DOLLA DOLLA BILL, Y’ALL!

Shoes: Puma.

Hat: Kangol.

Sweatsuit: Adidas.

Year: 1988.

The sound roaring through the streets of young urban America: Hip Hop.

The theme: the disenfranchised fighting to believe in an era ruled by Reaganomics.

Hood stars birthed by the rise of illegal drugs: MONEY.

By any means necessary.

From any car or street corner you could hear your favorite m.c. behind the mic yelling out to hype up his audience a phrase that was universal to everyone in his sanctuary: DOLLA DOLLA BILL YALL!

He knew that’s what the people loved. That’s what the people wanted. Whether it was Wu Tang Clan’s C.R.E.A.M. [“cash rules everything around me”] to Junior Mafia’s GET MONEY, it was no secret that we were a culture, young and old that worshiped the dolla dolla bill yall!

Even in my Judeo Christian belief system, I struggled balancing out my belief that God will supply my needs and seeing those who served their own financial desires build their very own kingdom.

My momma struggled on a social security check but was at peace with what she had. She never adopted the slogans of hip hop, nor did she let major televangelist scandals of the day derail the love she had for her creator and the deeper hope that God will supply all her needs.

And she did it with peace.

The need and lust for the material that I heard in the music I loved (while spinning on my head on cardboard boxes) left me with a lot of questions as a kid… Questions that I even faced at the beginning of the year. There were a couple of business ventures that were in question that would affect the economy of myself and the staff of people that I employ. I am responsible for the livelihood of several people who depend on me to create income for them and their families. I also am responsible for the well being of my own family. And I travel with a full band and several singers (the majority of them are full time).  As I’m typing I’ve noticed that I just said “I” three times. That’s the problem. In our world, whether it be the streets or the boardroom, the ideology of our day and time is that somehow WE are creators and gods of our destiny instead of the divine revelation of WE ARE MANAGERS OF EVERYTHING, BUT OWNERS OF NOTHING.

In the midst of the fear I felt at the strike of 2015, is an acknowledgment of misplaced responsibility. I’m just a resource; God is their source.

Please know that I am not discrediting the reality of painful financial struggles that many people in this country go through.  I know how the middle class in America deserve a better seat at the table and should enjoy the fruit of their labor more. I love how the poets and artist of our time play an important role in reflecting that harsh reality and the unfairness in our systems.

But my agenda here is to communicate that money will never be the solution to the cry of one’s soul.  When our navigational system is turned on, we see God directing us into the path of “don’t worry about what you will eat, drink or wear.  Seek ye first…”

That’s my agenda: to remind all of us that someone will always have a car cleaner than yours, a house fresher than yours, sneakers doper than the ones you’re rocking right now.  If money is your ultimate goal, you’ll never have enough.

But if you want peace, joy, contentment [oh that precious yet difficult waltz of being happy with what I have!] and happiness? You know what Gertude had living in a house with one bathroom with no door on it way before Pharrell had you dancing in the streets with his infectious hit?  Well, that kind of happiness comes from something deeper… and higher.

Get money; just don’t let it get you.

Let it work for you more than you work for it.

Use it, don’t love it — that is the root of all evil.

And like I tweeted the other day:

“Money can possess the ingredients that cause you to stop trusting God. So when money fails and you pray more, that’s part of the plan.”

Gertrude never heard of Public Enemy, KRS-One, Tribe Called Quest or Biggie.  But if you asked her “have you ever seen the righteous forsaken or seen them begging for bread?” she would spit more than sixteen bars about His goodness and mercy.

That’s right Gertrude, throw your hands in the air, and waive ‘em like you just don’t care!

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