To whom it may rhyme honestly.
Hip hop is confused.
Lyrics are nonsensical and abused.
Speaking against it means you'll be boozed.
Everyone is sold out and seduced.
Emcees battle for recognition in sweats of dead legends.
Genre planted by dead lyrical prophets.
Currently they’re searching for rap god but this doesn’t sound ancient.
This search does not deserve a capital G
Let’s jump straight to old school index.
Biggy and Tupac for instance permanently were consumed.
Like gibberish everyone turned confused.
Now we have au pairs of hip hop.
Fears for Tears
Wait till that first president is vacuumed.
Everyone will defiantly be confused.
A holiday will be planted and assumed.
Rest assured it will be approved.
Holidays amplify drainage in pockets.
Like new hip hop, dead rhymes get approved.
But who am I sneaking in reality's perfume.
My hip hop worries are harmless sounds like gurgles.
Gun shots in my face would be unchained bullet harmonious patterns
But that menace to me is doddle.
Easy cake two minutes noodles.
As I pay my last respect and spit worries.
May Old School Hip Hop resurrect in peace.
Rise in bilingual lyrical pieces.
As beats, we will strike against these complex increases reviving our old nieces
In hope some dope emcee will neck rope this confused hip hop
Like News everyone is an expert of hip hop views
The sun will take a 12 hour flight before our darkness is saved from this loss.
We are plunging into darkness in the name of new century.
Lost in the jungle.
Yours creatively Boom Bab Beats