The Home of Hip-Hop

Eight AM. 
Any day of any week.
Going 80 on the 210. 
Her fingers trying to find 
A song that she can relate.
But all there is, is sex.
Adolescent boys singing 
About their perceived powers,
Girl's booties, conquests and 
Their hollow egos.
There are no more songs like,
"Imagine" 
"I don't Want to Miss A Thing",
Or "Crazy".
It's a material world.
World of bling bling and  & Bentleys
Diamond crusted crosses
On people who have forgotten
The man who was crucified. 
Now there are more singers, songwriters
Than anyone would care to know
A few worth a dime
Fewer yet worth remembering.
We have arrived 
In her world 
Where the innocent
is cast aside 
for being different.

 
  




 

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