This is Hip Hop!


My mind is a rambling medley of melodies.

Too far ahead of time for there to be time ahead of me.

Disgusted by the industries industrious campaign.
Which claims.
Hop hop is the rap that keeps the label pres paid!

Fade to black.
Add the yellows, purples, and the blues.

This is the bruise from which this heart will never heal.

Less the music most glorified cease giving children a license to kill.

Don't you understand!?
That true music pours fourth from the soul.

So soul-less individuals are left with the inevitable misfortune of being able to produce nothing but rhythmic noise.
With rhythmic ploys.

Which removes the rhythm from my rhythmic joys.

Guilty feet have got none. Uh!
A guilty conscience drops none. Uh!
So a guilty voice rings.

Carrying with it the conviction of a light arctic breeze.

Lackin the fire of passion.
Addin the anti-M to the anti-C.
When the anti-D and the anti-J.
Lets the anti-wax.
Anti-play.

So when the anti-night fades into the anti-day.
They!
Ask me one seemingly strange question.
So! Who is Mike Jones?
And one response repeats throughout my zone.
And I quote!

Who gives a FUCK!!

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