Beats Aside

There comes a time when I crave Azealia Banks, a bit of flavor and thrust, hearts on the stake. Reality struck, I’m hard on double takes. I look again at a struggle, the impact some people place. Their hands are ever laced onto a throne’s arms. They rest in vain. Cannot look beyond the hate. Divide and not relate. So even though they spit bars hard as hell, I’m not about to lay shit I don’t believe on my shelf. Then I look back to the hip hop stars I’ve held up high, the ones I’ve let go and the ones I keep inside. Shit is never perfect and humans learn in stride. I fuck up every day and these artists, well, music never dies and lyrics can keep on creating broken lines so generations keep sighing. That shit was just a place in time, now it burns. The cycle churns. I support the cause of undermining someone’s worth by way of lines written rushed in a verse or manipulated by the curse: fame on top, unity on standby. Survival of the sickest, the richest then become blind. Support is an endeavor for growth and to stay alive. What are your lines worth?┬áBeats aside.