Jesus Walks, Sells Music. Challenges GW?

Jesus? Jesus.

K Otiz [Kanye Remix] - George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People (mp3)

This is one of my favourite tracks of the year. When I hear the "original" version, I don't understand why Jesus doesn't change his lyrics. I suspect it has something to do with money. Jesus.

So, tell me what this means. Last night I found myself in a St.Vincent de Paul store attached to the back of an Indian meatmarket in India. Apparently I was on a trip with a large group who were all rushing to catch a plane out of town (though for some reason I wasn't too worried because my friend Josh and I had an extra day). Upon leaving the meatmarket and reaching my red minivan in the parking lot, I realized that in the rush I had left my luggage in a locker in the front of the meatmarket. Returning to claim my posessions, I found my three pieces of luggage on a rack in the St. Vinney's section with a black spray-painted stain indicating (as I am told by the butch, white, short-haired, heavy-set saleswoman) that they were on sale. The contents of the luggage were missing and I figured out that the clothes had been removed and hung in their appropriate categories around the store. I explained to the saleswoman that the luggage belonged to me and that I was outraged someone had the nerve to make such a hassle for me (I had not yet acknowledged the possibility that she wouldn't allow me to gather my clothes and leave). She wouldn't acknowledge any of my claims on the possessions. After a bit of aruging I managed to convince her that I at least deserved half off the luggage and any clothes to which I would assert personal belonging. I promised her there were only a few shirts that would apply to quiet capitalistic intentions I had attributed to her, though I knew there were three whole suitcases worth. Quite angry, I proceeded to the back of the store leaving Josh to preoccupy the saleswoman. I managed to locate several plain colored t-shirts and started packing them into the suitcases. Pretty soon, the amount of my clothing exceeded the capacity of the luggage and I struggled to squeeze the fabric into the containers (hoping the saleswoman would not look inside and believe my initial estimate). I have a distinct memory of positioning myself on my knees in the back of the store with my back to the back door, forcefully (and yet gracefully) swinging an outstretched arm with one piece of clothing at a time behind my back and out of the door into a heap in the parking lot. It didn't take too long for the saleswoman to notice that something was up and she suddenly clammored past Josh, down the ailes, to find me packing the three suitcases. Even though she didn't notice that I was also throwing clothes into the parking lot, she was enraged at the amount of clothing I was "stealing". Josh and I managed to collect the luggage and excess clothing into our arms and outrun the fuming butch-Indian-meatmarket-St.Vinney's-saleswoman... squealing away in the red minivan (special edition). Yes, it's a good vs. evil hero story for the ages.