Words by The Squad MC
Inspired by some Lil Homeys round' the way.
An East Coast Block, 2:30am, Year of Our Lord, 2003
Wazhappenin' peeps? You might know me my name is Rap Music. I was born supposedly in New York and then migrated to the west coast. Actually, I was born in Africa from the first kick of the baseline drum, ya feel me? Communicating through village grapevines about what was happenin', had happened and what needed to happen for our survival. Centuries later, when I arrived in America, I first stomped my Timbs in New York. Some say the Bronx, some say Queens, so I give love to em' both. I cast a spell on the west coast as well. I have to give props where props are due. I like to call New York my pops and I refer to South Central Los Angeles as my Godfather. Fair? I think so. Not to leave out my HoodGods from the South; ya know Face, P and wild-azz Luke put it down for me. When I jumped to the Midwest, I quickly learned to respect some serious OG's. Nothing is Common on how they get down - much respect to the Southside. Most important, please do not confuse me with my little brother, Hip-Hop, you know him right? He is the multi-diverse, commercially charged, culture-creating other half that has made my empire grow with some successes and some failures. I love my Lil Bro, but I always have to keep his azz in line or we will lose our family soul. WHO STOLE THE SOUL?
So I guess you are wondering why I am writing to you. I decided to write to you after an experience I had a few nights ago with some Lil Homeys on a block in the grand ole' YOU S OF A. So the Lil Homeys and me were kickin' it, blazin' the Gods with that sticky, talking about Kobe, babes and doing bids for various felonious activities. The Lil Homeys wanted to show me some love so they started kickin' four bars, then eight, then sixteen for me. I was listening and feeling their flow no doubt. Their nails were dirty, clothes were rough, stance was purposeful and their RAP was intact. HOWEVER, I was dismayed and saddened that the first joints they spit consisted of the following themes - murder, s*x, drugs, violence, jail and old-school beat downs. I was like D*MN, what the f*ck is happening to me? Do these kids think that's all I'm about? Do they think the issues they are rapping about is all they are made of? Three of them have done bids and at least two of them were strapped with tools of local destruction. I gotta put the brakes on this sh*t...RAP IS OUTTA CONTROL!
As they rapped, I said nothing. I smiled and congratulated them on being able to spit like Redman, slang like Jigga, get deep like Pac and keep the beat moving like Dre. Talented Lil Homeys no doubt. But I had to ask them, "can you throw down some lyrics without cursing or talking about clearing the block with your nine half-cocked?" Much to my amazement, THEY DID. Clean, poetic words about not having their pops around, no money, living in the hood, friends that have died and what it feels like to be locked up. I was amazed and almost tearful as the Lil Homeys reminded me that even though they are on the block, they have feelings and understanding of what I am made of. I am RAP, I told you before, I don't need a Hummer or Benz from the showroom floor. What I need is for all the Lil Homeys spitting sixteen to understand that RAP is about information, survival, the truth, the beat, the feel, the smell and the improvement of the ghetto life. Don't get me wrong, gangsters' will always be a part of the life. Big props to the Don's that held it down the best way they could by setting up empires to make money for survival. I do not condone the violence that they feel is necessary but it is what it is. How difficult is it to make it outta the hood using contemporary routes (College, Sports or Work) if many of your peers and or family members have taught you the underground, G-Unit route? It's hard, d*mn near impossible sometimes. We gotta lift them up people. It's up to us. WE MUST STEAL BACK THE SOUL.
I strolled on and left the Lil Homeys on the block where you can find them. They are not ringside every time the fights on, and most times they are not in the big-black truck with the Carolina lights on. Most times they are on the block, spittin' 16, hand-to-hand for that cream and standin' all raw, looking' mean. My mind drifted to their original lyrics about mayhem and madness. I was wondering what made them think the first words to spit should be about those issues. Is it Fifty's popularity, Snoop's flow, Pac's life, Biggie's legend, or is it the record labels and radio stations that define me as the messenger of these issues? Whatever the case, I need change. I've been through the gun battles, the drug showcase, 22's, Bling-Bling, Big-Booty Videos, non-lyrical hoes and sold-out shows. But now RAP is back. I'm back to take back my streets, the clubs, the airwaves, the videos and the minds of all that follow me. So get outta my way if you ain't reppin' with respect for me, RAP MUSIC. I was birthed to make you live, not die. WHO AM I? WHO AM I? - Big shout to Camron, Santana and The Diplomats for that joint. I'm blasting that joint as I pen these words.
And people in music that continue to promote excessive violence, mindless lyrics, the lyrical ills of misogyny and the glorification of s*x, repetitive lines (LIKE BONECRUSHER) -- I AINT NEVER SCARED, I AINT NEVER SCARED---he should be scared until he has longevity like other artists that have made me their career. I ain't hatin' on you Bone. I heard you can flow but I would never know from what the radio and video rotation tells me. Ya feel me Big Homey? Stay Streal! So I am reaching out to the source. You, the rapper, the creator, the visionaries that keep this multi-billion dollar machine running for me and my Lil Bro, Hip-Hop. BRING ME BACK HOME. RESCUE ME MAN. NOW. TODAY. Do not allow a producer or distributor to create you in the image of what's ruining your own hood. Sure, the beats are kickin' with Fifty's music and various other icons of music-gangsters. But simply because the beats are kickin' or you feel a need to tell what has happened on the gangster side, FLIP THE SCRIPT sometimes, d*mn. Show me you can rip sixteen without gettin' mean, dirty or wasted. Bring me up. Keep me up. Livin me Up with stories about your moms, your pops, your best friend or the first time you did a bid with the HOOK of showing me how you have changed. Do that for me Lil Homeys. This is RAP MUSIC and I need a change. The powers that be are coming after me and it's you that's been snitchin' on me. Sure, I like to blaze, sure, I like the babes, sometimes I like to pop my nine (at a range) but why must you tell the world that in half of your songs? I started out in the hood and what happens in the hood should stay in the hood. The route you are taking right now is a slow death for me. AND I AIN'T GOING OUT LIKE THAT. YOU WONT SEE ME MEMORIALIZED ON A FITTED CAP. NOW YOU CAN GET WITH THIS OR YOU CAN GET WITH THAT. I AM RAP and THAT'S A RAP. I AM HERE TO STAY AND SO IS MY LIL BRO HIP-HOP. Look out for him if you see him in your hood. Make sure he is reppin' properly. SHOULD I FIRE BET and MTV?
Peace to all the homeys that have been shot down, locked down, beat down or tossed around because I am too late in writing this missive.
RAP MUSIC HAS LEFT THE KEYBOARD.
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