Hip-Hop Gospel

They cruise the blocks in the neighborhood
In their expensive and fancy rides
They spy their minions and their victims
With self-importance and bloated pride

They often don the slickest gear
And always attract the finest girls
They dupe themselves into believing
That they’re God’s gift to the world

They preach their own brand of word
With slick and refined manipulation of verses
They help fuel their extravagant lifestyles
By separating people from their senses and purses

If a cult of personality was a sin unto itself
These characters would be the main culprits
They summon the attention of their mindless flocks
By gesturing on their stages—their pulpits

A central part of their grand show
Is the gold around their necks and dials on their wrists
For the mic is but a lost footnote
Within the clutches of their “iced-out” fists

Where did society go wrong?
The truly wise now often wonder
When it’s hard to distinguish between rapper and preacher
You know the values of men have gone asunder

 

 

by Phillip McCullough Jr.

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