Yeah — I just took some Ecstacy
All these fine bitches equal sex to me
Pants down, rubber on....
Laid the bitch out...then I put it in her m——.”
Come on, let’s get high...
Kill the pig...

The next time you open your kid’s door, leave it open. And instead of burying your head, really listen to the words and to the message. The samples in this article are only what the editor will allow to be printed. It’s but a mere drop of spit in the Pacific compared to what’s out there, infecting the minds, attitudes and morals of our children.

If you can’t understand it, check the web site, www.raplyricssearch.com. It’s all there, for those who have the interest.

I am no prude. I don’t claim moral superiority to anyone. I’ve cursed throughout my 30-year career in policedom, and haven’t stopped yet. But this goes far beyond a few off-color words and phrases. It sends non-subtle messages that cannot help but twist fertile, vulnerable minds into the depths of the sewer. And it scares me.

I implore everyone, especially parents, please listen to the messages. There’s no music there. That’s merely a camouflage term to give it legitimacy. It’s a forum of hate, designed to rile anger, and teach the virtues of indiscriminate sex, overt violence and the pleasure of illicit drugs. And your kids are feeding into it right under your noses.

Street thugs all over America have become heros, virtual role models who children try to emulate from the ages of eight, twelve and eighteen, in school halls, at dances and sporting events, on street corners. They learn the stance, the stare, the gestures, the terms of hostility and rebellion, because it’s cool. We let it happen. Because we turn our heads.

It boggles the mind. Multi-millionaires have been made of industry denizens like Snoop Doggy Dog, Dr. Dre, Devin the Dude, and Eminem. They are given awards for preaching garbage, and giving false credibility to audio pornography. The problem is that this is far worse than pornography, because pornography is subject to some degree of regulation. Rap is not. You, or your second- grader, can buy any rap album anywhere they are sold, no questions asked, and then they can listen to the repetitive sounds of kill, kill, kill...and F...F...F... and drugs...drugs...drugs..., bathed in the vilest terms in human creation. Yet, your 16-year-old can’t see a movie rated R or buy a Playboy magazine from a convenience store.

Many of these “heros” have been true to their words.

° Jam Master Jay, rapper, shot dead in New York City, in October, 2002.

° Mark Morrison, rapper, charged with rape in London, September, 2002

° Mystikal, rapper, arrested in July for allegedly raping a woman in Baton Rouge, joined by two other friends charged in the same crime. July 2002

° Big L, rapper, shot and killed in front of his Harlem home, February, 1999

° Freaky Tah, rapper, shot and killed in New York City, March, 1999

° Tupac Shakur, rapper, killed in drive-by shooting, Las Vegas, September, 1996

° Notorious B.I.G., rapper, killed in a drive-by shooting, Los Angeles, March 1997,

° Coolio, rapper, arrested with seven friends after walking out of a European store wearing $2,000 in garments unpaid for. When confronted by the owner, he punched the 29 year-old woman in the stomach. Addicted to crack, Coolio urged his fans to steal his records if they didn’t have the money.

The beat goes on.

I got the machete from O.J.
You faggots keep eggin me on
Oh, now he’s raping his own mother
Snorting coke...You G—Damn right, bitch
Knives, lives, wives, nuns, sluts
Bitch, I’ma kill you. You don’t wanna f–k with me.

This is to art what manure is to food. Flies and maggots feed off it. Yet the money-grubbing music industry continue to suck mega-dollars in the name of “art,” and care not what is happening to the culture of America.

Yes, it’s my subjective opinion. But I’ve taken the time to learn, where many adults have not. I’ve listened, and I’ve reviewed the lyrics, and I’ve scanned the music television channels where I curiously stopped to watch Rap in motion. Sure enough, I watched the angry scowls, the piercing eyes, the challenging gestures, and the anger and the hate, the awful messages being conveyed to my grandkids and all their friends while no one was paying attention.

What ever happened to love songs?

And we wonder why kids are acting out violence, why they’re so angry, getting high, obsessing on sex without love, and recreational death. They are being taught that killing, and drugs, and pervasive non-love sex at any age, is a cool thing. Rappers, and the music industry itself, are as guilty as the youngsters who pull triggers, who rape, who spread disease, who rob and who get strung out, because they are a major part of the influence.

It’s not just a passing phase. It’s part of the everyday lives of kids. Sex, violence, drugs, apathy, dependancy. And it will become an even bigger part of their children’s lives, and of our lives, because they will be left to us grandparents, just like my grandkids were left to me. Yes, I love my grandchildren dearly, but it also makes me angry.

I’m sure I’ll receive a few juicy e-mails from the younger set, like I did the last time I exposed the true Eminem for what he really is. One youngster told me that no matter what I thought of him, I should admit he is good at what he does.

Well, I certainly agreed with that.

I know a few other people who were also good at what they did; Adolf Hitler, Caligula, Napoleon, Rev. Jim Jones and Idi Amin.

Take drugs
Rape sluts
Where is the outrage?

Where are the letters to the congressmen, and to the music industry, and, well, have another cup of coffee and turn the page.

And when Sunday rolls around, take your kids to church. That’ll do it.

(Marshall Frank is a retired Miami-Dade County police officer and a novelist who lives in Maggie Valley. He can be reached mlf283@aol.com)