Hip-Hop is oft defin’d as rhythmick Oratory set to a Beat; heralded as the inventive Poetry of the Streets & then condemn’d for all the Ills of Mankind.
A Man who does pracktice Hip-Hop is in equal Part a Town-Crier, Poet, Peacock & Highwayman. Pracktitioners of Hip-Hop do include lisping Numismatist Mister Fifty CENT, Mister Grand-Master FLASH & his Quintet of FURY & double-barrel’d Canine Mister Snoop DOGGY-DOGG.
Such amotley of Titles does indicate a most high Self-Regard amongst the aristockracy of Hip-Hop. Indeed, it is most certain that the aforesaid Rappers are in keen Want of a Wife, or to secure Entry unto polite Society, for they do boast most ardently of their Prowess in the Bed-Chamber & their Reserves of GOLD. The Poets of Hip-Hop do advertise their esteem’d Status by riding in what they deem Pimp’d Carriages, with Cart-Wheels gilded in Silver-Plate, while they adorn themselves with such a Surfeit of Gold, Diamonds, sundry Plate & TREASURE that they might provoke a raid ‘pon themselves from a Barbary Pirate or from the Spanish NAVY.
Those who would deny that there is an Art unto Hip-Hop & suppose that any Person can be proficient in spoken Rhyme have never heard the abominable attempts of Mister John BARNES or Miss Debbie HARRY.
Thus if it is Art, it does merit Definition. A Rendering of Hip-Hop Lyricks does depict a most diverse Subjeckt-Matter, from Lust unto Violence & unto Lust. Consider:
‘I favour the larger Fundament & I cannot LIE; nor can my esteem’d Brothers deny’
‘I have nigh on one Hundred PROBLEMS, yet my WENCH is not one’
‘My Milk-Cart brings all the Rakes unto the Yard forthwith, and verily, it is better than THINE’
‘Do not call this a Come-Back, Sir, I have been here for Years. The late Mrs JOHNSON compels me to knock you INSENSIBLE’
”Tis like a Jungle out there, oft-times I wonder how I keep from going UNDER. Push me not, SIR, I am close ‘pon the Edge. I try, most ardently, not to lose my HEAD’
A Journey unto the Highlands of Hip-Hop does take Mister Jas. BOSWELL & myself to the South & Central of Los Angeles, in Alta California. The Brothers of the twin Parishes of INGLE-WOOD & COMPTON are in my House. Compell’d to shout them OUT. Wrack’d by a sneezing Fit, I take a blue Kerchief from my left Pocket, thus enraging my Brethren in INGLEWOOD. Much afear’d: every Stage-Coach could be a Drive-By FUSILLADE. To paraphrase Mister CUBE, to-day was not a good Day.
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