Crunk Poem by francis kimani

No time for tune,
the beats takes first and fast
then comes all kind of noise
its a new style.

Each generation and its style,
this is ours, the tablet one.
we fancy it
though irregular we break the dance.

It started like a crack of the music,
the old was for the punk,
and it is time for funk
we baptized it crunk.

like rain, it rained on,
neither the firemen could stop it,
to the world it come
like a snap of a finger.

first rule, No rule
any style is fly
all instruments available
any presentation suits.

second rule, no message,
all accepted, even wastage
vulgar makes the lugha
dirty linen exposed.

its is what we love
like, as a group
but noise we create
please, give our ears a break.