About Lincoln College

Way Back When
Vince J.

Here I sit with a pen and a pad.
Thinking about what my forefathers once had.
I’m sitting by a candlelit desk.
Trying to get these words off my chest.
Trying to rock the mic like run dmc.
Trying to show respect to rakim, krs one and public enemy.
The state of Rap is slowly fading away.
Tired of hearing about people getting shot.
And hearing women be called out of their names.
My mom is a beautiful woman, so is my grandmother.
So are my aunts, and my cousins, and other women.
You feel me, my brother.
I’m tired of hearing about the 65 cars that you drive.
Tired of hearing about the many houses you say you got, but you really didn’t buy.
I want to bring back the good old days of Rap.
When words meant something.
Like if I was free styling battling with Kool g rap.
See these names I’m throwing out at you.
I can see you don’t know.
That’s ok if you only know about Lil, Wayne, Ti, and Nelly.
Ludacris really got me when he decided to go for the number one spot.
So tired of hearing about how many times 50 cent got shot.
And, yes, Tupac and biggie are dead.
But their music lives on through our hearts.
I’m really feeling common.
And Nas is the man in Queens Bridge.
But Jay-z runs New York.
Diamonds are forever.
Remember that, kid.
So I’m going to continue to write in my pad with this pen.
And until I’m out of ink.
My pen with shine.
I have tons of candles here.
Time for me to write another rhyme.

About the Author:
This poem was written in Jen Ciaccio's English 200: Creative Writing class, in the fall of 2005.

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