Start putting ink to paper to produce a story.
Become an innovator and you’d soon applaud me
but now you ignore me and its sending me mad.
This viewing audience should collectively gasp,
I’m setting a standard you’re refusing to see.
This is meant to be rap. Be fluent in speech,
try muse to a beat and make it project.
I mean I used to compete when we played with content.
Where creative concepts were admired and praised
their basic objective to try and inflame.
So your mind was engaged to the subject at hand.
We’d rhyme at a pace you would struggle to grasp
with a structure intact, we’d rap with intent.
It come to us naturally on a path to its end.
I start planning ahead and picking a shirt.
I anxiously text whilst thinking of words.
Fifth can hitting the turf as the evening darkens.
So I quit with the verse and proceed with the lagers
feeling disheartened, I start changing the beat.
My wisdom has sharpened as I’m painting a scene.
I’m gaining belief that the method I have
is the way it should be and your all set in the past.
Contesting what’s bad and disputing what’s hot.
I'm ending my draft and moving along
Cuz it’s not proven or wrong and that is the difference.
The true beauty of hop, a craft we enlist in.
Whether graphic or written our mind’s engulfed
where one man’s opinion can divide a cult
For me it defines the culture I'm glad to be by
reignites a hunger that's trapped in my life.
Another Saturday night and the rhymes are done
I'm happy with mine, think the time is up!
The deadline is coming and the bottom is reached,
add the final touches and my topic’s complete,
Log off Netcees so I can catch the bus,
jog on to meet the lads at the pub!
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