Nicky C - Hip Hop & Incarceration Final lyrics

[Part 1] Hello ladies and gentlemen Where should this little story begin Coming through live from the zulu nation Representing h-h-hip hop incarceration The old school hippity hop is in town You got four elements before we get down Graffiti, Breaking, and DJ sk**s The fourth is MC so I keep it real F-R-A-K they call me Frak And I'm bringing that real hip-hop right back Put your seatbelts in and open wide Blast off now, lets go on a ride [Part 2] Hip-hop began as an expression of oppression Subversive with a purpose, a lesson and a message When blacks represented as k**ers on TV Rap was opportunity to view them creatively But then Viacom and MTV, decided to commercialize the industry It's a jungle sometimes it makes me wonder how they keep from going under The siege of prison industrial complex, perennial process, to keep the colors in shutters distract you with bomb threats And 90 percent of what we watching is controlled by six media conglomerates who pocket what is profited And these media conglomerates have stocks within the hip-hop market and the margins of the private prison complex So whats lucrative? rappers intellectuality, or these gangsta rappers who endorse criminality The medias attempt at constructing a reality, but really its financially enamoring a fantasy And hammering insanity inside of our morality, the prosecutors knocking with a lock em up mentality Tryna vandalize and sanitize minds, while shows like Law & Order just romanticize crime The black and brown people portrayed as drug dealers, when majority of d** are consumed by white people I'd love to see an episode of cops in suburbia The world is too cold an urban hypothermia Casting attractive actors as hara**ed victims While nobody can castrate this caste system Filled with juridical jargon, beg your pardon? Forced to plead guilty confronted with plea bargains The new Jim crow, living in limbo Tryna dodge the pen walking on tip-toes The police presence makes it feel like enemy land Got 23 years for 23 grams And only 7 percent of federals involving a weapon Its all d**, not even selling just for possession Its origins originate in the Regan era When they cut the social programs and replaced them with the terror Instead of rehabilitation it was recapitulation of the Same Discrimination that was sweeping cross the nation Leaving addicts as the addicts, with a needles desperation With a school to prison pipeline deceitful education And 2.3 million people are in prison 5.1 are under correctional supervision So after they do time and go through the worst They get dropped into this unfamiliar universe Denied the right to housing, denied the right employment In society their choices are swimming in toilet I'm not a sociologist Hard to be an optimist when they're stalked on the project steps and get stopped and frisked 68 percent of people on probation Within three years they are reinstated Its all a perpetuation of the vicious cycle A false colorblindness in a spiral This is more than just a final [Part 3] Blasting off like an astronaut This is the story of going to camp Afterbaugh We drove past golf courses and suburbs To law forces and shutters, from Hogwarts to the gutter Tried to come in without a preconceived design So I could peep it, seep it up, and reconstruct my mind At first we were met by silence An ambivalence, with mean mugs defending their shyness Nervous that their writing wasn't spoken outspokenly I told em there's no bouldering between rap and poetry Then we had that Cypher in the corner They told me I was ga**in em, a natural performer Felt good being told I'm a fire MC But little did they know they were inspiring me Prisons maintained so privately While their feelings restrained so privately His poem from the perspective of a black Camaro During a drive by, I felt it in my bone marrow But he ripped it up and kicked the dust as if we'd frown upon it Wish he knew that his reality was valid as a sonnet But the censorship is endless made to feel like their expression is identified As senseless desensitized and helpless To gentrify the images that's put in their brains And I tried to empathize but I couldn't relate He's 17 with 2 kids and 15 with 2 nines I'm 19 with 16s, that can't reach their true lives They asked me bout college and I paint them a scene Salivating over freedom that had came in a dream Glossy distant eyes thinking high in a different life If they switched the tides, when impulses improvised Internalized their fist of pride till open palms itch at night Blaming themselves when their clipped inside the system's lies What is crime? I didn't see it in his eyes writing letters to a son that yet to materialize What is crime? I didn't find it in the smile of a boy whose tear ducts are duct taped by denial What is crime? I don't know anymore The popo with 4-4s will blow holes in their door The court knows their own code to hold onto the floor Don't know what to ask francoso anymore I guess my missions to split em with lyricism rid em from mental prism give lenses for better vision whose ending this bitter schism injecting my criticism tried to diagnose the problem its limitless but don't give in, listen