My mom says I’ll never be a rapper.
But she also still uses AOL, so, I mean, what does she know? Just ’cause not a lot of rappers come out of Hillsboro, Kansas doesn’t mean I can’t be the first.
I been spinnin’ the beats, as they say (on the street) since before yo’ mama was done potty training you. So, like, four or five years now. It started as a joke, something to entertain my homeslices, but man, something just clicked then, you know? Like, suddenly I was thinking all up in rhymes, wishin’ I could be making some dimes, yeah just like that. And I just knew this is what I was meant to do. And I gots to get paid eventually, son.
Now, I’m not like Weezy or nothing like that. No, I’m not going to battle you. I get that a lot. But that doesn’t mean I can’t get at least a record deal. I mean, have you heard any rap music lately? I can do that. None of the clubs want me yet, but I ain’t worried. I got this shit down. I been sending my demos out to all the big companies. Sometimes I even make them old school, on tape, cause that’s like, real cool.
I make ‘em in my basement, see. I don’t have the money for a beat machine yet. Sometimes I just freestyle it, natural, you know, just me and my rhymes meshing colliding becoming one. It’s like, spiritual. It inspires me, man.
When I get famous I’ll get all new goods, def. I’ll be walking down the street, rocking my swagger with my gold chains and my grills and shit like ‘what’s up man’ and you’ll think day-um, he’s packin’ the heat. They’ll know I’m tough.
But Kohl’s just isn’t cutting it for me. I keep telling Mom to buy me cooler brands, but every time she comes back with a lame-ass argyle sweater. I’m sorry, but not even Snoop could pull off argyle. When I’m famous, I can buy my own clothes. I’ll quit my job at GameStop and move out to Beverly Hills, and it will be just like that music video with all the naked girls and the pool and the martinis. I guess that’s all music videos. But this time I’ll be one of those dudes in the background looking tough, using my rapper hands and getting all up in the camera, my hat turned sideways. I got rhythm, that’s what my piano teacher used to tell me.
Have you checked my rhymes? They’re on MySpace, you should check it out. Follow my Twitter and shit. Or I can lay down a beat for you right here. Well, maybe not right here. I get stage fright. But I got a tape in my car. You want to hear it? Nah man, no trouble. I’ll just go grab a couple. You can show your friends. Maybe I could do your next party?