type shit ain't rocket science I beat to my own drum and life is a beach in the sand and this shit is my highway or get the fuck out of my van.. (and what not).
Mind you, I don't know a damn thing about no damn country life or whatever, nor do I listen to no damn Tim McGraw/Carrie Underwood motherfuckers, but the thing of it is..
yes, they are very gorgeous ass individuals and I like their lyrics and whatever,
but there literally is not enough caffeine nor tea combined that can keep me awake to the shit like twang that blasts from them unmistakable "twangy" tunes. Point of it is, the shit just "ain't me!" So, get it, got it and good!
Thing of it is too, if one were to throw me their lyrical music sheets or had a damn freaking damn like "Master's Class" (mind you all cause Mind is over matter and what have you and all that other bullshit)
I would be able to absorb the infomercials they were conveying to me about the genre of their musical composition as was necessary,
and this in turn would more than likely make me more resilient to making composing lyrical oddities that would even scare me and my pet cat called Kermie. And well, in me being the damn composer, what do I look like if even the shit scares me and I am the person trying to get the damn shit marketable though?
I mean, what the hell?!!
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