I've "Dropped It Hot" before. Thought maybe I said enough back then. Didn't name names. Didn't really have to. But apparently... it wasn't enough. Every time you open your mouth, another nerve gets touched, Box of rocks need a tutor, attention Harvard, catch up. Everything's a witch hunt whenever the mirror gets near, Funny how accountability suddenly sounds like fear. Every question is an enemy, every critic's a threat, Every failure gets buried underneath another deflect. You don't inspire me to wave that flag any higher, You make me stare at the country and ask who started the fire. And I'm Black in America, watching all of this unfold, So don't tell me what I'm seeing ain't the pattern I've been told. Don't tell me not to notice when the language starts to shift, When the powerful decide who gets protected, who gets hit. I got friends across the planet who can separate the two, They know one administration doesn't represent my view. But our trust got cracks. Our pride got questioned. Our strength became a punchline in somebody else's mouth. And I already spoke once. Thought the message was enough. Guess I gotta say it louder. I already Dropped It Hot. "No more wars." Then Iran. Okay. "Prices coming down." What day? Gas pump looking back at me like, "You sure that's what he said?" Groceries hit the register, my wallet playing dead. Tariffs on the table, tell me who eventually pays. Promise everybody sunshine while we're counting cloudy days. Where's the money? Nah, seriously. Where's the fucking money? DOGE dividend talked about. Tariff checks coming maybe. Another number gets floated, another promise gets shiny, right when ballots start approaching. Funny how the timing finds me. I could build a polygraph from every promise that you sell, needle jumping off the paper before you finish what you said. Say it again. Needle jumps. Say it louder. Needle jumps. Tell me everything is perfect while the pressure keeps going up. That's what bothers me. Not the slogans. Not the hats. Not another fucking headline. Not another verbal scrap. It's watching people follow even when the road gets thin, defending every contradiction just because it came from him. And yeah, The Collective gets called a cult sometimes. We laugh. Because everybody in that room still owns their mind. That's the difference. I don't want loyalty that requires somebody blind. I don't want truth decided by whose flag is flying high. I watched "Make America Great" become "don't criticize." Watched disagreement become treason in somebody else's eyes. You can call that what you want. I know what I call mine. Concern. History doesn't knock and tell you when it's arrived. I'm not asking for perfection. I'm asking where the floor went. Where's the trust? Where's the pride? Where's the future we were promised? I'm tired of rich men telling broke folks, "Wait, there's more coming." While another month arrives and that refrigerator's humming. Ninety dollars? What exactly is that fixing? One bill? Half a cart? Couple tanks, if I'm lucky? Don't hand somebody crumbs then demand applause for dinner. Don't tell the bottom "sacrifice" while the ceiling's getting richer. That's the part that stays with me. Because underneath the jokes, underneath the insults, underneath the anger in my throat, I'm watching people struggle while somebody sells them hope. Then sells another promise when the last one already broke. And Donald... I don't need a weapon to tell you what I think. I got a microphone, a ballot, and a memory full of ink. I can put you on the record without putting hands on shit. Let the needle tell the story every time the story shifts. I want you out through votes. Through law. Let the people settle scores. Power ain't possession and the White House ain't yours. That's what scares me about November, not who screams the loudest line, but whether people still remember power's borrowed for a time. I've "Dropped It Hot" before. Apparently that wasn't enough. So here's another page from somebody who's had enough. Not speaking for every Black man. Not speaking for the whole U.S. I'm speaking for myself. And right now? I don't trust this. Maybe that's the part you never understood. You don't have to love a country by pretending everything is good. Sometimes loving where you're from means refusing to shut up when you know something's wrong. I Dropped It Hot once. Wasn't enough.
