Respect My Perspective

“Speaker’s Delight”–by Cajardo Lindsey

Posted on 04. Jan, 2009 by Damon Stafford in Arts & Entertainment, Culture, YOUR Perspective

Speaker’s Delight

In the Beginning God Created Hip Hop

And Hip Hop was without voice

or an audience and darkness covered

the face of the youth.

And The Spirit of God moved upon the

early 70’s

And God said let there be

Dee Jays, Breakers and MC’s

And there came forth near first, Last poets,

Gil Scott-Heron, and Kool Herc,

Africka Bambaataa, Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five,  

Charlie Robot, The Mercedes Ladies,

Kurtis Blow, Sequence,

then Afrika Bambaataa and the Soul Sonic Force,

Rock Steady Crew, Sugar Hill Gang,

The Electric Bugaloos, and Dana Dane with fame,

Whodini, Doug E. Fresh, Kool Moe Dee, Cool J,

Run DMC, Steady B, M.C. Lyte and Roxanne Shante

Busy B, Slick Rick, Ice Tee,

Techno from Kraftwerk (Trans Europe express tss tss tsss tsss tsss),

Fat Boys, UTFO, Real Roxanne, Big Daddy Kane

Salt-n-Peppa, nice and smooth, KRS One yo still #1

Special Ed, X-Clan, Will Smith, Jazzy Jeff,

Red Alert, Brand Nubian, Beasty Boys, De la Soul

Rakim,  Eric B, Public Enemy, Kiiiiid Capri,

And God saw that the Dee Jay’s

Breakers and MC’s was Fresh, Dope,

Given it their last

For grins

God coughed, and later belched out

Tribe Called Qwest , Nas, Jay Z, Mathers and Outkast.

As time flowed

MC’s continued to blossom individually,

But the message sent out commercially,

corporately compromised

The youth’s vision.

All they could see was titties, thongs,

guns, bongs, rims, dons, and

Glasses filled with Champagne with seductive 

Frames that boxed in their minds

Like cardboard.

And 8 years into the 21^st Century, God

Caused a deep sleep

to fall upon marketable Hip Hop.

Hip Hop continued to make several billion dollars a year

but it was in a state of unconsciousness,

no longer vulnerable to whatever

scheme and gimic  that bloomed.

The world was screaming but Hip Hop

Could not listen, it was deeply asleep.

And while Hip Hop slept God snatch

the mic out of its right hand,

screwed off the top and 

poured in prophesies for centuries with

blue print identities with grand province.

Hip Hop dreamed of a place where

little black and brown boys actually lived to be 200

year old black and brown men

and Hip Hop was the vehicle that

educated them concerning their options.

There was no longer any excuse

because Hip Hop was thorough,

and all bases were covered.

It dreamed of a time

Where music-video’s evolved into

Video-music,

viewing music in motion

Instead of video-chick jiggleling asses,

and cris filled glasses,

and stupid ass videos

that in times past entertained,

but in this dream

dulled the senses of the masses.

And the old school began to see the vision

And the neophyte lyricists scheme-dreams. 

Hip Hop saw itself rise above the CREAM

With baritoned defiance 

“No more exploitation” of urban blight

That doesn’t even truly exists for the

Radio-played,

Taalam Acey said it best,

“don’t believe that 99% of these

MCs ever moved no major keys.”

And the dreams revealed

fixed rap-beefs,

like this was boxin,

like thieves.

Foxin’ the young ones out of money,

vision and Truth,

shipping hope so far away 

that it can only be seen with

A telescope.

Hip Hop envisioned a revolution

That was not only televised,

but moved through the web

Like a eucharistic antidote to a virus.

A restoration, what a relief

They tell me of Kool Herc

When you came in the door

You had to leave your beef,

Practice what you peace,

And Hip Hop began to manifest

itself as a Co-creator with GOD!!!

And as the dreams were getting

Better and wetter

God thrust the mic back into

Hip Hop’s right hand, and . . .

Hip Hop awoke with tanned lyrics

Lightly toasted by the light of the son

With no real grasp of what had happened

And those Lyrics shot forth from

Swolen Lips, parted like the Red seas,

that drowned the negative ememy within

Most of our MC’s and stood at the mic-stand

And versed

Thinking of a Master Plan,

Ima do it with this mic inside my hand

So I reach into my deep, negativity spent

I reach deeper, start seeing how Hip Hop was meant

So I start my journey, leave my residence

Thinking how could I give the young seed a hint

Got money, used to flow for the highest bid

So I think of all the juvenile shit I did

I use to blow up, this ‘bout the dough up,

ain’t nothing seen

Stop smiling, be still,

don’t nuthin move be the CREAM,

But now I reach to teach ‘cause I’m righteous,

I feel great! So maybe I might just . . .

Continue to fuel a Hip Hop Rebirthing,

Revolution,

Ceased to pen verbal pollution,

Let record execs lose their necks

Trying to harness, spin and capitalize on

What the MC’s was gonna say next.

No more beefs encouraged by ecoli-contaiminated

industry chief’s,

poisoning the market while

our prophets lay slain in the streets,

sometimes right on the industry front door steps

then execs send the help

to spray down the blood as they go

cash their checks.

Clowns, making record deals with convicts behind bars,

is there any line you won’t cross?

Is death of a generation to fill ya pockets your boss?

okay, lets show’em they can be down

looking at life without parole,

madness, madness, madness.

But I digress.

No more bucks shot out but

All the young bucks shot in

To hear what the other bucks was listening.

Bobbin’ their heads to phat beats

While there heads are being led

To why the Heart beats,

usher in a new wave

of thoughts paved with

Spiritual concrete,

Monster ambitions that birth

Safe streets. 

And watch all the backsliders

Of hip hop come to the alter and

Beat box a praise to God

For what he has done,

Benediction done by Reverend Run,

Worthy is the lamb

Cutting on three turn tables

And speaking through man

The master plan,

slam the mic when done 

watch it break open and see

the prophesies come.

Tags: cajardo lindsey, poetry, spoken word