also been thinking the last couple years about making a pilgrimage to venerate Our Lady of Guadalupe in Ciudad Mexico, but that too has been elusive, in that the troubles in Mexico and the other circumstances of my life have been persistently mitigating against it.


I've been wanting to see her though for a while, ever since I abortively began my pilgrimage by bus from Obregon but ended up waylaid by illness in a cheap hotel room in Mazatlan puking my brains out in 1996. That disaster was due to my own foolishness (another story that I may tell soon, if the words come to my fingers) and I've been wandering afield ever since. Time maybe to pick up that path, again.


I'll receive whatever comes, as I've said. We'll see.


These last few days I've seen three movies: Super 8 (second time, IMAX theatre), Cave of Forgotten Dreams, and Tree of Life. These three films actually have quite a bit in common in my mind, and I am going to review all three of them seperately on the blog this coming week, as I get time to do it.


[Aside: Orlando has a decent movie theatre scene, which I love. I saw the Tree of Life here, one of a half dozen things that I've experienced this last week that has radically changed my feelings (which had been very negative - I'd only seen Orlando as a great swathe of strip malls orbiting the theme parks) for the better. Not a bad town, Orlando. ]

One further thing:

It's very interesting: but last summer I couldn't stand the heat here, and when I lived in Gainesville a few years back I felt the humidity ferociously. This summer though, that's all gone. Either Florida has become gentle, or else I am become acclimated and tough. For her blows now are become as caresses..

The weather is not bothering me at all, and that is marvelous. I've gotten this great tan, and the heat and sun are intoxicant.

Something's fundamentally changed. Circle come full round.


Ultreya, Suseya, then. Let's see where this takes me.



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So, I've Come to a Momentous Decision: This Here Blog Continues..

A few weeks ago, and with my characteristic rashness, I leapt into the abyss knowingly and had a brash encounter with my own conscience. A sort of brush with purgatory or maybe even a foretaste of hell. A near death experience. One that sat me back on my haunches these last few weeks, which is why I stepped away from this here blog, and even briefly considered shutting the whole damn thing down for good. I did pull it offline a few days in fact, as some of you noticed. In the aftermath of the shock, the blog seemed rather superficial and spurious, too revealing and offensively opinionated while not actually telling enough of the truth. Inconsequential and self indulgent, in other words. Things my conscience suggested are all too characteristic of too much of my life.

I had other things to think and pray about in any case, and nothing to say to say about any of it. Trauma induced aphasia, whether passing or not was uncertain for a while there.

But I've slowly come back around, and due in no small part to the few messages of concern and support I received while convalescent. Thank you, my miniscule public. I appreciate the well wishes. I shall not forsake you, because I guess I might as well say those things that I've been meaning to say anyway, if only to amuse the few dozen or so of you who regularly read what I post. The discipline of writing, of trying to do it well, is a worthy exercise in itself I guess.

Like virtually everything I created this blog to say, and have not yet but mean to put up, the details of what happened last month will remain my own until the muse dictates.

There are too many stories jostling for air, and not enough ether to inspire any of them usually. It's a question of what my heart and gut tell. Possibly both are suppressed by my head too often, in that reason usually counsels me to err on the side of discretion..

But good writing demands the truth, and the truth is always good. It is only a question of making a good confession, and letting the stories (be they of pear trees or prostitutes or whateverhaveyou) free to testify.

Here's to pre- empting the shouting from the rooftop and all that.

On recommence.



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basta ya, callete.

Since my friendship with JDawg ended this weekend, it seems especially appropriate that the song that was the definitive tune for our trip down Baja to Cabo San Lucas four years (or so? I lose track) ago just got put up on YouTube.

This is one of the best songs ever recorded, and is one of my tunes. Hat tip to Owen White at the Ubiquitarian for posting it and bringing my attention to that it's now online.





Lyrics:

(Chip:)

Yes we can talk it out,
Tell me what it's all about,
But don't speak in English.

You can just let it flow,
Tell it right from your soul,
But don't say words I understand.

Because I've had enough
Of that kind of stuff,
For a long, long time.


(Carrie:)

You can tell me where to go,
Tell me what I don't know,
But don't speak in English.

You can talk politics,
Get your political fix,
But don't say words that I understand.

Because I've had enough
Of that kind of stuff,
For a long, long time.

You can let the telephone ring,
But don't pass me that thing.

I am not a receiver.

