Friday, July 24, 2009


you said I was the best you ever had,
that I could stand next to all those others and shine.
it was a lie.
you didn’t love me for what was inside
you gave me the time of day
so I would give you some good nights,
Now I’m largely disillusioned
questioning the official definition
of true beauty
and I’m mad because
the fire you spit was toxic,
poisoning my spirit something serious,
I want to ask you this:
why can’t you be different
instead of degrading the women
and hurting their feelings?
I know you’re trying to stay fly,
so why not rap about the music drive
that keeps you alive?
why is it that hip-hop equals
money, cars, and heartache?
all the girls who watch the videos
suddenly think they should be vixens.
you hold more power over some of us
than the White House and Congress.
we disregard subliminal messages
shouting your lyrics with no shame
but now that we know the truth
we have something important to say:
stop the music,
hold the mike,
let me get this right
I won’t get a shout out
if I don’t give it up?

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