Theirs pros to hip hop but there's a Consequence
When blind rappers turn around and lose their Consciousness
And amidst all the swag lose their confidence
Only rapping bout lettuce and other condiments
Reproducing like they don't know where the condom went
Contracted & controlled by the continent
All their conflicts continuously contradict
Too many poop metaphors man constant shit
So I constipate, and I confiscate
And sit em down on yoga mats until they contemplate
And I bring em to my temple and they congregate
And the sermon tells em that they have to concentrate
When they feeling themselves its so conceded
If they're the truth then why do they conceal it
But in context, there's no content
Can't sit still or conjure any concepts
All their material's watered down and condensed
More corrupt than a conservative congress
If Madeoff made off & A.Weiner showed his weiner, if I frak'd a couple chickens should I confess? Nah
Nickname these new rappers the confederate
Making ghettos feel so condescended
They bout to blow? But no, they're congested
Kill em off, concussions to contestants
But I hope they're words and soul's convertable
Cuz nobody cares bout your convertible
But if u wana conform for consumers
Just call the one hit wonder conductor
There'll be money ringtones and concerts
But while you concur, I will conquer
And hopefully hip hop will converse
Classic like converse, that was just my con verse
When it comes to hip hop, there are pros and cons
Positives and negatives for those who rhyme
So everything that's spat to you is half the truth
Lemee try to tell you with latin roots
Yes, there are cons, but there totally are pros
When locally the pros spittin' poetry and prose
Heroically we flow, hip hop's making progress
When your patient with your creative process
And when you put your protons in your projects
Not for profits, or gods prophets
Not for proceeds, or promoters
But to proceed like a pro's motor
To uplift in a manner non-prophetic
To keep it real and kill the autotuned prosthetic
To relate, whether professin' or on probation
And to free the mind, an independence proclamation
To spit it so crispy, procrastinate, To spin it 360 protractor's way
To wipe the shit they bumping off the face of the earth, call it wack ass rapper's pro-active day
This pro is spitting the prohibition I'm pro efficient
My proposition's to prosecute all this prostitution
P romiscuous rappers are far too provocative
Stacking provolone, 6 figure approximates
But when w e protest like a protestant
And tell the truth, it's positively prosperous
Now instead a cheese its protein and produce
Choppin beets like produce in beats you produce
Lyrical wizards fulfilling the prophecy
Ign oring the propaganda and the property
Make it deep, goosebump inducing profound
Make it honest, make your fiends and parents so proud
Put your heart and soul in everything you pronounce
In every pronoun, you can be a pro now
It's undeniable that hip hop's an art form
Whether soft or hardcore, what are you making art for?
Do you put your heart in your art and articulate
Or do you part with your arts and participate
Are you artificial? or is your art official?
You write articles? Are does your art tickle?
Are you artsy? Are you're an artist?
Or do you need a therapist like Artest?
Are your artistic? Or are you autistic?
Your art is fiction? Or your art is fact?
Do you suspend heart attacks with your artifacts?
Are your artists the sharpest and smartest?
Or are your artards dearly departed?
Are you Bartleby's silence, are you art or science?
Are you writing till you have arthritis
The heart of all the art is if you put you heart in it
Or do you do it for the bread like an artisan
See this artistry though my arteries
Got a semi-artoumatic; paintball artillery
Art sounds, heart pounds, smart clowns, start crowds
Hip Hop, wherefore art thou?
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