wrap it up.

I’m not a real rapper cuz I’ve got a nine to five, & since I show up promptly nearly daily I survive.
I’m not a real rapper cuz I wasn’t exposed to hits, was hanging with the punk rock, screamo, grind and crusty kids.
I’m not a real rapper cuz my fans are all my friends, I’m giving out cds freely, essentially handing out my ends.
I’m not a real rapper cuz my aim ain’t fame or gains, I merely rap to explore the map that’s plastered to my brain.
I’m not a real rapper cuz my paragraphs make no sense, yeah its true, its not just you, even I’m lost on what was written.
I’m not a real rapper cuz apparently appearances count, for more than a dot percentage of what the music’s all about.
I’m not a real rapper cuz I ain’t dope enough for tv, gonna have to stick to low-budget and love it like Drowning with K.B.
I’m not a real rapper cuz I started way to late. Whoops! My bad, sorry for that…yo Ma, can we change my birth date?

Tagged as: besatree, hip hop, rap, rapper, rhyme