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Original Props: A Revolution In Hip-Hop
A half polished bottle of absinthe sits next to it's demolished
host, who's craft is to throttle an absent image, long abolished
by most, who draft in bottles & bask in ads sent over airwaves
post TV era, where air raids on Xbox raise kids like stairways
the next flock pre-programmed by gamestop, where warriors
& bad cops, tackle drug lords & terror plots, where spoilers
& pit stops, shackle young hordes & 4ever rot, collective minds
w/ infective lines coded to reflect the times! So I object in rhyme
& inject sublime thoughts molded to correct 4 crimes, in respect
to minds lost, & connect with fine imagery, designed to project
off words tossed, I elect to spine symmetry, enshrined in hip-hop
entwined by dope knots and tied to the fabric I weave, to sleeve
the beast dropped, conceived in ink blots, achieved thru chief 'd
crops, released on creased pages of text, a feast of greased
feathers staged next, to complex spools & ink-jets, I bleed facts
on 'the land of the lost' like 'Sleestaks' gutted by 'pakuni' packs
to bring back the old school & breath back the visions, in fact
to a time before mainstream went wack, my main scheme intact
w/ X-ACTO Blade tact, I act on the absinthe attack w/ killer lines
housed on internal rhymes, and extract an image so defined
inclined to fracture your frame of thought & shake the foundation
in which you were taught, with an onslaught of original 'props'
I'm talking, fresh sneakers & backpacks w/ the pen that I brought
not talking a pendant or watch! so mutha fuck a bling on my watch
I string a meaning in taunts to flaunt the artistry streaming in fonts
that leave a crowd screaming in want, an energy beaming in jaunts
like vibrant trips, where you long to kiss souls w/ Aunt Jemima lips
where syrups flow from twisted trees, & the bliss that be, persists
w/ ease, by embers sparked right besides a mist of fiery dreams
I exist only to assist in shifts of power or politics deemed coward
the revolutionary hour before the battles won face to face w/ Babylon
against all odds I prevail & hail God, for the strength to carry on
my back, the weight of some failed wax, where the message's
scaled back, & content is known to lack, but I stand firm underground
as the revolution of hip-hop, a conscious music observed to level
playing fields and preserve our culture from industry slave-bots..
..so fuck a mainstream, I'm rocking them fake clowns..
.................................................. ........................Who am I?
that conscious movement in Hip-Hop.. Evolution..
.................................................. ......................I'm underground!
.................................................. ....Signed: -The Revolution
By: Bounce
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