Hip Hop's New Home Poem by Kaspa Richards

With regards to hip hop I’ve been nothing but bored
Ever since Tupac Shakur's ghetto soul soared
Coz the artists that followed do nothing but record
Lower quality music that sheep here do adore
Following the Sheppard the fans crave more
Fakeness crept in and hit the music at its core
Therefore it’s down to a few with an immortal technique
To fight for true hip hop, remaining original, always unique
So every time I hear you speak, over a beat, it makes me think
How can greatness not be followed to be replaced by the weak?
You do nothing but preach like a priest making a speech
Saying how when you grew up it was the gangsters who teached
I was exposed to drugs at the earliest age
Soon to be the only way I knew of getting paid
Even if it all that was true why didn’t u aid?
The kids that are new, who one day was you
Who are let down by the few as there childhood fades
Instead respect for you for being a success
Living in the suburbs aint like the endz u left
Where many so desperate they resort to theft
And a new born baby is as common as death
Some of you remained in the drug game shifting the crack
But now respect you lack because you refuse to act
And never give back to that which inspired your track
So there’s only one place I go to hear the sickest flows
To the home of hip hop’s soul where London steals the show
And in the sky a Saint George’s flag is flown
While on her dirty streets talent graces her roads