This poem is dedicated to my brethren in the hip hop conglomerate known as Gray Matter. It's an abstract vision of where we've been and where we are headed as a collective. The language may be coded for our own literary consumption, but once the reader absorbs the poetic meter, I feel that the painted picture will be in view. It's been quite a while since inspiration has been within my perimeter, but no time is better than the present, so here is my present, my gift to my hip hop brethren. Gray Matter for life!
HIP HOP GENESIS
Birthed by: The Most High
Inspired by: Gray Matter
Written by: WISDOM
From '68 to '70 a triumverate was destined to make silent noise,
Poised to grow and develop along with this thing we called hip hop...
Get props for being 33.3% of a whole, fractional brothers that would stretch diction and dialect,
Get rich or live trying, crying, vying for attention on urban asphalt...
Learnin' that faults can make collective stronger,
Hungering food for thought, souls not being bought...
Taught by those in the midst of the mist with a brown fist,
Raised in the air, raised in Berea...
Praised with a prayer, on knees with heads to sky,
Sky's the limit still reaching for apex...
Brotherhood know as Fraternity,
Aristocratic with drastic measures and rhymes of pleasure...
Meeting principles and greeting principals in schools of hard knocks,
And hip hop's the class of choice for shared voice...
Noise to some but artistry to we,
Marvelously free with style and flair...
Evolving into MC with nomenclature GQ,
Transforming into DJ on wheels of steel...
Thievery for Ed that was Crazy with table-turned skills,
Leaving me to provide TNT explosion into audio enhancement device...
The m.i.c. was our manifest destiny, a journey into parts unknown,
Yet smarts were honed at home in Middle East...
War zone at times but combat with rhymes,
Not gunslinging but bringing lyrical ammunition to battle...
No tales were tattled but cages were rattled by the three,
Trees of knowledge with fruit providing necessary nutrients...
Nucleus underground basement with flows for days,
Useless it would be to forego talent bestowed by Most High...
Could have wasted away like countless others but spirit still alive,
Thrive on culture that molded and scolded...
Uphold the tenets that divine design designated for our greatness,
Lateness better than never, ending dreams that would otherwise be deferred...
Preferred instead to tread path already laid by forefathers,
Who mixed and scratched so our backs would no longer itch...
From a mythical massa' swinging invisible whips,
We watched whips whipping through hood with visions of success,
Success though not predicated on materialism...
The material we sought was of a creative nature,
Pen to paper, voice to microphone, real to reel...
Sealed the deal once and for all,
All for one, one, two and three entities...
Lords Of Skill became moniker for trio with harmonic tendencies,
Triple beam shining from sun above, believing in the Son above...
A shared love for this thing called hip hop,
Pledged allegiance to red, black and green flags waving with purpose...
Afrocentric ideals being cultivated and nurtured,
While so-called Sucker MC's being murdered...
Beat playing from Run-DMC concoction in hearts and minds,
Sparkin' rhymes and beats with conviction...
Styles deemed illogical so we became Illogical,
Growth could be seen from lyrics philosophical...
A mission impossible this was not,
We would Tom Cruise the streets with ears and eyes open...
Our peers hoping to strike it rich, but we wanted to roll a spare instead,
Taking our times with methodical rhymes...
Method Man to our planned madness,
Would rather be judged on artistic phatness...
Than buried under gold chains,
Chains should've been broken when our ancestors were in fields...
Came from stolen lands so it was ironic when sounds were sampled,
Critics said that sounds instead were stolen but we used what we had...
The Lord above created sound so we utilized what He gave,
No longer slave to massa we in studios saving our masters...
Feelings and emotions plastered on vinyl for all to witness,
Voices and instruments on tapes and DATs...
Tapes were phat that Illogical mapped,
Following the road paved by Bambaataa, Herc, Caz, Red, Flash, Melle...
You feel me?
Reveal these truths to be self evident, that three men were created equal in this hip hop equation...
Roles uniquely defined, supremely divine,
New Era caps in this new era where 40 is the new 30...
And 50 is the new 'Pac,
But the ol' Pac was just fine, vintage like fine wine...
So influences as varied as KRS, Chuck, Kane, Rakim Allah, G Rap became amalgamation of trio,
Palms have mics to amplify voices still...
Hairs turning gray but three still matter,
The gray does matter so men became Gray Matter...
Brain matters expanding still from eons of neon shining in dark,
Illuminating nights and brightening days...
Brothers still existing to eliminate frustrating ways,
So make way for the ways we still have to pave...
No longer slaves, but still trying to master
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