Rock Series - Microphones


Ladies and gentlemen, open your ears and see
Introducing the final battle: a poet vs. an emcee.

The lights went dim, the crowd swelled like elastic
First up to the mic was the emcee, M.C. Thugtastic.

He was dressed in baggy clothes, du-rag true to form
Chains and links, standard thug uniform.

Thugtastic was on the mic, rippin’ and spittin’
The crowd got hype, not a soul was sittin’

All hands in the air, Thugtastic was the one
As he rapped about slanging and banging, pulling guns.

Rappin’ about hoods and claiming his set
Rappin’ about all the monies and honies he would get.

The crowd was going wild, straight dancin’ on the flo’
Screaming and shouting, everyone sayin’ “HOOO!”

People were pop-lockin’ and dropping it like its hot
Ladies were gyratin’ showing dudes what they got.

Thugtastic was feeling it son, today was his day
He was feeling so good, he couldn’t help but shout, “Yea Yea!”

And yea yeas filled the air, everyone stylin’ out
A fight broke out in the back, four dudes started wildin’ out.

Someone whipped out a grill, barbecue ribs and applesauce
Potato salad and collard greens, steaks wrapped in bacon with hot sauce.

It felt like homecoming at a Southern country church
Thugtastic like a preacher, selling his verbal merch-

Endiase as the people bought into it
Becoming dumbed down and hollowed out, the people bought into it

Thugtastic was their thug savior, the crowd just gave him their money
Thugtastic said to himself, “I’m getting PAID son, mo’ money mo’ money!”


So Thugtastic got off the stage, to hand claps and hand daps
To cheers and praise, no insults or dozen’s snaps.

The lights dimmed again, the crowd thought it was a short circuit
Until he walked to the mic, up next: the poet.

The people started booing saying, “Ah Lawd, here we go.”
A woman with high blood pressure yelled, “we don’t want you here no mo’.”

Some people started to leave; they wouldn’t give him a chance
The poet said, “Wait please” and threw up his hands

And said, “Sometimes you hold me so tightly it leaves two circles on my back
And when you walk away I still feel you, holding.”

The crowd said “What?”

The poet continued, “Sometimes when you kiss me, it feels like the sound children make when they dream.”

The poet spoke about love and giving of ourselves
Of loving one another as much as we love ourselves

About helping each other, peace on Earth and God
The crowd was silent, but everyone gave a little nod.

That silent, “I heard that” as they sat in awe
‘Til one dude shouted out, “Man, you sound just like my grandma!”

Some people started to cry, hard gangsta’ bruhs started to weep
One guy stammered, “You deep son…you…you…deep.”

Two warring gangs hugged and started a truce
Five people poured out their liquor, swearing to quit their alcohol abuse.

Some people gave up smoking, some people gave up drugs
Some people called their mommas, everyone giving out hugs.

And Thugtastic went home, with his money and his girls
While the poet went home alone, trying to smile, not knowing he just changed the world…


[Poem #19 of 30 (touched up and repolished for Poemvember).  Image by mrgilles via Flickr and a Creative Commons License.]


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