Hip-Hop's Diary
By: The Halfway House
Entry 1: Cry
Entry 2: SyaNidal
Entry 3: Illus'Artis
Entry 1: under a lamp, he writes this in a notebook..
he flows a story of how life was, with the right rhyme and no hook
She scolds - it's bedtime, he's so alone and can't cry,
while his nose is cold inside a blanket that's old and half dry,
his door's closed by that time, so finally the chill goes,
and he's reaching blindly for what lies beneath the pillow,
'cause his walkmen is truth, one CD made by the roots,
music that changed and helped him stay by the booth,
but he remains like the youth, with no money to spit,
not giving a shit.. about what he could get once he gets in
on that stage with something to give, he'll lift all spirits,
he could fix the new age if these kids all hear it!
when ears shift.. from that Lollipop and drunk music,
not interested in makin' hits for an audience who fucks to it,
this grunge putrid, bullshit music you hear on the radio,
maybe, though.. when he raps he'll make the lady's "oh!"
but in a way that's so.. uplifting to soul,
to feel the lyrics fill where there's a nick or a hole,
no, not a dick in her hole! but that hole in her heart..
lyrics taking single women for a stroll in the park,
the only mold is the art, there's no decay on the date,
being able to look ahead, to know that day's on the way,
no stains on his name.. living a stone honest life,
but for now.. influence remains the headphones on his mind.
Entry 2: under a lamp atop his desk, he's writing to his best,
about what music is today and how they're dying to impress..
They say I'm abusive, with passion for tough love in my music
That's ruthless - in fact stupid, 'cause commercial raps useless
The same dudes claimin' they can't be seen; I'm callin' the cats lucid
They lack fluid with rap Blueprints, like Autotune, and stack two bricks
-of that new shit. We go HARD and we always flip and push
That sticky kush and producers are the reason they track TWO hits.
Fuck that, I'll wrap huge fists around necks when wack dudes spit
Who can't value my sack of metaphors, but get attached to it
So when I drop it's do or die, there's no slackin' with true wits
We realize that hip-hop's suicide hangs by plaques or nooses
See I'm wrapped in music; I can't ball with lames in the game
Descending a mall - of flames when it rains.
Send a train through the veins; they need a lesson in makin' it rhyme
We don't use pen and pad, so we never takin' the time,
and- wavin' the nine? that never earned my respect.
Learned wise and left, then had them slavin' for lines;
Taken to the grave where I lie is the bravest of mine,
Raked in a pile to shake you in vile; quakin' ya spine.
And increasin', at a rate above crime you know is the fakest of guys.
See it's easy to be wack and claim greatness in time
especially when cats like Lil Wayne still alive
Entry 3: under a lamp upon the stage, the beat plays just right..
and he freestyles to a crowd about how this game WAS nice.
Taken it way back when, when heads did moves that kill
On pavements that fractures your grill sick breakers in windmills
While blasting beats that ill the feet and moon walk the streets
Block parties in heat while blasting Kool Moe Dee
Dope times with dope signs kicked with Air Force on the porch
Of course it ain’t hard to tell Nas left emcees torch
I shout New York The best era rep the best ever
Big Punisher so clever so big no matter the weather
He’s hot whatever industry Big, Br Br Br brings the Terror
Because I’m feeling the Squad rocking IZOD flowing hard
Ill like Nasty Nas Escobar is the sickest Grandmaster Flash
Is the quickest R.I.P the fallen my mind has flash backs I trash
Tracks that are wiggdy whack only if it entices me to jump
And possesses moves of a shaolin monk
Loving the old school crews like the Wu
Ill ghetto gutter who cream knowledge in truth
All back in my youth no other genre came close
No other era will ever approach or touch these sick Roots.
Rip the fallen Big Pun, Big L, Biggie, Tupac and Proof
Now..
Entry 4: under a lamp or to an audience, before you're old and dead
you've got to save game, 'cause it's your turn to hold the pen..
...Start writing
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