Friday, June 27, 2008

Social rhymin'

This bit was included in the Laugh It Off 2003 annual

I got nothing to say. I could say some about the way that we've been, but the tyranny of youth refuses. Angry young voices call and call and call for change, respect, Africanism and all the rest. But all that came, it's been and come, if not implemented it'll all be along. Sommer nou-nou.

But the tyrannical youth just don't wanna know. The time is now and what came before they all just ignore, though it was heavy, harsher, hectic, Homie, harder fought, but nought. You hear what they say - today gotta be the day. More guys are rhymin' than ever before, 'bout their wicked ways with words and with the girls. How many homies they have, what crew they move with, how the rhymes that they drop are just so tight, a'ight?

But rhymes about rhymes and words about words have all been heard. The poets of the past weren't so into it 'ay. They had some things to say. Proper power protest points to make. Nowadays, tell me what's at stake?

Gangster rap comes back, tell me where's the politics in that? Tell me what does society lack that its poets all got their booty back. What up, Black? I'm down with that, I got mine too, but what up with you? You got the lyrical gift and what not, you got your way with the words, man, I heard what you got. But what?

Pedal to the metal drop a letter for the better bit o' big-time broken-down telephone-style messaging you got so many rhymes I just can't scan those lines. How many times you can rhyme your name, MC? Respect for that. Maybe you been shot at. Ay, I've had that. Does that make me an MC? Li'l ol me? Lemme see...

"Is my microphone on? Is my microphone on? Can you hear me explore the letter of the law? Though it try to ignore the needs of the poor we know who it for. Still the money be the power and the power be the law, though might might be right a tight, cold night in New Brighton got none of that. No power, maybe light at night, but no cash, no pull with the pigs as well, hell, no road to the shell that my guy and his gal got. S'not so swell Monwabisi Beach beats Silvertown streets but without a job only just. Guy got a sea view but if you just knew how the southeaster blew right through. I knew... no-no-no-no. Now I know whose microphone's not on, Mr Leon."

Where's the voice of the urban poor, the rural rich, the transsex dispossessed? The rural Apalacchians got no voice, no freedom of choice goin' on. Man that mic shaw as fuck ain't on. They can get as white as they like but they way past the Jersey Turnpike. Ol' Georgie W mightn't ever trouble you, but the man don't give a damn about a vet of Vietnam or a one-adult fam with no medical plan. No matter what colour they are. Even Dean and Gene Ween have seen how obscene 'at scene is. Look at the guys Bush got on his side. See what a guy means?

Same this side, the colour you are's no saak my bra. Afrikaners kannie kla nie but my old mate Lindani still blocks in a two-room block with his girl and the lightie some lezzie couple stole the brother of and kept coz they got the bucks and court cases are what it takes to get back your baby, maybe after a hundred clips or three or two.

Yeah so white's still alright, brother black's not bad but I starting to think that perhaps we been had. Trade a national oppression for international versions, a fucked-up class excursion. Sure-sure-sure-sure, we better off then before today, but that's not to say it's how it's all gotta stay. While way, way wack rappers rhyme their lines about cars and shorties, piece 'o blunts and those forties. What about the old songs? What about Babylon? That shit's still all wrong. Since the day that the slaves moved within the city gates do they no longer see their chains? On your hips are those Levi's tabs or bloodstains?

Hey? Wanna know what up today? Get out and Google some shit. It's the only way.
Me? I got nothing to say.

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