I've evolved thirty plus years, and I can't help myself. From beginning to now, I have to admit I’m ashamed of myself. You see, I’m the blunt that they rolled, the herbs that they smoked, the liquor that they drank, the stench that they stank. The ebonics that they speak, the lyrics that they teach, the beat that bobs their heads, and the cradle that rocks them dead... Asleep.

I am hip hop, the beat that makes your body rock, the beef, the streets, the clothes, the hoes, what makes it soo good? Nobody knows. The anger, the stranger, the mother, the brother, the struggle, the smuggle, the hater, the lover. I'm the lullaby that makes you cry, and in the same bar I’ll dry your eyes. I'm the thought that lingers in your head for days, and days, and I’m the repeat button that makes you wonder what I’m really tryna' say. I'm the dance that makes you move from left to right, I’m the exact reason why the club is poppin' every night.

I'm the beat box, the rocks, the keloids, the block, the gangs, the pain, the fire in your veins. The street cred, the blood red, the Phat Farm, the Sean John, the dead-beat fathers, that are now long gone. The self-esteem, the money soo green, the un-cut version where all is seen. The clubs, the dubs, the intoxicating drugs, the grills, the skills, the intimidating mean mugs. The hustlers with no hustle, the fake, the real. The arrest the best, the strength to pass the test, the conniving hypocrites, is this as good as it gets? The hope, the fear the end soo near, the pressure of peers, over thirty plus years and counting.

I am hip hop, the influence, the indulgence, the tolerance for intolerance, the pleasure the pain, the loss the gain, the street corners, the exploited daughters, the mad sons, the empty guns, the heavy casket, the gift basket, the last tear, the hidden fear, the high hopes, that good dope. The last “HIgh” and that final good bye.

Now MY final question is where is hip hop???