Hiphop Is Dead

Hip-Hop is dead I can’t feel the throb, the devotion, the dedication I wear all black Black stilettos, black cut dress, aimed real low Seductive but simple, I know my place Beside the King, my sweet deceased Revolutionist Rap’s number one supporter, holding the casket with a broken S I G H Someone plays, a radio, across the way Slick beats drip past the ears to slime the brain Wet and easy manipulated clay Media displays wealth and misogyny 50 million dollar chains Females addicted to being slapped around Like China Dolls in half-made Cl o thes Pose, Shawty and let this crunk beat fill your hips Purse your lips, Mami, and I’ll let you Be my accessory Remember when the revolution was a evolution of the mind Freestyles match drums in intensity When freestyles were uncontrolled like the wild brown skin he was in I felt, loved, Hip-hop in my veins Let him be the catalyst for the beating of my heart I was so in love with his swagger, his love of himself and his people Hat tipped real low to hide the pain Beat real tight to stop the taint Of failure and to rise like the dust after a stampede I’d take Hip-Hop to bed every night Let him rise and fall like the heaving of my chest It was so hot I could barely breathe for the intensity overcoming me The pounding of intellect in my throat Stroked me from head to toe And Rocked my ghetto loving soul And he said things I’ve waited my whole life to hear play sweetly in my ear Dreaming of dreams too big To let fade away He grew shallow, loving women with hollow heads and thick thighs Low rides and forgetting what he left at home Long nights and overtime left me alone Released hundreds of artists Torn between money and the spoken word His best friends tried to revive what was inside, too late the damage took over 50 Cent arrived with Lil’s, and Young’s and a mess of southern heat I was there when the light left his eyes After Dr.Dre’s Chronic Hip-Hop was Dead