You can play the music you choose,
Western swing or Delta blues
(Where the wasted words are few,
And Old John Prine will do..)
And we'll just talk for a while.

You can let the telephone ring,
But don't pass me that thing.

I am not a receiver.

You can play the music you choose,
Western swing or Delta blues
(Where the wasted words are few,
And Old Van Zandt will do, maybe two..)
And we'll just talk for a while.

And when we can talk it out,
You tell me what it's all about..

Just don't speak in English.

If you get it in your head
That you want to take me to bed,
Just don't say words that I understand..

'Cause I've enough of that kind of stuff
For a long time..

'Cause I've enough of that kind of stuff
For a long, long, long, long time..



---

Everyone has the Right to be Taken Care of.

This just in, from ZENIT, the Vatican news feed:

Vatican Calls for Rich to Make Universal Health Care Possible

Laments That "Poor People Miss Out"

GENEVA, Switzerland, MAY 24, 2011 (Zenit.org).- The president of the Pontifical Council for Health Care Ministry says rich nations will have to show solidarity with poor countries if the right to health care is to become a reality.

Archbishop Zygmunt Zimowski said this in his address to the World Health Organization's 64th World Health Assembly, which concluded today in Geneva.

The prelate noted the 2010 World Health Report, showing "on the whole, we are still a long way from universal coverage."

"We are stalled in the status quo, where the rich people have higher levels of coverage, while most of the poor people miss out, and those who do have access often incur high, sometimes catastrophic costs in paying for services and medicine," he said.

The prelate stated that to make universal coverage a possibility, nations need to raise funds, "reduce reliance on direct payments for services and improve efficiency and equity, thus removing the financial barriers to access, especially for poor and less advantaged people."

But he said that low-income countries have little chance of making this happen.

"This sad fact highlights the need for a true global solidarity, in which high income countries do not only promise, but effectively meet their commitments on development assistance," he said.


We are all our brother's keeper.


h/t: Caelum & Terra

(I should also note that Caelum & Terra has been knocking ball after ball out of the park lately. I admire Daniel Nichols immensely, and he's been posting many interesting and great things lately - like these words from St. Seraphim of Sarov yesterday for example:

God is fire which warms and inflames the heart and womb. And so, if we feel in our hearts coldness, which is from the devil, for he is cold, then let us pray to the Lord for he came to warm our hearts with perfect love, not only of him but of our neighbor too. And in the face of his warmth the cold of the hater-of-good will flee away.

How's that for some excellent advice? Pray for perfect love. What ever else were we made for but that? )



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O Hail Star of the Sea, Draw Us All Safely Home to Thee..

So, I am now home (so to speak) in Vermont. Two weeks in Florida, where the May weather this year was actually quite beautiful (as compared to last May, which was so hot as to be miserable), and now have returned to New England decked in her full late spring regalia.

Maple Street, Newport, from my porch. Taken this afternoon, less than an hour ago.


When I left, it was the mud season. There were still residuum of drifts, long thin ridges of granular snow all about. Snow, that is, but without the stark beauty of the mantle, or the joy of skiing. This is the only time that New England does not sing to me, really. She gets mucky and slightly smelly, and is all brown and cold. I still love her, then, but it's my least favorite time with her.

Two weeks later, though.. She blossoms, she blooms. I had had no idea that there were dozens of lilac bushes on my street. Not a clue.

I can't photograph perfume for you, only this:

These are my favorite flowers. Purple, light blue. The finery of the May Queen come lightly, deftly dancing Spring's melody:





Lyrics:

Bring flowers of the fairest,
Bring flowers of the rarest,
From garden and woodland
And hillside and vale.
Our full hearts are swelling!
Our Glad voices telling
The praise of the loveliest
Rose of the vale!

O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!
O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!

Our voices ascending,
In harmony blending.
Oh! Thus may our hearts turn
Dear Mother, to thee.
Oh! Thus shall we prove thee
How truly we love thee.
How dark without Mary
Life's journey would be.

O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!
O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!

O Virgin most tender!
Our homage we render,
Thy love and protection
Sweet Mother, to win.
In danger defend us,
In sorrow befriend us,
And shield our hearts
From contagion and sin!

O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!
O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!

Of Mothers the dearest,
Oh, wilt thou be nearest
When life with temptation
Is darkly replete!
Forsake us, O never,
Our hearts be they ever,
As Pure as the lilies
We lay at thy feet!

O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!
O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!



---

An Open Confession

This last weekend I behaved very poorly. In sort of a culmination of pride and acedia, I both mocked some people I disagree with, calling them fools..

