Time Is Running Out Lyrics

Common's WH Performance: 'One King's dream he was able to Barack us.'

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Well, pretension is no crime, it’s just kind of icky, especially the closing words repeated three or four times:

“…one King’s dream he was able to Barack us.”

Whatever that means. Maybe in these White House invitations someone should add a note requesting that there be no POTUS ass kissing. Just a thought. 

The irony, of course, is that the same performer so enamored with “King’s dream” is also opposed to interracial relationships . Colorblind society? Content of character? Or did King have another dream I’m unaware of?

The other irony is that the same performer so enamored with our President is also opposed to the interracial relationship that made our President possible.

Oh boy, "barack" is now a verb. The odds that "common" knew anything about MLK besides a day off from school and a bunch of NBA games are long. How many at that staff party are actually going to point out "common" is a know-nothing or they themselves knew about how over the stop stupidity that the "lyrics" were?

Okay, so "Barack" is now a verb, which requires that we ask, "what exactly does it mean in this context?" Considering the source and the usage, it appears to mean to "use us for unlawful carnal knowledge." If the rapper whom Mrs. Obama personally invited to the White House chooses to use the President's name as a synonym for that particular verb, then who am I to argue that it is correct?

we've been 'baracked' for nigh on two years now…

And the conjugation of said verb is telling in the extreme; to 'barack' is bad enough but to constantly be 'baracked' is to endure a shelling of a most obnoxious and vociferous nature. Whether it is his ignorant pontifications, or backdoor engineered 'policies' we, as a society, have had about enough.

So much so as to make The Donald a welcome respite…

The timing of this little shindig couldn't be worse either. This is the week for remembrance of fallen police officers. Common is not only a Mumia fan, he wrote a song dedicated to the person that murdered a NJ state trooper in 73 and fled to Cuba.

The NJ state police are outraged, and rightfully so. I just hope they remember this spit in the face in 2012.

Wordsmithing: Learning from lyrics MUSE - Time is running out (Live)

For me reading was never a pastime, it was an obsession. Worlds and people made from words? Wow! Now, I love writing. I am a teacher who has enjoyed working in a range of primary schools. My favourite lessons were the ones teaching children to love reading and to perfect their story writing skills. During years of teaching children aged, predominantly, seven to eleven-years-old, I read a lot of MG books. It was in the job specifications :) With my husband, I raised two children one with Autism and ADHA and the other with a talent for art. I was born in Dublin, was raised in Northamptonshire and Yorkshire, but my secondary schools were in County Durham. We live south of Watford Gap. I love: reading, writing, watching, learning and music. I don't like: flies, runny eggs or heights - physical rather than metaphorical ;) The glow from the torches set in iron sconces high on the rough surface of the walls was still visible at the entrance to the narrow tunnel. Smoky flames flickered from the oiled moss in the wooden brand Vine carried, they made her eyes sting. Peering around, she could not focus on the figure that cast a darker shadow. Going back no longer seemed to be an option. Had she really longed to gain admittance to ranks of the Mages? Her fellow tyros already believed her beyond incompetent did they also believe she was a coward? She had agreed to feed the tethered krokatris protecting the lower Halls of Elune, before the sun rose. Despite the dull, brown robes swamping her slender frame, Vine shivered. In the darkness, the heavy chains clanked as the krokatris strained against their restraints. With the smoky brand held higher, Vine ran. Drafts of air freed flames to lick along the walls behind her. The sunlight in Edgware was just the way I liked it: bright but turned on low. I pulled in a deep breath. Here, the cool air glides into my lungs, without the coughing that made me a prisoner to the air-con unit. I could have run on the strider thing, in Utility Room that looks like a garage. I’d have to be desperate to run there: running towards the ironing and away from the washing machine? Maybe, not. At the start of my run, I’d been jet-lagged but there had only been the occasional car to worry about. I had to run, couldn’t sleep. If I’d gone to bed, I’d never have woken in time for school. How wrong did that sound? I glanced at my watch. I was late. I’d run farther than I planned.

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