X,UNDERGROUND,
(Snaps fingers rhythmically, leans into the mic)
Ninety. X. Underground/ The hiss of the tape, a constant companion/
Atmospheric pressure, a concrete room, sweat slicked on foreheads, illuminated by a single bulb. These 90's beats… a pulse/
A heartbeat of asphalt jungles. Slick rhymes slithered, a venomous elegance, feeding the bumpin' heads, the Hip Hop heartbeats/
DoggyStyle in the mix, echoes of Snoop, keeping Real Rap alive… in the basement, in the shadows/
Lo-fi grain scratching soul into the speakers, Dope rapping painting murals on the silence?, Gotta keep it underground/
That's the code/ Sampling tech/ Whispers of possibility/. Heated competition… for mixtape supremacy, a coveted breath of airplay, a battle for relevance/
West Coast Wars simmered… then boiled over/ 2Pac. Biggie/ Their deaths… a seismic tremor/ cracking the concrete foundation/
The South rose… a phoenix from the ashes, Notorious. Gang Starr. Three 6 Mafia. De La Soul. Gravediggaz? Deeply rooted enough to call ourselves underground and enough to have to recognize false-friendly-face quasi-liberal racism/
That dazed reflection simmering towards annoyance and agony/ A panic attack set off Booyah! The shout of victory, fleeting Audi 5000… the escape route, always in the back of your mind/
Chickenhead… a distraction, a flash of skin in the darkness/ Def… the purest compliment, earned, not given/
Hoochie Mama… a simplification, a reduction, a challenge? We were Breaking Atoms (1991) by Main Source, building worlds from the wreckage of life/ calling out to legends in the dark. Because underground… is where the real art breathes. (Mic Drop)
Copyright ©
Tony Adamo
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