[Editor’s Note—This article is based on an hour-and-a-half interview with Erik Nielson. Rather than present the full 10,000-plus word transcription, we’ve rewritten Nielson’s statements into short blurbs. If you’re pressed for time (or a member of the TL;DR crowd) feel free to read the bullet points below. However, if you’re interested in a deep dive, you can click each point and see Nielson’s (condensed and edited) full interview.]

Erik Nielson didn’t plan on making the use of rap lyrics in court his life’s work. In fact, he doesn’t even have a background in law. Instead, the lifelong rap fan who hails from Massachusetts got a master’s in Shakespeare and a Ph.D. in English literature. But around 2012, he stumbled onto a phenomenon that took him by surprise: the use of rap lyrics as evidence in criminal trials.

After researching the use of rap lyrics in court, he wrote his first article on the topic in 2012 and has written many pieces about the issue since then—including a CNN op-ed he co-authored with Killer Mike. Although he’s still a professor of liberal arts at the University Of Richmond—where he teaches about hip-hop culture and African-American literature—this issue increasingly takes up most of his time. Since this issue revolves around lyrics—as well as 1st Amendment rights—we had Nielson come by the Genius offices to discuss the issue at length. He revealed how using rap lyrics in court is just another way for the justice system to trap young black men.

Nielson estimates that rap lyrics have been used in hundreds of court cases—if not thousands. They’re not just being used in trials either, but also in indictments and sentencing hearings.

Rap lyrics are being used in three main ways: 1) They’re treated as confessions if they’re written after the crime. 2) They’re treated as proof of intent if they're written before the crime. 3) They’re classified as "threats"—the lyrics are the crime themselves.

Rap is the only fictional genre that’s being used in court like this. And its use is undoubtedly racially motivated since only one or two cases involved white defendants.

It’s Nielson's job to try and paint an accurate portrait of rap music to predominantly white judges and juries.

But that’s not so easy to do when prosecutors misrepresent rap to juries—possibly on purpose.

In one case in California, a prosecutor attributed lyrics from rappers like Dr. Dre to the defendant—who simply transcribed lyrics he liked.

In another case in San Diego, a rapper named Tiny Doo got 25 to life for a shooting that the police, prosecution, and defense agreed he had no part in. The prosecution argued that by releasing a gangster rap CD that promoted violence, Doo benefitted from the shooting through street credibility.

The one case Nielson cannot let go of involves No Limit’s Mac, who is currently serving a 30-year sentence for shooting a man at a concert. Not only were Mac's lyrics used in court, the prosecution spliced lyrics together from two different songs to change the meaning of what he rapped.

Judges aren’t supposed to allow “evidence if it’s prejudicial,” but they’re misled by police and prosecutors. Maybe it’s because they’re older, or maybe it’s because they’re just as prejudiced as juries.

Some judges do get it though: In a Supreme Court case involving threatening lyrics in a Facebook post, conservative judge John Roberts surprisingly understood the dilemma and cited Eminem’s violent lyrics as an example of the double standards amateur rappers are facing.

Even if rappers do have strains of autobiography in their music, it's no different than any other art form—but only rap is being taken to court. Nielson argues rap is about as real as wrestling.

Despite existing for four decades now, rap remains a mystery to many Americans who don’t really understand, or care, about the genre and its conventions. Nielson believes that rap becoming as mainstream as it is now, rather than countercultural as it was seen before, might be leading to people feeling threatened by its success. But social media has also played a big role in the rise of these cases.

Although gangsta rap isn’t as commercially viable as it once was, it’s still the style preferred by most amateur rappers—who are the exact type of people these cases target.

Nielson plans to continue to raise awareness about this issue. He hopes fans and artists can do the same, which can lead to changes in the justice system. But this issue remains far from resolved.

Despite the many dangers the use of rap lyrics in criminal trials presents, Nielson does not see it as a slippery slope. “I don’t think suburban white youth are gonna find themselves in this position. We always considered black speech more threatening, more subversive, and we’ve punished it far more severely historically. This is a new take on a very old dynamic.”