On radio, on stage, on tape, on wax:
His words are heard. They dopple through the air.
Through microphone and music he attacks -
Confronting us with what we need to hear:
The stories of the margin, pushed to frame.
A lens through which we see what has been seen.
The fame attained retains his chosen name –
A solipsist who pens his chosen scene.
Eventually, though, freestyles need to end;
(The art of rhyme denies the rhymer’s bliss)
And punchlines cannot be the rapper’s friend.
Especially when they all come down to this…

The rapper burns a blaze of burning words
Which only cool when they cannot be heard.