By Bea
As far as lyrical growth is apparent, he’ll be good.
He’s been missed like periods in planned parenthood
and I know his ass needs a waiting room.
It takes time to come to this epiphany
seem like the same things they expected soon
seem to be the same things restricted me
and I’m far from a boa.
Escape they down pour negativity creatively like Noah
piece by piece I build this boat
rhymes for rafters, solid structure makes it float
give them a line or two, see if they bite
give them a hook or two let it sink in just right
their cheeks hurt from smiling hard
I give hugs, fuck a business card
my friendliness sets me apart
and I’m proud of that fact,
who said anger is a prerequisite for reciting this rap?
Go take a history lesson,
learn to distinguish fake rage from the genuine, see
most rappers are made about something
they just don’t know how to express what
so anger comes through lyrics on guns, hustle, big butts
give the masses what they want to hear, right?
Scary movie, dick, fucking brains from ear to ear
while the rest of us sit back project our anger and snap
about the disillusion being fed and that mainstream rap
that mentality ain’t right
spitten so much flem that other artists can’t moisten our lips at the mic
how is saying hip hop’s dead helping a kid get to sleep at night
making a teen’s twisted themes stop being tight
it doesn’t, let’s face it, we’re preaching to the choir
knocking heads with your audience like pre-teens and lizzy McGuire
and it won’t matter if I get a tight beat cause they probably won’t play me
but that’s all right cause I know I need more that a song to truly set me free
more than women praising lyrics to erase the misogyny
it took more that lyrical mirrors to examine the flaws in me
I fucking hate this philosophy, wanna write rhymes about my life
but I’m afraid my subject matter is not plausibility
want to adhear to and honestly I fear to ride shot gun with you through my life
without holding directions to steer to.
I’m a fucked up chick got issues for free like a magazine’s be filled up with
I’m busting at the seams, its seems I’m confident enough the way but I don’t have the means
not the other way around, cause I’ll be prepared for the noise but can’t make a sound
so I stay low to the ground listen to the roots behind Medea, Menuba Nia
strange fruits swing from the mic chords, I watch them pound as they keep
misbehaved boys claim to be criminals, macho men bully us to get deep
good girls pretend to be promiscuous, touch women front like they weak
the poor write about cash flow, the rich write about struggle cause they seek
numbers and acceptance no humble repentance and boasting is fine as long as you don’t finish the sentence. But I’m gonna change all that as soon as I’m finished beating all these jokers and myself with this lyrical bat, I’m gonna go home feeling unfulfilled, my tongue an open wound
where my own flaws be at.