With so many visiting and viewing the demise of Hip-Hop in its public
hospice, has anyone given any thought to exactly WHO is directly
responsible for its ravaged condition? Granted, its easy to say that
many have contributed to spreading life-threatening poison that have
left it in a state of septic shock; I argue that its venomous
commercialization within a corporate industry can be traced back to one
singular event. One definitive moment in time from one of Hip Hops
most acclaimed artists. The bigger than life lyricist whom I
speak of is none other than Christopher Wallace a.k.a. The Notorious
B.I.G. the event is the release and worldwide saturation of his
debut album: Ready to Die.
Prophetically titled, this album marked the proverbial beginning of
the end of Hip Hop. What Big brought into this music with his style
and delivery essentially created cancerous replicas that have
overpowered the regenerative properties bred from innovation.
Biggies success has fostered a movement that has placed precedence on
abandoning originality as rappers poorly mimic such an aboriginal
flow ironically keeping his legacy alive while effectively killing
the very essence of Hip-Hop in the process.
D.I.E. Cast Modeling
Hip Hop needs revivin.
Switchin to pop cant revitalize it.
What kids have adopted and idolize
is a shell with no ghost.
The reason being is a thesis
Thatll be treasonous to its elitists
As the trace leads the deceased
to the reaping and selling of its soul.
While a only a small handful
can resuscitate it,
Only one had the balls and can-do
to crush and maim it.
But trust, we dont hate him
we venerate him for the
disastrous path of his success.
And though we recognize it needs
to heave with fresh heirs,
Weve mechanized it to breathe
with a fresh pair of Airs
Its a reckless affair
what he innovated is imitated
in the aftermath of his death.
Big Poppas verse brought Hip-Hops hearse
metaphorically and literally speaking.
Bigs thoughts have been cursed
to riddle his offsprings words
These toddlers perform as lyrical leaches illegally.
Who can grieve easily when they
bemoan his death by plagiarizin?!!
So there it is, Ive said it
Hip Hops been ready to die.
Its imperative that I spread it
Its rhythm stopped when
Big dropped Ready to Die
He was steady formaldehyde
as his tones frozen death
in an age plagued with pages of lyin.
From such a fluid influence
Numerous crews have endlessly intruded.
These foolish trend keepers are a nuisance
their vigors aborted.
So many dead men are talking
With pen scrawl jockeying
Are the living dead dawdling
clenched in the clutches of rigor mortis.
What Big did so notoriously
Wasnt so unique historically.
Before his reach, N.W.A. and Ice-T
supplied text for young guns in the street.
But what they broached was too controversial.
Biggies approach was
more subconsciously versatile
It was adopted as universal
less abrasive with finer
finessed tongue in cheek speech.
So when rappers glimpsed what Big recorded,
They couldnt resist the allure to extort it.
Rewriting his hits was enormous!
it afforded them deals and labels.
So though Biggie Smalls was the illest in rap,
Biggies gall is what killed it, in fact
As Biggies Mini-Mes maraud and pilfer
his tracks as they steal from his fables.
His wordplay of hash and bricks
Made hearses take tragic trips.
Mad rappers flipped out into doped MCs.
After him, creativity peaked and crashed quick
As lyrics laced with obscenities for fiends and addicts
Made cats lapse on unclean craftmatics
taking dirt naps from rote medleys.
While efficiently mimicking his tendencies
for faster lives of fortune,
These Mini-Mes essentially leave
Biggies afterlife distorted.
Theyve critically fractured his life supported
with their deathly endeavors.
Much the way cancer replicates itself incessantly
As its anthem suffocates the health of cell integrity
The wealth of treasury in self-efficacy
lessens from such desperate embezzlers.
These copy and paste lyricists
Are a Xeroxed disgrace to an imperialist.
Hypnotized into deliriousness,
theyre lobotomized zombies.
Stumbling as they walk in Bigs
Timbs and Karl Kanis,
Theyre too trim Slim, these arent your size!…
your parchments dry like fallen leaves.
Turning his words into
a dirge willed a legacys demise,
Interred and fulfilled a destiny to die.
Its a lesson weve denied to learn
in turn, this is the first of many cycles.
Once resurrected and redirected,
Substance vested must be injected to protect it
Lest we reinvest this decrepit vestige imbedded
into a dearth thats intently idle.
Such life that imitates art instigates tragic death
When mics ricochet thoughts of intimidated artists
too afraid to initiate tactics refreshed.
The timid fate of such stagnant success is
indebted to a stupendous patron.
This significance decays the tattered device
Of the Biggest sway of a swaggered rappers delight
As the sickness displayed satisfies
an afterlife of Death In Emulation.