hip-hop version of classic poetry-one of my favorites

IF by RUDYARD KIPLING
(First, second and last verses)
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you But make allowance for their doubting, too, If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the will which says to them: 'Hold on!' If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much, If you can fill the unforgiving minute With 60 seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
Rap version
If you can keep yo stash when the bros Are losing theirs and pinning it on you. If you can bust yo rival crew And make da cash and sniff da glue, If you can be dissed and use da knife And do da time and feel da strife. And through it all, through all dem fights, Hang on man, to dem yo human rights. If you can rap wid da gangsta boys And rap some wid da law If you can keep dem guessing About just what dey saw If you can keep dem guessing About just what dey know And so hold when dere is nothing Except the will dat shouts 'Let's Go'. If you can talk to magistrates and hang on to your crack , Or social workers, who know yo pain So let you keep yo smack If you can do all dat yo should Do what da broverhood have done Then yours is the turf. And there's truth in the lie: That yo a man, my son.