Rappers extort their fans like dealers extort their addicts.

A circle of exploitation: dealer sells to addict, rappers see’s dealers life- imitates that in music, rapper becomes dealer of dealers life, fans become addicts.

Rappers who glorify a life that steals others for profit…

Is almost as bad as the fact they never truly lived it.

For the true drug dealer their addict’s life is being exploited.

For the fake drug dealer rappers their addicts are their fans ears and pockets…and their all getting exploited.

I guess the metaphor works, fans are addicts to the drug of music.

When I see kids from well-to-do neighborhoods, good parents, and with enough money to go to school- reciting words from fake drug dealers, mimicking their attitude and movements-

it brings me back to the reality of it all…

That somewhere, the truth about this drug dealing life is killing someone. Someone who is dying from the “hype” of the high… loosing their ability to move, the circulation in their body, their teeth, their cognitive facilities eroding from a lifestyle we praise.

Heroin balloons scattered on the city streets.

I see art imitating reality, reality imitating art- in Hip Hop they share the same space, never knowing where one ends and where the other begins…

A snake eating it’s tale.

Heroin balloons left all over the streets, a sight that art is imitating life or life imitating art?

Again the concept that these two, art and reality, share the same space in Hip Hop, not knowing when one ends and one begins.

Drug dealers, a metaphor for rappers-

They see listeners like addicts, fiends, and people to pimp.

As a curb server see’s a user in the streets burning heroin- burnt spoons…lethal fumes, it’s what I liken that music too.

Basically these rappers sell music like drugs to addicts trying to get high off an imaginary image, while that imaginary image is about real drug dealers who serious damage peoples lives…

A vicious circle where many get caught up in, where fantasy and reality play with each other- eventually becoming real to someone, somewhere.

When most of the rap I grew up with is tainted with perversions of reality, blurred truths, and misguided conclusion- I try and use reason and logic to write my rhymes.

Growing up, drugs and thugs never impressed me. I could never see the logic or reason in it- I know why it existed but not how it mattered in progress.

Growing up I never admired thugs or drugs. I couldn’t see the reason or answer within them, just an excuse.

Time is money.

Broke people have nothing else but time- how are they spending it?