And then sneered at people who often quote scripture chapter and verse in their writing.

They usually annoy, even anger me sometimes, you see.

Because you know, I am above such credulous tasteless crudities as quoting scripture, I guess. Too cool for that sort of thing. Way too cool.


[But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to a brother or sister, ‘Raca,' is answerable to the court. And anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell. (Matthew 5:24) ]


Anyway..


We went out Saturday, and there were shenanigans. I behaved like a fool, and ended up having a very "interesting" night. One that I will not describe in any detail here, and mention it only to say that at some point before dawn on Sunday I realized that not only had I missed the vigil, but that I was probably going to miss mass that weekend altogether.


Which I then did.


With the sabbath dawn, knowing that I would not be at mass, I had an irrational moment of terror where I was sure that I was doomed. The rapture had occurred, and I was a fool who had been left behind.

Not a pleasant sensation, let me tell you. A moment of repentance, you could say.


Later, after my head and heart were cleared, I realized that even if I do not believe that the modern eschatology that anticipates the "rapture" makes any sense, that I should not be making snarky fun of people who do believe it. Indeed, if I were wise at all, it should be my fervent hope that if such an event occurs, that I should be included in it. Apart from that, I should mostly not say anything at all about it, really. There are other things, such as the state of my own soul and conscience that are far more worthy my attention and concern.

I mean, I believe that the second coming will be just as unexpected as the first, and that he will upend our expectations in such a way that everyone will be surprised. He is always doing things we do not understand, after all. The end will be no different. Still, I am now resolved to generally keep my mouth shut on that point.

On the ride home, I spent much of the way thinking about all of this and examining my conscience.

(I'm sort of an aficionado of examenes by the way, and just found one that I really like, here. It's pretty staunch, and I used it today. )


This morning I went to see Father Micheal at the rectory, and interrupted him at breakfast. He left his meal to hear my confession. I am trying to keep my confessions short lately, to simply recite the things my conscience accuses me of, without any explanation or excuse. Just the sins, the number of times I've committed them if that's applicable, and maybe mention of the names of people I have hurt. It should take five minutes or less, even being a jackass like I am. When the priest speaks, I have resolved to keep my mouth mostly shut and suppress the impulse to start a discussion, unless he asks me a question. This I find harder to do, but I am making progress there. It usually takes only ten or fifteen minutes these days to get absolution.

This morning, Father was blunt. I like this. No great discourse on how much God loves me. I know that the Master loves me. That knowledge encourages my presumption and laxity. What I need is to be kicked in the ass honestly, and disciplined.

So, Father Micheal was not impressed by me, and I was glad. Because I am not impressive. He looked very stern, and said "we make it very easy for you to get to mass here, you know (I didn't tell him that I was in North Carolina Sunday, but his point still held) and you have absolutely no excuse not to be at the feast."

I nodded, mute.


"Stop being lazy. Do your duty."


Do my duty. Yes.


I think I will. Tonight, I herewith resolve not to be vulgar anymore. I also resolve not to call anyone any names. I ask you, my reader's forgiveness for having done both of these things too often before now.


I also resolve to seek simplicity, and only write what I think may edify. Remember, I am still a fool, only one who hopes to be wise. Your prayers and criticism to this end would be much appreciated.


Tonight, all of you are in mine. Good night my dear readers. Sleep very well.



---

Adtendite a Falsis Prophetis.. Or Whatever.

I spent the better part of yesterday evening driving, and on the way north listened to NPR, CNBC and CBC. All three of which carried multiple stories about this,




Relating it all with successively varying degrees of "enraptured" snarkiness. They each loved themselves this story bunches, and every successive show covered it. Rachel Maddow shook herself a cocktail on the air, one with Chartreuse and high end gin in it.. Sounded super yummy.

Dude's got the Rapture down to the hour anyway, it seems. Like that arch biblical chronology and genealogy cruncher Bishop Usher, he's done himself some prophetic calculation.

Heads up. The Lord's coming in glory at 6 p.m. today.

Greenwich Mean Time? Eastern Standard? Dunno. Probably West Coast.. He's from California, just like his friend Jack Chick who drew this, a neat graphic summary of what he prophesies will happen this evening (check your local listings) to the saved:

Could be Mountain time.. Maybe he's gone into the Rocky Mountains, dude's likely out there in Colorado Springs in one of those multi- million buck evangelical retreats they have nestled out by NORAD high command there.

