by Christopher J. Bradley
(c)2004
This is nothing like the old days,
We are not heroes by proxy,
We are moving through the hip hop glaze,
Of another night and another day,
Just dropping lines and dropping rhymes,
Waiting for time to stand still and bring the earth home, like the birth of a motorhome.
Can I stop rhyming, not unless I'm crying,
For today is the day I was born for,
And tonight is the night I get my official groove on,
Because you can't not celebrate on your birthday,
Even if you're not mackin' You can still be stackin'
The wheel spins in the night,
And the office is closed after five,
So just hop in my ride and we'll jive,
Cause the road's open and I've got a plan,
To take the currents of wind by storm,
Into the new millenium by force of words rather than action, because action is a triggered gun.
I've never dropped my hands on a soul,
And I'll never go to fisticuffs with you,
Even though I'm big,
And I could crush you like a rock,
It's not my scene this fighting thing,
And I don't know why it would matter,
It's time to end human on human violence,
For good and make the world sit down and take notice, Get Googled rather than oogled,
And for once for crying out loud,
Could I just have one Rose for the past.
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