Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Another Rapper

Another rapper.

Just what we need: another rapper.
Another wack-kat who thinks he can rap on tracks,
lacking facts behind his lyrics,
who acts with no tact –
get your mind out that trap.
Get your mouth un-bittered by that taste,
un-chase that rat-race of judgmental space,
T-Dot: unscrew your face!

Another rapper?
Nah, not just another;
not black but I’m still a brother,
your brother,
your son, your father, grandson and gradfather –
don’t waste your time trying to classify me,
don’t bother.
Don’t type-cast me;
white rapper, back-packer, conscious rapper –
don’t gas me,
stand with me for a minute instead of moving right past me.

A rapper?
Not just a rapper – an MC.
Master of Ceremonies,
Microphone Controller,
Move a Crowd like I’m pushing a boulder.
Masterfully Crafterd,
Magnificently Captured,
Monumental Creations,
Mental Commander,
do you understand the
devotion that I put into my work?
My dedication to making it work?

I doubt it.

I don’t think most take the time to listen,
steady bitchin’ like they’re trapped in a prison
with no vision;
that’s why I’m on a mission.
To tell ya’ll to reach a little higher,
I ain’t tryna preach but teach,
if I can reach even one with what I beseech
then I could peacefully retire
‘cause is my mind the truth is burning like a fire.

No, I’m not just another.
I am not “the other” and neither are you,
no matter what they told you,
let your future unfold you,
let my lyrics hold you,
forget that bullshit they sold you,
your potential is infinite, the future is gold too,
take back your life –
who stole you?
Where did you go away to?
What happened to the God you used to pray to?
That banging beat you used to sway to?
Do not let this world decay you!

We are not just rappers,
DJs and breakers,
graf artists, MCs and beatmakers.
We are hip-hoppas,
the one’s hated by parents of 16-year-old daughters,
refusing to be lambs to the slaughter,
not asking for a drink but finding our own water,
Afrika Bambaataas,
Lil’ Kims and Big Poppas,
the one’s who rock mics proper,
shining like there’s no sun hotter –
the real hip-hoppas.

See I’m not just another rapper; I’m a poet.
It’s in my lyrics on tracks when I flow it
but some act like they don’t know it;
sometimes I even gotta spit it acapella to show it.
Plant a seed, hope to grow it;
I trust in the mic further than I could ever throw it.

I trust in the future being better, I’m wishing
that we open up our eyes to realize what we’re missing,
I trust that I come across as hopeful, not dissing
and I trust that when I speak from the heart
that ya’ll listen.

1 comment:

  1. I am continually being amazed by the swell of talent that errupts from you. I'm an oldie that doesn't always understand rap when performed, but reading the lyrics time and time again reminds me that you are a born poet. Luv and respect, L. Schatzker.