Recent studies have shown that every 37 seconds hip-hop is killed in America. Hip-hop has always thrived in some state of rebellion against the social norms and has done its best to “speak” for those who feel they have no voice. However, I feel compelled to ask one simple question…Can ya’ll n*ggas show up on time? Is that too much to ask? I mean anything that requires showing up on time to do any type of gig in which you will be compensated with money deserves at least that much. Ain’t No one tellin u how to dress, and in most instances they will condone the fact that you stink of marijuana smoke when you arrive. All they ask is that you show up…on time. Mc’s, Dancers, poets, musicians anytime they ask you to be there at 7 pm and you show up a quarter past 8, u have just killed hip-hop. You got that new 24 carrot diamond encrusted Rolex watch with a picture of Barack Obama inside the plate. Remember watches are for keeping time, and 24 carrot diamonds should only be used tactical tools/gifts by men, given to women with the hope that the man can receive his desired oral satisfaction and his quiet. Other hip-hop practitioners who like getting paid to do what they do will thank you.
Painting a Picture- A true story (Names have been left out to protect the innocent and prevent further incidents of hip-hop being killed within the course of this story)
Uh-huh and we are gonna touch on you Hip-hop dancin mutha-f***** yet. Doing a paid performance rollin 8 deep, make it to the spot on time, however 5 of the 8 mutha-f***** dislike one another. On top of that they suddenly dislike the shirts they have been asked to wear 3 months prior to the actually date of the show. In spite of their differences with one another the performance itself is a barn-burner, first rate, top-notch, prolly should be getting more money than they getting. Talented individuals to say the very least! BUT THE SHIRTS…well that’s another issue entirely, these shirts are becoming a damn problem especially to the n*gga who needs the money the most. Yea, he has no damn job, lives with his girl, is 29 making him the oldest in the group and is the least talented of the bunch but dam nit he has an opinion to and these shirts are NOT HIP-HOP! Sure the shirts are black with white text that clearly reads “HIP-HOP 4 Life” but these shirts ain’t bout nothing and my man with no job knows it. And you know damn well any 29 year old man with no job, lives with the girlfriend and gets money from his mother ( this explains his ability to get new clothes and shoes every week). This is a dangerous Sum-b*tch, and his mouth is his weapon of choice, so he uses it to cause dissension in the ranks. Now 5 of the 8 dancers hate the shirts as well and refuse to perform while wearing these black shirts with white text that CLEARLY read “HIP-HOP 4 Life.” Now the 5 are informed by other 3 dancers” if ya don’t wear these shirts you don’t get paid, it’s in the contract.” “Ultimatum” my man with no job says, “there ain’t no ultimatum in hip-hop, fuck this, we out.” So the remaining 3 wind up doing the show and make more money than they originally intended. 3 weeks later after all the smoke has cleared my man with no job calls one of the three dancer who did wear the shirts (because they wanted to get f*cking paid) and asks; “Do you think it’s possible for me to get part of the money? I mean I know I shouldn’t get the whole amount because I didn’t do the whole show but I did do almost half so you think I could get half? My girl broke up with me and I need bus fare back to Jersey.” Now if you were keeping count (Like I was) hip-hop died approximately 12 times within the course of that story.
Other brief examples
- Kayne West crying like a b*tch every time he doesn’t win an award or gives a crappy performance and blames everyone but himself. Hip-Hop dies.
- Lil Wayne being called the” best rapper alive.” Hip-Hop dies.
- People who make money off hip-hop culture yet cannot show up on time for any paying gig. Hip-hop dies.
- Black men who actively seek out unattractive white women to date and eventually impregnate…Hip-hop dies.
- Black/Puerto Rican men who stand 5 feet 7 inches tall, weighs 133 pounds soaking wet after a hot bowl of spaghetti who insist on wearing triple XL white tee-shirts and pants that are two sizes to big with no damn belt…Hip-Hop Dies.
Ya know, I could go on and I think I will because I want anyone who reads this text or is within the sound of my voice to fully understand the gravity of this situation. Now that we got this mulatto president I see blacks puffin up there chest and taking more pride in what they do, which is great. To think that we could have a generation of overachievers and scholars. A generation of great thinkers, trend setters, role models and progressive leaders. Enough ebony rule to make W.E.B. Dubois roll outta his grave and scream “took you n*ggas long enough…shit!” Now what if, what if…we had another generation of LOUD ASS N*GGAS WHO TAKE NO GREATER JOY THAN GOING TO ANY SPOT WHERE FUN AND ENJOYMENT CAN BE HAD AND FUCK IT UP FOR THE SOLE REASON OF DRAWING ATTENTION TO THEMSELVES AND THE BULLSHIT THAT IS THERE LIFE. We have all seen them, these are the individuals who don’t like belts, seem to always be wearing hoodies, and roll in packs as small as three and as large as eighty-seven. They appear menacing to many and they are fully aware of it and use it to their advantage to take any open and social situation (Nightclub, open-mic poetry reading, court, etc.) and F*ck it up entirely. Funny thing is the majority of black people aren’t like this but as my Mama once said “it only takes one bad apple to ruin the whole bunch.”
This is a work of fiction that sleeps with the truth.
Setoiyo Ekpo
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