Bling

Hip hop is like the girl you confide in but can’t quite trust. She paints pictures of materialism and misogyny in the form of artistic lust. Sometimes she tells stories about the street which we all want to understand. But we sit and fantasize about our tough upbringing even though our posture not what make us a man. Regardless of background we’ve all been through something. Cause even our icons don’t understand our desks or the seats we sit in or the paragraphs we’ve imprinted Messages of currency and bling dominate the corrupted airwaves. And even though I don’t like living in the past, take me back to the 90s with deep lyrical meaning and repetitive hairwaves. It’s unfortunate when self proclaimed hip hop heads have two bottles to pop but can’t recite 2Pac. Or when they push rocks but don’t pull the history of The Roc. Hip hop head almost a derogatory term to describe our closed-mindedness. But the music that touched us still remains as you can see by the radio, something left far behind us Hip hop like the five-percenter who has lost its voice. Because the industries we go to feed us tasteless food for thought and leave us without choice. How are we supposed to sound different if most are offered auto tune? Our originality disguised as a triangle, how are we supposed paint spheres without a full moon. Some people buy into conspiracies, but it’s their way of reflecting their own insecurities. My skin complexion light but my tone dark, like a caucasian adolescent with depression and a blackened heart. Oh shit just described myself accidentally, and shouted out underclass white america incidentally. But this song not meant to call attention to myself, but only to attempt to bail lyrics out from it’s bling-covered cell