if hip-hop was a girl i would have married her eons ago.
she caresses my temples with melodious instrumentals,
musically soothing my mentals. since a youth i've been
hip-hop's private pupil, from an apprentice to a lyrical disciple
letting out rhymes like simi-automatic rifles.
raised in a land where her voice constantly seduces my eardrums
enticing my feet to tap the cold night streets to dope beats.
8 o 8's pumping bass, her aura surrounds my space, engulfs my
spirit with illustrious lyrics. she romances my soul with candlelit
spells, bounded to her as if i vowed underneath purified Church bells.
my best man's the mic, ignite the reception when it graces
my palm, enchanting crowds with pose and style.
she embraces my vocal cords on our honeymoon with tender kisses
of rhythm and never the blues. when i say i'm married women look shocked,
dazed, and confused, no ring on my hand just a
paper-mate and empty pad, awaiting her lover's touch patiently
while i rolls my dutch, she's the flame to my seeds,
the one's i smoke and the one's i conceive between the sheets,
filled lines never leaving pages incomplete,
busing loads of lead as she swallows my head.
always spitting whether freestyle or written.
she's the Queen of my realm.
when i married Hip-Hop i was anointed and crowned King or the underground