Humble Beginnings

The king of ‘em all.

I’m a hit ya with a tribute

To Biggie Smalls like Tylenol.

Straight from Crooklyn

Better known as Brooklyn.

That’s where I got my beats took in

You’re dry and I’m fly

Like Bedstuy Do or Die.

But ya know I’m done with ya

Having some fun with ya.

Kiss u goodbye

As I run with ya

Coz this a sweet rap.

A simple beat that

Might make your feet tap.

With that bee bap,

I’ll make your seat snap.

Coz I’m the thunder,

A boy wonder,

A crazy cat who never

Made a blunder.

If you talk shit,

I’ll put ya under.

I’m one of the bad bad kids.

You got a brain but

You messing with a fuckin whiz

Coz I made it in show biz.

Call me Bill Cosby.

Talk to my assistant

Coz I’m the boss, B.

Stick in hand

Like Sidney Crosby.

Hated when

This poet was originated,

But you’re outdated

And I made it.

With my name atop the list,

I know I’m slated

To make a comeback.

Check your fatass

Coz you’re sitting on a thumbtack.

I’m just playing,

Ya know what I’m saying.

Been in the game for a while,

But now your praying to

See whether your staying.

I was the victim of a mean girl down south;

A lil mama with train tracks in her mouth.

Jawing about how I

Would never make it out this cage,

But things done changed.

Now all I gotta do

Is turn the page

To end my rage

Please lord, get

me outta this craze.

Momma told me

It’s just a phase.

He’ll get over it.

All the shouldering


Got me feeling

Like I’m soldiering

On with my life.

My uncle cut my pay at the body shop,

So he could let the mollies pop.

My sister’s letting her dolly rot.

I need some money for my

Parents to stay on top.

So this shit has gotta stop

Coz my life is based on crack rock

Unless I make it with my hip hop

And a little smack talk

I do my own thing so back off.

It’s a traveler’s style.

It goes on for miles,

Splitting sundials

With a smile.

Came from humble beginnings.

I’m stealing from rich niggas

And I’m winning.

Hammer to your skull.

Your head is spinning

While my baby brothers grinning

And his ribs are thinning.

We didn’t always have enough food to eat,

But I was always in the mood to meet

My momma or d-roc

To sell more at the crack stop

Up the block

On the corner of Fulton Street.

Once in a while,

Someone would start up a beat.

Like my momma’s barbecue chicken

It was always sweet.

I’m the funion.

Beating ya while wearing

My grandpa’s bunions.

I’m a stun ya,

Make ya cry like my aunt

When she cutting them onions.

I murder every beat on the microphone.

Clearing the streets like a cyclone

With a rapper’s style of my own.

I’m in the zone

Like MJ in every quarter.

I’m a hoarder of the rock

Like it’s mortar on the dock.

I’m a ball hog.

Ain’t got a dime to spare

Coz I’m a small dog.

I’m so far gone

It’s gonna take you a while

To find out what level I’m on.















Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741