90210, a poem by Jacques Webster
90210 A poem* by Jacques Webster (b. 1992; Houston, TX)
She a porn star girl oh from the valley, Who left her hometown world all for the alley, Created Lake Tahoe all from her panties, Used to take the long way home Long way home all for that candy.
Jacques turn La Flame now you rolling on an Addy, Fifty on her chain ‘nother fifty on her Caddy, He might pop him a pill pop him a seal pop anyone Pop anything pop anything to find that alley, Then find an alley.
In the 90210 90210 looking for that alley, In the 90210 90210 looking for that alley, It’s the superstar girl superstar girl roaming in that alley, In the 90210 90210 somewhere in that alley.
My granny called, she said “Travie, you work too hard I’m worried you’ll forget about me,” I’m falling in and out of cuffs Don’t worry I’mma get it granny. What happened now my daddy happy mama called me up That money coming and she love me I done made it now I done found life’s meaning now All them days her heart’d break, Her heart not in pieces now.
Friends turning into fraud niggas Practicin’ have the passion you niggas packaged different, All you niggas – You niggas want the swag you can’t have it, I’mma sell it you niggas salad, we ’bout the cabbage.
Youngest nigga outta Houston at the Grammys Smiling at ’em laughing at me, I passed the rock to Ye he pump faked and passed it back bitch All of this off of rapping – should’ve wrote this in Latin.
Yeah, I know I know I know I know I know, I know I know I know I know I know Cuzzo said we in the store, yeah, we ’bout to drop a ‘fo He pass the cigarette I choke, Tell my auntie put them poles down them poles down, Now you know you love your own now.
Hit the stage they got their hands up don’t put your nose down, I ain’t knockin’ nigga I knocked the door down for sure now. Whole crew I swear they counting on me, Gold chains gold rings I got an island on me, Houses on me, he got them ounces on him.
Holy Father come save these niggas I’m styling on ’em, Good lord I see my good fortune in all these horses I’m driving too fast to stop so all these signs, I ignore them Distant sky from north of the border, my chips is in order, My mom’s biggest supporter So now nigga support her, nigga.
*This was not published as a written poem but rather as a rap song under Webster’s professional name, Travi$ Scott. The poetic sensibilities of rappers are almost always overlooked in discourse about rap and hip-hop. When I saw so much public outrage over Bob Dylan receiving the Nobel Prize in Literature I realized the public’s acceptance of rap as art and rappers as the new generation of American poets was much further away than I had hoped. Perhaps young Bob Dylan fans in the ’60’s and beyond were sick of hearing Dylan’s art referred to as merely the rantings of an angry young Jew. I am sick of hearing various rappers’ art referred to the rantings of angry young black men. Rap can be poetry. Poetry can be art. Let’s start actually listening instead of hearing only what we think we should hear.
I have a new lil rap Tumblr :)
