Two letters of twenty-six, merge to make a person
A path chosen, alone, sittin, thoughts in rhymes emergin
A real mc, not branded by any styles, nor afraid to explore
Diverse every time on the mic, bringing his style as intended: raw
Not your industry cat,
who waters himself down to make a dollar, but instead
The cat, who ups his skill twice as much, to make Less
The dude who will sell out to drugs, before sellin out to fame
Knowing his identity, rather then being one of the same
So where is this man?
He's somewhere yet to be found, There once were many
But then there came a new sound...
People still buy into it, and the Real MC has been forgotten
Hype around his comeback, but like fish out water: floppin
Though this person lives in everyone attempting rhythm and poetry
Knowingly, he's there, but so it the one power hungry for the money
and the fame
And who's to blame for ourselves, hip hop is in a pit fall
We had our own culture, then we borrowed from others till it was lost
Diffusion through our membrane, and flows are choppy
Billboard has you as number 1.... But its all distributed and copied...
Like us..
