POEM - Hip-Hop Soul in a Business Suit

I've always been a poet
And when I finally heard it
What I wanted to be
Was a rapper
Like the old school masters
Rhyming and stealing
Popping and locking
Scratching
Spitting
Catching the breaks
So smooth
Carrying the rhymes
Like joyous little twists
In a language that moves
Makes you smile
And dance
Riding as it does
On fat beats
A funky bass line
And a loop
A hook
That reels you in

I was caught at first
By the gateway drug
For a kid from the burbs of Tucson
When the Beastie Boys made it alright
It was like permission granted
I was suddenly allowed
To shout along
Yelling "No! Sleep! Till Brooklyn!"
Feeling a part of something new
Awash in Street
Throwing down cardboard
Trying to breakdance
Looking foolish
But loving every minute

And it still happens
And I'm sure my fellow commuters
Find it off-putting
That the chubby old man
In the conservative Volvo
Is throwing gang signs
While his stereo is booming
A heavy thump thump
Drop the beat
Move your rump
Popping tags
Listening to "Thrift Shop"
Blissfully indifferent
To the crazy scene
I'm making
Rolling with my homies
Insane in my middle aged membrane