Check, Check, Check… Check, Check, Check… Check, Check, Check, Check, Check…

 

CHECK OUT MY MELODY!!!

 

Those are the words of one of the greatest emcees

When hip-hop was alive, before I began to breathe

Public Enemy said an Uzi weighed a ton, did they really mean the weight of the gun?

When hip hop was alive and well, a few people sold themselves for records to sell, others enjoyed wealth of social health, providing the true message of a living hell, having block parties where no one gets killed

Then evolution came, riots went off after beating Rodney King, four coppers got off without doing a thing

Schools got worse, education was a dream, strive to join some athletic team.

Check out my melody hit the door, Straight Outta Compton rush the floor.

Brenda had a baby, everything was juicy, and people thought Boyz N the Hood was a fictitious movie.

“The South shall rise again!” in school it was told us, as they banned prayers and pledge of allegiance, we saw the emergence of Master P and No Limit Soldiers.

With the love of money followed by meetings at the crossroads, crossroads, crossroads; two deaths heard round the world, between the east and west coasts.

One was a Bad Boy, while the other sentenced to Death Row; it was “All Eyes on Me”, but “Who Shot Ya?” We’ll never know. I wonder about life after death, but I hope heaven’s got a ghetto. Public demanded a resolution, but media continues to feed into the pollution.

 

Providing us with political prostitution; a man cheated on his wife, and a president lied, wow what a surprise. I guess that’s to keep our minds off the shootings at Columbine.

Another evolution, hip hop is moving into a new millennial movement, of the ice age

Show off what you get paid. Gas tank on E, but all drinks on me.

This nigga and that bitch, is all that’s heard. What? Guy and gal are no longer appropriate words?  Trying to kill off “nigga”, please. I want to see you do this

You can’t bury a word without the person included. You guys made Al Sharpton look real stupid.

I got swag, too. Bling, bling, man; you ain’t cool, I got more ice than you, even though it’s fake.

Wait, now it’s cool to be fake? We’ll call it stuntin’, it’ll be okay.

After so many years of trying to keep “real”; it’s cool to walk around with stainless steel, jewels that don’t shine, but you on “chill”; claim that you gang bang and willing to kill, but have all your boys take the spill?

 

ARE WE SERIOUS?

Gangsta rap was wrong, and this crap is cool! Make up a dance, make no sense of the content, just say “YOOOOUUUU” and have a hit.

ARE WE SERIOUS?

With singers who can’t sing, rappers who can’t rap, if hip-hop is dead, then R&B, Rock n’ Roll, and country is next, in that order.

ARE WE SERIOUS?

We must be, it started in 2000 and it’s almost twenty-thirteen. Commercial industry killed what’s in the streets. While people are still dying off in the streets.

I AM SERIOUS.

No more evolutions, or revolutions, or answers without solutions.

I hope a resurrection will soon come to end the ignorant bliss. This is a letter to those who are hearing this.

I am hip hop, but never got the chance to exist. I was hip hop, now; I am an unborn lyricist.