Ode to Hip Hop

By Bea As far as lyrical growth is apparent, he’ll be good. He’s been missed like periods in planned parenthood and I know his ass needs a waiting room. It takes time to come to this epiphany seem like the same things they expected soon seem to be the same things restricted me and I’m far from a boa. Escape they down pour negativity creatively like Noah piece by piece I build this boat rhymes for rafters, solid structure makes it float give them a line or two, see if they bite give them a hook or two let it sink in just right their cheeks hurt from smiling hard I give hugs, fuck a business card my friendliness sets me apart and I’m proud of that fact, who said anger is a prerequisite for reciting this rap? Go take a history lesson, learn to distinguish fake rage from the genuine, see most rappers are made about something they just don’t know how to express what so anger comes through lyrics on guns, hustle, big butts give the masses what they want to hear, right? Scary movie, dick, fucking brains from ear to ear while the rest of us sit back project our anger and snap about the disillusion being fed and that mainstream rap that mentality ain’t right spitten so much flem that other artists can’t moisten our lips at the mic how is saying hip hop’s dead helping a kid get to sleep at night making a teen’s twisted themes stop being tight it doesn’t, let’s face it, we’re preaching to the choir knocking heads with your audience like pre-teens and lizzy McGuire and it won’t matter if I get a tight beat cause they probably won’t play me but that’s all right cause I know I need more that a song to truly set me free more than women praising lyrics to erase the misogyny it took more that lyrical mirrors to examine the flaws in me I fucking hate this philosophy, wanna write rhymes about my life but I’m afraid my subject matter is not plausibility want to adhear to and honestly I fear to ride shot gun with you through my life without holding directions to steer to. I’m a fucked up chick got issues for free like a magazine’s be filled up with I’m busting at the seams, its seems I’m confident enough the way but I don’t have the means not the other way around, cause I’ll be prepared for the noise but can’t make a sound so I stay low to the ground listen to the roots behind Medea, Menuba Nia strange fruits swing from the mic chords, I watch them pound as they keep misbehaved boys claim to be criminals, macho men bully us to get deep good girls pretend to be promiscuous, touch women front like they weak the poor write about cash flow, the rich write about struggle cause they seek numbers and acceptance no humble repentance and boasting is fine as long as you don’t finish the sentence. But I’m gonna change all that as soon as I’m finished beating all these jokers and myself with this lyrical bat, I’m gonna go home feeling unfulfilled, my tongue an open wound where my own flaws be at.