Rung Out By The New Ones

Pimp stomp, rappin’, go jammin’, hip hop no reason t’ stop. Look out, shot about , crouching, screaming, yelling, singing. Hard Core, Soft Breath, broken hearts, angry tarts, reverberating over the radio. Casted, lasted, over blasted, loud high strings stretches, intramural messages. Timed Beat, over heat, dead, by white powder dust, singing on high no must. Heart racing, drums playing, sex dreams, lust and tire, nothing over fellatio. Big booty, long hair, no underwear, high leather, low thongs, what’s wrong with these songs?

Days of rocking sweetly gone, the old big bands thrown away, so wrong, Elvis Presley, his hips a swingin’, reggae, jazz, hip hop, Slip Knot. Punked out, cast with doubt, boy bands ruling all yo’ girls. Vinyl, A-track, tape deck, CD plastic, mp3s a soundin’. Remix, tried out Styx, oh my heart is achin’, strainin’, over sung, sing song, drawn out melodies, tired fingers playing the same old rhyme, message time after time.

Old masters sing their songs, the new, rappin’ about the good ol’days, what good ol’days? Before the playas played, ripped off bling bling, boobies on the big game. Music messed with, chord to chord, struck thundered, blundered, rights to the words sold and stolen, Napster, Jamster, computerized Rapster.

Big bill playas, righteous dick-ators, earning lots-o-cash, buyin’, lyin’, not simplifyin’. Where did we go wrong, what happened to Believing in Yesterday, and having our life Change in Oh So Many Ways, The Girl With Kaleidoscope Eyes, and Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds. Jail House Rock and the Soul of music.

These days are gone rung out by the new ones, these days are gone, rung out by the new ones.

Old masters play their songs, disappearing in the ho drum, time go by techno, bebop hip hop, multi million dollar race. Money’s changed all these hands, no sad songs by these fake bands. Fixed up songs gone so wrong, “Help” lost to the dire lights long gone. Skinny boys, blond hair beach, home boys singin’ “niggas reach”. Damn these lines, love, rusted guns, high fly, jazz, base, blame, blazzed, razzed, black to white, king of pop, socked once, twice, three times, non stop.

Fallen bands, music “Idol”, fought and lost, sarcastic to fantastic, moddled idiotic, raised by the masses, raced to the TV. Lime light, cascaded the old for the new, same sung, new singas, copyright infringement, raptured predictament.

Where did we go wrong? These days are gone rung out by the new ones.
Where did we go wrong? Those old masters played their songs, not for the money huney, soul to soul, not for the fame, soul to soul, only for shame, these sell outs too tame.

Where did we go wrong, those old days rung out by the new ones.

Rung Out By The New Ones


Joined November 2007

  • Artist

Artist's Description

Rhythm and beat often are used in poetry, and I took it a step further, making the beat a bit more apart of the poem it’s self. I speak on how music today has lost the sparkle and genius of the past. The soul we can feel when listening to the oldies.

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