An Open Letter To Rap:
Trust me, I like for my car to feel like an earthquake as much as the next white girl who grew up in suburbia. And I can (not so proudly) note that I know every word to Ludacris’ first album. But as I’ve grown up, Cash Money turned to Young Money, Weezy became the most explosive thing on the scene, and my taste changed. I like the same beats, I like the slow feel of the bass, but I need some content. I need some growth, some more effort than what you’re giving me.
You’ve got a Bugatti and your dripping in ice, we get it. You have an amazing sex life and we all get to know the intimate details of it. You practically live on a private island that you flew to on your private jet. You hate the cops and you’re gonna’ get your girl “whatever she like.” Unlike the rest of humanity your hustle is recession proof, naturally.
But the reality is, whether you believe it or not, there is more to life than blowin’ cash and poppin bottles. Your swag is slippin’. Hey Weezy, Drake, Rick Ross, perhaps it’s time to take some cues from Lupe and Common. What about education reform and healthy relationships? Imagine a world that doesn’t glorify the hood and the violence but asks for something new. What about using your power for something that’s real? Twist your lyrics into a concoction that gives the babies and their mamas something bigger to dream about.
It’s time to tell us a better story, we deserve one.
