As a connoiseur of the "finest" in hip hop music, I tend to turn into a gangsta street king when I press play on my Ipod or turn on the music in my car. I've been caught on numerous occasions by unsuspecting passers-by that appear totally disturbed when they hear what comes blaring out of the speakers of this highly educated, well-dressed, upstanding citizen's car. "It's the King B+-&!"..."Rich off Cocaine"..."So Amazing" (I tone it down sometimes)... "It's me N!**?#..."
Unfortunately, I love the beats, can appreciate the ego...the bravado...the unapologetic attitue...but the LYRICS...OH THE LYRICS...I love to hear the stories. I feel every word that Jeezy growls, every slur that Weezy breathes, every line of silk that comes from Jay-Z's mental factory, and can draw the pictures that Rick Ross paints with his words. I get it! I feel it! I love it! I believe you...
Soooo...I'm a woman of a certain age, with a few degrees (soon enough), a polished resume, a professional disposition (when I need to put it on), and a secret inner gangsta that has a heart for hip hip.
I believe you...I believe in you...Believe me! I'm all in!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment