| In the beginning I was just a kid, listenin' to Slick Rick
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| Maestro Fresh Wes, Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince
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| Rewrite the lyrics and recite ‘em to my best friends
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| But I was just a copycat and this was just a hobby that
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| Would probably pass after I’d exhausted all my sloppy raps
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| And got the laughs I was after, typical little bastard
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| Privileged middle-class mischievous little rascal
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| With a ticket to sit in the back row at a rap show
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| I listened to Fat Joe, Method Man, and B. I. G
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| And imagined livin' as a V. I. P
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| Though I didn’t have a plan, just a fantasy
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| But I could still pass exams with ease and plant trees
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| To get cash for books, tuition fees, and rap CDs
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| And I had a chance to read classic Greek tragedies
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| I’ve always been addicted to words
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| So I just immersed myself in English Literature
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| But I was immature, and these were fickle times
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| Between classes I would listen to rhymes and find
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| My lips whispering lines as if in the background
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| Then at nineteen I wrote my first original rap down
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| I go back to the Genesis Eden Garden |
| When I was a teen in love with freestylin'
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| That’s when I learned techniques for rhymin'
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| And started redesignin'
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| I can still feel that prickle of initial excitement
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| I figured, «It's official y’all; |
| this is enlightenment!»
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| I pictured myself cypherin' with the likes of Big Pun
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| Whippin' punks into submission with a flip of the tongue
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| I did it for fun; |
| I was ambitious and irreverent
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| I figured I was clever enough to get the better
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| Of any competitor, ‘cause I was verbally first rate
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| My early verses were based on discursive wordplay
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| With no breaks, no separated parts, no bars, no hooks
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| Just page after page past the margins of notebooks
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| So far so good; |
| I built my skills gradually
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| And kept on track with the bachelor’s degree
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| Actually, I considered droppin' out to get respect
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| But I figured more options would mean less regrets
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| And besides, some rappers were comin' differently
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| I discovered Blackalicious and Talib Kweli
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| MCs who could rip the beat descriptively
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| And then in my second season I had this epiphany |
| «Rap is poetry!» |
| and ever since I’ve represented it
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| Openly through my position as an academic
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| Get It?
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| I go back to the Genesis Eden Garden
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| When I was a teen in love with freestylin'
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| That’s when I learned techniques for rhymin'
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| And started redesignin'
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| Next semester I convinced my teachers
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| That hip-hop lyrics would be my thesis research
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| I thought I would be the first to study it in depth
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| Reality check; |
| the library index
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| Already had a long list of hip-hop scholarship
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| Steps that I followed in; |
| David Foster Wallace and
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| Tricia Rose and Brian Cross got acknowledgments
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| And props; |
| they taught me hip-hop history
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| And I started to approach this culture realistically
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| And the next step for me in this MC trajectory
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| Was for me to freestyle obsessively
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| On road trips I was a motor-mouth motorist
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| I learned to flow sick on a solo tip
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| Rockin' Dr. Dre beats — Xxplosive
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| I was blowin' doors open; |
| people started listenin'
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| Hip-hop for me was a form of discipline
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| Born Again on the discman, studyin' flows
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| Whadaya know? |
| When I was just twenty years old |
| I hit the tracks runnin' my mouth like a bloody nose
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| And took my first steps down this long dusty road
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| Oh!
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| I get lethargic and reminisce
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| In the darkness return to the days
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| When I learned to spit marvelous
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| And give props to those who started this
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| HipHop, I love being part of this |