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I could what you do, EASY!
Believe me, frontin' niggaz
gives me heebie-jeebies - Lauryn Hill - Ready or Not
For the fake emcees who think they can do what we do.....right...
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Mic check 1,2.....mic check 1,2
It's laughable the amount of defected MC's
That take up residence at open mic
Searching for the success that alluded
Them by 16 bars and beat dependency
It's become trendy to be MC/Poet
But most times it's just the fact
That their tracks collapsed
From underweight raps
That couldn't take the pounds
Of heavyweight rounds with real hip hop artists
While Def Jam reinventions remixed with hyped rhyme patterns
Might entertain Pavlovian appreciative audiences
This poetess most protests these upstarts
Cuz failed MC's do for this art what the introduction of RB hooks
Did to hip hop
It's the type of marriage that begs for divorce
Poets vs. wannabe MCs being taken to the court
Bitter bitchery over who is the better half
Resulting in the aftermath
Of exploited expressions
Custody battles over creativity
The art gets distorted
But I'm calling for order
I make the motion to appeal this conviction
It's senseless pitting written styles against the bullshit
Some of these rap act poets are spitting
Don't get me wrong spoken word is the root of hip hop
But where do we draw the line between real word smiths
& pissed off low level emcees
Passing themselves off as poets
I contort my mouth in disdain
To see pain plagiarized on stages
After some soul bled their life force unto pages
Dampened with the tears and sweat of their labor
I don't write and spit for simple entertainment value
My words make war and give birth to muses
That manifest messages of powers
I don't need a rapid fire cadence
To deliver dramatics with nonsense
This art is not about ego
Ergo I must insist that you sit your ass down
Instead of wasting your five minutes on the mic
& my five bucks at the door
I didn't come here for a Minstrel Show
I came to bare witness to a movement
To watch torch lights ignite
To gain some insight
To have my spirits lifted by the gifted
To sit with the misfits in a placed called our own
Slambos and faux emcees are not welcome in my home
There are no battles for belts or thrones here
Nothing is ruled by the mentality you abide by
There are no instrumentals for simpletons
Give me some complexity vs. your complacency
Serve me something from the recesses of your soul
Not verses that are arrested in their development
It's irrelevant your belief that you can rock the mic
When you have even failed at being the hype man
Rhymes still too soft to stimulate erection
Infantile styles that abort upon conception
Your perception is blinded to the fact
That bad raps CAN NOT be passed off as poems
An official mic check is taking affect
Check for conscious
Check for content
Check for clarity
Check for reality
Check....check...check
Mic checked!
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About me: Legacy Leonard, 27, Detroit writer, poet and activist. Lover of arts, lover of music, and lover of life. I mean FTP, nigga : Free The Prisoners, Feed The Poor, Fuck The Police, Fight The Pigs, Fix The Projects and Fight The Muthaf*ckin Power
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