Rappers today have achieved levels of success that the pioneers of this generational phenomenon could once only dream of. What we are witnessing now is progressive prosperity: the seeds sown by Hip-Hop’s ancestors are being reaped by their present day offspring. Only now, the harvest isn’t as natural as it used to be – it's a hopped up and recycled product, a shallow shadow of the precedence that once set this art form apart from anything anyone had ever heard before.
In short, some rappers today have managed to emulate the very words that they create in that they all sound the same. Granted, there is still much originality to be appreciated in what is now a global industry; however, we must remain mindful of what is being created in a process that is no longer an expression of individuality as much as it is a generation of corporate cash. And for record companies, the best way to maintain ‘money in the bank’ is to repackage and mass produce what has already been proven as successful.
“Sessions of Self-Destruction”
a.k.a. “Rap Attack of the Clones”
We now live in a climate
Where lyrics are criminally minded.
We’ve been mentally blinded by
‘Thug Life’ tattoos and attitudes.
It’s one thing to call attention to city limits –
It’s entirely another when it’s
mimicked as a gimmick…
It’s an extrinsic epidemic of
facts misconstrued on wax tunes.
I’d rather see emcees
lyrically finesse with good hooks
interiorly recessed in hood nooks.
God forbid them coming spiritually correct
from the Good Book –
pigs would fly first.
Instead, most choose validation
By corroding their talents wasted
Into a pool of miscalculations
that drowns and hides their worth.
What’s embraced now in raps and flows
Is a blatant take on the files found in
Attack of the Clones.
Rabid tones are etched in stones
around the necks of folks with a new noose.
If we could replace half of the status quo
and flash that’s shone
With immaculate quotes filled
with facts for the dome…
We’d be masters of our souls –
yet instead, we disappoint like Episode II.
Caught in the middle of rap’s battle zone,
Hip-Hop’s new followers need chaperons –
Many have attached to roles where
crack is sold not in vials, but images vile.
No one hardly references the tracks of old
When veterans still had their souls…
If they’re not reppin’ capital,
their style’s not worth mentionin’ now.
New jack rappers seek
the easy way out in formulas
That have been easily
laid out for the consortia.
Don’t consort with them, I’m warnin’ ya’ –
their deeds mislead and strip the people.
Today’s rappers have stolen harmonies
in their criminal records –
They all commit bold larceny
with pitiful gestures…
When lines are contrived with minimal effort –
I just say no to the track and skip the needle.
I’m worn out by tired flows
and unoriginal ledgers.
I’m pullin’ horns out to blow
whistles on these whimsical jesters.
They’re timid little hecklers –
too afraid to stir still waters
without stolen thunder.
They’d rather whine
about windin’ waistlines
And invade minds with
tales of sellin’ base and dimes…
They’re all wastes of space and time –
collabos implode whenever these clones lumber.
If you didn’t get it, study physics –
the latter line’s at its baseline.
Like matter can’t occupy
the same space at the same time.
When we feel quakes, it isn’t the bass line –
it’s the ripple effect of self-destruction.
The way it reverberates
effects the system
And sternly shakes
the vertebrates of these mechanisms…
When words are fake, they wreck and wizen
the special wisdom once held in the subject.
This epidemic’s especially wicked
in the midst of cloning threats.
What once served as shock value
now controls the set.
Biggie Smalls was the older Fett –
clones of the vet know success
by emulating his role.
Rap’s overrun with so
many random Boba Fetts
Carrying theoretical handguns
and supposed threats
That the tones they’ve clepted now slowly beget
a single note that’s taken its toll.
Equal pitch and frequency
repeated causes resonation.
When left untreated, the damage
extends beyond reparations.
The aftermath’s a disastrous path
set in the wake’s run –
forget a takeover, take cover.
Like Todd after Diff’rent Strokes or
Like Nas when he rekindled his folklore…
The bridge will be over –
as chasms between Blacks and Rap
will crack from blasts of fake thunder.