I am Hip-Hop.
I was born in Africa not too far from the Guinea Coast.
This was long before the time before Curtis Blow wanted to boast.
I was shackled to a ship and sent across the sea.
I was pushed to no limit way before Master P.
I watched my woman raped and my children sold as I was confined to the fields.
This is long before you were enlightened by the Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.
I was told that I was free somewhere around 1865.
This is long before Hip-Hop records were made for a label called Jive.
Freedom wasn’t real, and I had to sometimes survive through a life of crime.
This is just after the beat and just before the rhyme.
I swam the Muddy Waters as blues and I rolled and rocked with Chuck Berry.
This was long before Father MC introduced Mary.
I marched with Dr. King, and I stood with Malcolm X.
This was a time before Salt N Pepa wanted to talk about sex.
James Brown made me say it loud, and Marvin Gaye made me want to holla.
This was just before the Wu Tang Clan rhymed about their dollars.
Grandmaster Flash dropped the message for the world to hear.
Phil Collins said it best when he said he felt something in the air.
Run DMC’s Adidas sneakers made you want to lose your strings.
Back then it was all about Lee jeans and Mercedes Benz rings.
LL Cool J rocked the bells, and Eric B and Rakim were running for President.
Back then you had to have flow, and your message had to be relevant.
Doug E. Fresh and Slick Rick made you dance with the show.
If you knew there was a Fresh Fest, you’d do anything to go.
Tupac was concerned about Brenda’s baby, and Biggie gave us one more chance.
Dr. Dre dropped The Chronic, and Puff Daddy made us want to dance.
Hip-Hop was about freedom, truth, self-expression, and hope.
Back then, our rhymes were about more than selling dope.
Back then, the hardest gangsters would show respect towards the elders, children, and women.
They understood that respect was something that you earned through the art of giving.
Hip-Hop looked like us, and we often painted our neighborhoods with our own self-expression.
We raised our own flags because we felt like the police weren’t there for our protection.
This was long before we wore our pants tight and gangsters painted their nails.
This was long before our self-respect, art form, and the respect for our communities went up for sale.
The only time that Hip-Hop artist would mumble was if they were vibin’ to the beat.
Our artist seemed to have more depth than simply money, drugs, guns, and weed.
Hip-Hop was an absentee parent during the growing years of his child called Rap.
Instead of making rhymes, Rap seems more concerned with making his gun clap.
Rap sold the word “Nigga” to people with blonde hair and blue eyes.
Rap calls itself real while everyone is clearly dressed in disguise.
Because Hip-Hop was absentee, Rap felt no love.
Rap has no concept of the ramifications of the things that it does.
Rap is multicultural, while Hip-Hop was mostly, and unapologetically Black.
If you didn’t have subject and verb agreement, your rhymes were most definitely WACK!
White rappers get endorsement deals, while Black MCs are overlooked.
Rap pushes us backwards in the name of progress by glamorizing our crooks.
Rap speaks loudly about nothing, and when it’s time to speak, Rap remains silent.
Rap has the world believing that the students in Parkland Florida really started the conversation about gun violence……………
Please Bring Hip-Hop Back!
This week, do something for someone else for no reason at all other than to make their day better. Also, if you get to where you’re going, please don’t forget to leave a map for the rest of us. Patrick