lirik lagu joshua bennett – hip hop
even the greediest crack fiend
will still pop lock for free if you put on the right song
well forget his addiction only for a minute and reminisce
about the taste of quarter waters sipped through innocent ten year old lips on 1989 brooklyn brownstone steps
he will remind you that the music is in all of us
see i was twelve years old the first time i heard 2pac
headphones blaring stories of guns and glory
unlike anything my suburban ears had ever heard
i was addicted
and the rhythm of the b-ss drum was my smack
so i smacked my veins
inject verses till my arms were covered with all the latest tracks
snorting lines of kurtis blow
until it all faded to black
and i awoke to find a brand new jay-z album in my backpack
couldn’t back track or fall back like where the past at
so i skipped time
you shaked dilla in my dolorean and went past that
see
my daddy left
so i had to write
with my right and left
just to write the wrongs he’d left
check
like kings endangered during chess
but i’m more like a queen
loud but i move in all directions or in any given beat i get deaf
move swiftly
on corners where young men act obtuse
because they were never able to see life from the right angle
so limited perspective renders their vision acute
hearts colder than forty-five degrees
never went to cl-ss
so they skipped the first four letters of the alphabet and end lives with ease
breathe
remember that your heart is just a drum machine
and that we are all hands in the same crowd
all waves on the same frequency
see we are hip-hop
i am hip-hop
i am the first bullet that hit sean bell
i’m a crack pipe in a pregnant mothers hands
a project building on fire
a prison inmate writing the illest verse you ever heard from the gas ember
i’m the handcuffs on his hands and the shackles on his mind
i’m four little girls from a six in the little rock nine
i’m three fifths human and five fifths warrior
i’m a king
no i’m rodney king
no i’m martin luther king crip walking on clouds with malcolm x
i’m barack obama
matter of fact
i’m barack obamas grandson
trying to catch a cab in manhattan
i’m a blood
throwing up my hood
rolling deep ready to k!ll a n-gga
i’m the klu-klux-klan
throwing up my hood
rolling deep ready to k!ll a n-gga
a contradiction
see hip-hop
is just like halloween
a worldwide mascarade where rappers display acts of buffoonery not seen since m-ss’s days
because we used to be free
but keep running back to bondage like backwards slaves who
gladly give up the rights to what we write in exchange for chains
and so it’s no wonder
that after all this time the terms have remained exactly the same
because little black boys
just want to play the game
become super coons
who hip-hop from courts to court rooms
because rims
whether they’re on cars or backboards
all sound exactly the same to them
so if you ask me what i love about this culture
i would say everything and nothing
that it has k!lled as many as it has saved
that it has moved as many as it has paralyzed
and that somewhere, in a back alley in the south bronx
that none of us will ever step foot in
there is a crack addicted man
turntables in his eyes
a song in his heart
and a world
that may never be ready… to listen
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