This time zone issue actually matters quite a bit to me, since I plan on making my last confession before they all get taken up if I have the time this Saturday afternoon, just to be sure I face the Tribulation in good conscience.. Rough times demand a clean conscience. That's the best a corrupt papist like me can apparently hope for, I guess. If it's California time I'll be able to assist at mass and even I hope get supper in before all the hullabaloo..


Or maybe I'll just get well and snookered and jam with JDawg all afternoon instead. There'll be last chance mass on Sunday evening even in the midst of the Tribulation, I bet.

Yeah. He wants to do this:




A little raw heart salve to caulk the cracks, you know?


Take our minds off all them tiresome pharisaical tools shooting their gobs off. It gives me heartache and makes me wonder if I'm insane and being mocked by my fellow inmates when "bible believing christians (sic)" start yelping this sort of utter exegetical idiocy.


I generally refrain from baldly citing chapter and verse in my normal discourse, because it lacks subtlety and is so gauche and all, but I've been provoked beyond reason.


Just one verse:

No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father (Matthew 24:36).


Now I'm off to lobotomize myself with a spoon. I intend to enjoy myself the Apocalypse. Cheers.



---

Love is Always Having to Say You're Sorry.

Tonight, I give you all the greatest harmonic convergence this side of the Apocalypse:




Sorry,
It's all that you can't say.
Years gone by and still,
Words don't come easily..
Like sorry, like sorry.

Perdonami,
È uma parola che
Tu non dice mai
E non ti è facile dirme..
Perdonami,
Perdonami.

But you can say it baby,
Baby can I hold you tonight..
Maybe if I told you the right words,
At the right time, you'd be mine.

Io t'amo,
È una parola che
tu non dice mai..

Words don't come easily,
Like I love you, I love you..

Ci sono parole
Che tu non sai dire, o non vuoi..
Quando a volte non c'è bisogno di più,
Di uno scusami, se mi vuoi..

Baby, can I hold you tonight..

Che tu non sai dire, o non vuoi..

Maybe if I told you the right words,
At the right time you'd be mine..

Se mi vuoi..

You'd be mine..

Se mi vuoi..

You'd be mine..

Se mi vuoi..

You'd be mine..



+++

The Angry American: Hit 'em Up Style

Justice will be served, n' the battle will rage, this big dog will fight when you rattle her cage..




y'all witness n' testify, 'dis here's de' word:


While he was scheming,
I was beamin' in his Beamer just beamin.'
Can't believe that I caught my man cheatin,'
So I found another way to make him pay for it all.

So I went to Neiman-Marcus on a shoppin' spree-ah,
And on the way I grabbed Soleil and Mia,
And as the cash box rang I threw everything away.

Hey Ladies, when your man wanna get buck-wild,
Just go back and Hit 'Em Up Style.
Get your hands on his cash,
And spend it to the last dime
For all the hard times.
Oh, when you go then everything goes,
From the crib to the ride and the clothes.
So you better let him know that
If he messed up you gotta hit 'em up.

There goes the dreams we used to say,
There goes the times we went away,
There goes the love I had but you cheated on me,
And that's worth that now..
There goes the house we made a home,
There goes you'll never leave me alone,
There goes all the lies you told,
This is what you owe..

While he was braggin,'
I was coming down the hill and just draggin,'
All his pictures and his clothes in the bag an'
Sold everything else till there was just nuthin' left..

And I paid all the bills about a month too late.
It's a shame we have to play these games.
The love we had just fades away, fades away..

Hey Ladies, when your man wanna get buck-wild,
Just go back and Hit 'Em Up Style.
Put your hands on his cash,
And spend it to the last dime
For all the hard times.
Oh, when you go then everything goes,
From the crib to the ride and the clothes.
So you better let him know that
If he messed up you gotta hit 'em up..

Say Ladies, when your man wanna get buck-wild,
Just go back and Hit 'Em Up Style.
Put your hands on his cash,
And spend it to the last dime
For all the hard times.
Oh, when you go then everything goes,
From the crib to the ride and the clothes.
So you better let him know that
If he messed up you gotta hit 'em up..

Hey Ladies, when your man wanna get buck-wild,
Just go back and Hit 'Em Up Style.
Put your hands on his cash,
And spend it to the last dime
For all the hard times.
Oh, when you go then everything goes,
From the crib to the ride and the clothes.
So you better let him know that
If he messed up you gotta hit 'em up!



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