Anybody that wants to know what's involved in saving hip hop read this track if only one artist, even those that are known for club bangers, threw this type of poetry on their record, hip hop would slowly start to be revitalized.

Standing out on the corner about twenty seven in a beige-skirt
Selling her body on the block that’s what she calls her days-work
She got an eleven year old son at home with no husband to save-her
Every morning she shoots up the cane-first then sucks for insane-jerks
They don’t even know her name but they rip her up they just bang-her
Til they-squirt and then throw her a wad and spit on her stained-shirt
She holds back tears and just phucks the next customer
Hoping they don’t bust-in-her cause he sure ain’t loving-her
And she loves her son but she don’t want another child-to-feed
This job is to wild-to-be considered safe or bring a smile-to-me
Now she into the trap game selling and cooking-up-crack
She got a fo five under her skirt every morning she’s hooking-the-strap
And a phucked up fiend on the block puts his hand-up-her-leg
Feels the gat and takes her to an alley and the man-phucks-her-red
She gets an itch-and-feels-dripping that pricks dick-had-ills-in-it
She finds the mans name rolls up and the b**ch-caps-pills-with-this
Fo five she copped cause now she can’t sell-her-body
She pulls off but bullets impale-her-body about ten shells-blare-shawty
And the dude rolls up and puts a hole-in-her-dome
Pours gasoline on the crib and starts blowing-her-home
Her son escapes but witnesses $hit that makes him wanna try-$hit
He cops a five-with a nine-grip and creates more hood violence
Cause he watched this mother phucker kill the woman-he-loved
So he’s pulling-these-guns til the prick is full-of-three-slugs
Now he doing twenty-five-ta-life and I’m sipping henney-trying-ta-write
But tears fall cause hip hops dying and real lyrics trying-to-fight but so many-dying-tonight
That’s where it starts and where it ends

Who the phuck is this f@g who listens to that sellout-rap
He yells-out-facts like he got cred and he bails-out-cats
This muphucka is whack wait til I start bucking-the-mac
Wikid suffered-in-fact he is currently stuffed-in-the-back
In the trunk of the bentley fo five if he tempt-me
This muphuckas a weed in the rap forest like hemp-be
My raps legendary they mark-fables and start-labels
Matter fact MWF records is making me more money than a young Clark-Gable
This is the harsh-tale of how wikid was marked-capable
Of killing rap so now I got sharks circling him like a card-table
Excuse me mister f@g-@ss can't-rap wikidsikid
I heard about ya hobby can i get my d*ck-licked-dip-$hit
You like my lyrics yea you know my quick-licks-vicious
This young soul is sadly is now on my eviction-hit-list
Evict his life like his crib cause his mama can't pay-rent
So I guess it's from the gutta to the box to the muphuckin lake-bed
And hell yea I'm feeling hot and cocky like a pornstars-pu$$y
I mourn-yal-pu$$ys for trying to rap like a mortified-Bush-g
I'm pushing out shots call me the bartender I don't-care
You taking shots like a college kid in front of his friends so-scared
You said Big L's lyrics died-when-he-did but cat's cried-when-he-did
And you can hate on him but unlike him you can only try-and-see-bread
All I needa do is clip the beam for you ta feel-the-burner
Have you smacked up like a young fat phuck tina-turner
I don't end my battles with some corny a$$ rap-sign
I say wikidsikid step up to me and i'll leave ya a$$ on the flat-line