Shorty’s the illest on the block, metaphorical pipe game, taught me life game, mind locked, attracted to the words coming out of the speakers, the notes and bars flocked. Looking both ways before she crossed my mind. The danger was inherent in the way she dropped her lines. Rhymes always crispy, beats always on time. She got me open. Shorty that good. Raised in the hood. Like Kiki Sheppard paused, then rubbed the wood, the Dirk Diggler. Falling out from the back shots, after shorty pulls the trigger, a smooth criminal, subliminal, Animal on the drums, 36 29 44 figure.
Verse two. Coming with that ole witch’s brew. Eye of verbs and nouns, is what we do. Pins in the back, cracking vertebrae like some old voodoo. Who knew, schools in session, the sifu, first seduction, then full possession from the aromatic, olfactory stew. Candle wax and sexy smile too, she’s winnin’, that South Bronx shorty, wild style crew, still got my head and heart spinnin’. Calculatin’ my next move with more muscle, more hustle. Bustlin’ around the schoolyard screaming on gooches. Cinnamon frosted smooches, sugar-skulled, mind hi-jacked, and heart boosted.
Verse three. I developed a sweet tooth for shorty. She flooded my mind with fantasies and stories. Bitin’ down on da onion, tear drop, lollipop, breakin’, pop and toe lockin’ from the intensity. Never knew exactly til then how much she meant to me. Hip hop was born on the date of nineteen seventy three, though it would be years later before shorty would come and bless me, with a life of head nodding, mind expanding, mixes of mc’ing, breaking, Dj’ing, and graffiti.
One love to DJ Kool Herc for putting in work. And to everyone who has contributed to HIP HOP on this Earth.
“Rap is something you do. Hip Hop is something you live!”
– The Blast Master, KRS-ONE
(c) Copyright 2017