My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why,
Some music these days make me wanna cry,
I find myself in a parallel universe,
Where rap is carried through the streets in a diamanté-encrusted hearse,
Someone auto-tuned an awful chorus and tried to lift things with a boring fucking verse,
Triggers are pulled as usual but they're suffering a jammed clip,
I need meat and gravy to wash down that chip,
On your shoulder,
A decent rapper is not created with a pout and smolder,
It's not about becoming bolder and bolder,
It's about being clever,
It's about inspiring people and making them think,
It should be a deep, satisfying aural drink,
A pleasure to the ears,
Don't get me wrong, music should be about the sound,
But good rap should be more than it appears,
It should be the liquor to all of the weak beers,
It should shift up, not down, in gears,
And at the very least,
It should aspire to impart as much as its respected peers.

© Alex Frost 2015