Human Appeal Rap
Many years have passed but I don’t feel old,
My blood’s traveled miles but it’s never cold,
Youth’s in the soul not in the joints:
Spiritual gymnastics is where you score your points.
So Beethoven’s chill and hip hop’s cool;
Keep an open mind is the golden rule.
Tear down the blinds, invite the sun,
You don’t have to party to have a lot of fun.
I stand in line with these thoughts in my head,
I’m going to a concert while my peers are tucked in bed.
The 20-somethings look at me as if I’m kinda queer:
I old enough to be their dad, and never consume beer.
Once I get inside I begin to think I’m mental,
The population density is like Calcutta Central,
Tobacco smoke hangs heavy in the stagnant air,
My lungs are freaking out; I’m going to need another pair.
Then the DJ enters and spins his magic discs,
I groove to the rhythm and forget about the risks.
Saul Williams, the rapper, begins his many rhymes
About youthful revolution and the capitalist’s crimes.
A black guy approaches me in the intermission
Saying, “Hey bro, are you for real.” Explaining my position:
“I love hip hop and even rhyme myself
I’ve got a hip CD collection sitting on my shelf.”
Then he sits beside me and puts his hand in mine,
The connection crosses boundaries of race and class and time.
“I’m going to tell my dad; he thinks hip hop pollutes.
Man, a Sage in the Club who likes Dead Perez and the Roots.”
Next time you see someone from another race
Whose customs are different, who looks so out of place,
Take his hand in yours, and tell him he’s for real;
Invite him in the circle, because he’s got human appeal.
I would have said “I love you.”
But the words stuck in my throat
And I had to live a fantasy
To keep my hopes afloat.
I would have looked for God
But I thought I was a king
Until I lost my crown
And there was no strength left within.
I would have stopped to help you
But it wasn’t in my plans
You so sent me a text message:
”You’re more machine than man.”
I would have danced in moonlight
As naked as the trees,
But I came down with conformity
A treacherous disease.
I would have fought the system
But my moral courage waned
So I just sat with my friends
In a café and complained.