I wasn’t a hardcore Brandy fan but I’m feeling this 90s swag today. Tell ’em ladies! Lol
REPOST from Good Black News. Please click the link below for the original post.
“The ride-share service Lyft announced Tuesday that passengers can now round up their fare to the next dollar and donate the difference to Chance the Rapper’s fund to support Chicago Public Schools. The New Chance Arts and Literature Fund, devoted to creating and expanding Chicago arts education programs, is the first local organization Lyft is supporting through the “round up and donate” feature.”
Ya’ll know this was the song back in the day. (Fun Fact: Biggie’s mom, Voletta Wallace, said in a documentary that Biggie was a good guy and that he didn’t really struggle like that growing up lol)
You gotta be from the Chi to appreciate Common….this here back when Hip Hop had a conscious…
“A poor single mother on welfare tell me how you did it” Whew. Can so relate to this
Who Willie Lynched your mentality?
Who put you under a spell?
Why you let them teleport you back to slavery?
They could have at least made it look good
didn’t have to hang you on the block
in your own hood
from your own trees
could have bridged the gap
between the souls you “sold” for rap
could have at least duct taped pieces of the truth
so you didn’t look like the signs of the times
didn’t have to trade your crown
for nursery rhymes
spill your blood on the ground
like wasted time
look how intoxicated you are
don’t know the difference between what truth and being real is
Is we being real?
There’s a reason that last line ain’t grammatically correct
gotta spit truth a lot truthful than that
since when did speaking the Kings English
ever define being black?
since when did we become something called Black?
what is that?
if you gonna spit truth
you gotta come much harder than that
and much deeper than black
you see even your conscious rappers
ain’t wrapped tight enough
can’t baptize deception in muddy waters and call it clean
can’t metaphysical the spiritual
and call it revolutionizing the struggle
can’t call it consciousness if you still sleeping
but rebellion the only thing around here get played
and you the only people around here being played
why I still hear rappers remixing they own graves?
who put yall under a spell?
don’t know why prison statistics don’t start with the prisons
outside of jails
but then again
I guess we can’t all spit truth
the records will never sell
Today’s rap music (actually today’s music in general) is nothing short of sad. You used to rewind the lyrics of Talib Kweli, Mos Def, Common, The Roots, A Tribe Called Quest etc., because you actually learned something. But now you have to rewind lyrics to convince yourself you really did hear what you wish you didn’t. Take Iggy Azalea for example, who ain’t seen one inch of anybody’s hood. She does not talk like that in real life people, is obviously racists and a mockery toward black people, but yall are all over her. Are we so blind?
I remember being about eleven years old and joking with my cousins. One of the silliest said they can make a song of anything, that they could make a song about water. And as they hummed their made-up lyrics we laughed about it, our innocence sparing no expense on the buffoonery of our cousin’s song. But today it is no longer funny. It is no longer funny because our joke has made manifest itself in the ears of our children. Our jokes have exalted itself over the years and have actually made it inside the rooms of record companies where young men and women do away with logic because it does not pay the bills; where they do away with the positive influence of having achieved something of value, of substance. A place where the Lil Wayne’s do not talk about their college degrees and the Rick Ross’s do not boast of their life as Criminal Justice officers because this does not pay in money and in power like half dressed women and drugs and diamonds bigger than your head. So, somewhere between Young Thug, K Camp and World Star Hip Hop our children are left with garbage. A hodgepodge of people who never grew up in the hood but the hood is all they rap about. But someone’s son is struggling to eat because his mother is addicted to the same crack he pledges to distribute as soon as his voice is deep enough. Can you blame him? After all, it’s fast, it’s easy, and it is all his role model talks about. A woman’s son, who probably seen more drugs and guns in his six years of life than any of his favorite 106 N Park Rap stars.But this is the music he listens to.
I just hope poetry don’t get this bad, where yall start trading your virginity for a tight lyric and hot beat. Metaphors and similes come a dime a dozen so don’t get caught up in what just sounds good. But make sure you are actually talking about something that makes sense. That you’re giving life to life so that you are truly a deliverer, and not just a tool.