It has been my contention that many rap artists are actually quite skilled in poetics. The problem facing them is that they often cover topics or ideologies that are disapproved of by mainstream society. That?s a shame because some of them really are very good.
Of course, poets at other periods have been persecuted for their poetry as well. With the passage of time the mores change and the poems become more acceptable. The poems that already were acceptable start to seem hokey to those of us who follow. Learning from this, we can be, perhaps, a small amount more tolerant of the rappers? voices.
To help make the transition more smooth, I?ve composed the following poem that is a blend of antiquated, and therefore acceptable, poetry and modern American rap. I hope you enjoy it.
Whither sits my money, biatch?
Thou makest me look bad in front of my homies.
Thine eye shall blume in purple hue,
because I wants me my monies.
Spare me thine attitude, Oh stupid ho!
Open thy mouth and I?ll stab it.
For if thou bringest not the cash from your whoring,
I canst not afford my habit.
I want not to trade, thou filthy skank,
an eight-ball is my true desire.
For thy nasty stuff wouldst make me feel low,
but I only want to get higher.
Now that should help the poetry community get along better with the rap community so that we can have peace. After all, there is nothing more sad than seeing a bunch of tweed-wearing gray-beards drive by in their Volvo firing thirty-two caliber revolvers at the latest rap stars.
You gotta pick the right guy to do the job.
Go out now and vote for LibertyBob.