Rough Write Up.
This ain’t no beef or no off with that head.
This is more like wheat toast, turkey sausage and eggs.
You’re not being bullied. You’re being addressed.
Your privilege is being challenged, You’re not being oppressed.
Living with your mommy while you pander for fame.
But Phoenix won’t be your Mammy so you slander her name.
As I said, it’s breakfast, dropped on ya plate.
Consider it the fist food for thought of the day.
You could clear it up easy, just be honest dog/
And tell them folks what really happened on that conference call/
Intersectional fakester cried on the main stage/
Called a black woman a coon and lied on the main page/
So you could keep it honest, and you could speak up on it/
But like fox news, when there’s truth, you delete the comments/
You can sip from the chalice of truth or drink the weakest tonic/
And until you do, my rhymes will be a slow burn, like we’re cheefin chronic/
and I ain’t easin’ up. I’m coming once a month.
Every time the moon is full, I’ll put something up.
Until you talk to Phoenix, because you’re not above it/
Record it all, no edits and make the convo public/
Now if you tell your minions that I’m a hostile nigger/
It shows, you want me to be Emmitt and fall like Tiller/
Tell them how you flailed and flounced/ how you dropped the scrilla/
3rd wave pumpkin spice, your feminsim is not geurrilla/
I ain’t gone play the coon/ and I don’t play for swoons/
You can battle back with your Ukulele toon/
And this is black hip hop to make your wack world stop/
Your page runs on the simple fact that black girls rock.
And that’s what you’re not.