Listening to some moldy oldies tonight, including some Arthur Conley. There's an album of his that could never, ever be released today.
Is it because he was singing about b****es and ho's? No. About killing cops? Nope. Was there a song on the album about somebody getting his noodle rocked? Nah. Doing crack? Uh-uh. Selling coke? C'mon.
So what would keep the album from being released?
The cigarette.