We Get Together Like A Chior...

To acquire what we desire...

And it was written that the celebration shall continue. As promised, this here is the week that I appreciate the music, and musicians that helped raise and mold me. Today we pay tribute the Rap Group.

To qualify, there must be more than one vocal performer. This means that groups like Naughty by Nature and Kool G. Rap and Polo don’t count. To be a group – or duo – you must have not only lyrical ability, but personality. Doubtless, the greatest single emcees have personality, but a group’s personality is not that of one man. It is a collaboration, a meeting of minds, without which it is no more than a bunch of rappers in a cipher. No, the group is an entity that – more often than not – is greater than its parts.

Now, I present—

Sonnyredd’s Top Ten (remember them, the Adidas joints? Those were my shit! It’s my party, I’ll digress if I want to) All Time Hip Hop Duos or Groups.


Number 10

EPMD – Eric and Parrish Makin Doe. These two single handedly brought Scottish Links and Fisherman Hats into vogue. But on the real, that wasn’t what propels them to this list over some very honorable mentions (See the Comments). What does it for E and PMD is that they heralded the new school. It wasn’t Leaders, Tribe or Brand Nubian, but EPMD that had the hip-hop world on notice that a new day was dawning.

[Parrish Smith]
The rhythmatic style, keeps the rhyme flowin
Good friends already bitin, without you knowin
("You out there? LOUDER!")
Can't understand, why your body's gettin weaker
Then you realize, it's the voice from the speaker
The mind become delirious, situation serious
Don't get ill, go and get curious
("It's my thing!")

[Erick Sermon]
Nuff about that, let's get on to somethin better ("LOUDER!")
And if gets warm, take off the hot sweater
And if you want some water, I'll get you a cup
And if you don't want it, then burn the hell up
("You out there? LOUDER!")
I'm tellin you now boy, you ain't jack
Talkin much junk like Mr. T at your back
but he's not, so don't act cute
Cause if you do you in hot pursuits

[PMD] It's my thing

Number 9

Salt-n-Pepa – The first ladies of rap. The female emcee was not uncommon in the 80’s. Finesse and Synquess (Hey Sista, Soul Sista), the Roxannes (Shante and ‘The Real’) and even JJ Fad and Oaktown’s 3-5-7 from out west. But there can be only one that is the “Best”, and Salt, Pep, and Spin (Both of them) hold that title. They were so good, they get a pass for not writing their own rhymes. Herbie Lovebug anyone? Who else comes out dissing Doug E. Fresh and Slick Rick?

Yo, bust it Sandy D.
Yo, what's up?
Have you ever been to jams when people just stand
And they pay to come in, and they don't even dance?
They're so uncouth they think they're cute
Am I lying? No, it's the truth
Right now I'm gonna show you how it's supposed to be
Cuz we, the Salt and Pepa MCs
Will chance the circumstance rocks your pants
My fans, this is called the jam

Number 8

Geto Boys- I sit alone in my four-cornerd room looking at candles... Ever been to Houston? Me neither. But I know the 5th Ward like the back of my hand thanks to the boys from the geto. While Scarface is one of the all time greatest emcees, Willie D and Bushwick “an eye for an eye” Bill brought the ruckus. They founded and perfected the short lived “horrorcore” movement, and Willie D knocked Mellie Mel out. Need I say more?

[ Bushwick Bill ]
I'm back like a rebel 'making trouble'
I'm an Assassin, kickin ass on the double
No motherfucker alive's gonna stop me
So fuck you and your goddamn posse

[ Willie D ]
It's time to step on some motherfuckin toes
(Nah D!) Man, fuck them hoes
The East Coast ain't playin our songs
I wanna know what the hell's goin on
Gimme my card, radio sucker
I'll kick your ass and take the motherfucker
Everybody know New York is where it began
So let the ego shit end

[ DJ Akshen (Scarface) ]
Black radio is being disowned
Not by the other race, but its own
A lot of bullshit records make hits
Because the radio is all about (politics)
Akshen is my identity, whoever you be
(Don't) (don't) (don't fuck with me)
My last go, the radio struck me with a low blow
Now I'm doin it like a G.O.

(Go, go, go, go, go...)

Number 7

The Roots – The world’s only hip-hop band. And the only cats since Jeff and Will to put my hometown on the map. These cats aren’t a sound, they are a movement. I predict that in 20 years, when I’m fifty, me and Mrs. Redd will take a summer and follow them around the way folks followed the Grateful Dead. Damn their lack of a platinum hit, these dudes hit the road! And industry rule number 4084 says that all your money is made on tour.

I wake up early in the morning, I mean early afternoon
Break a lyrical hymn of the stem like boom
I'm flyer when I'm higher put my shit up on a tomb
That nigga represented on the 28th of June
I'm representing Philly on the 28th of June
I can make you feel that i'm a surreal cartoon
with my pistol in the face of hip hop, stick in your face
Because i'm on a paper chase, yes i'm on a paper chase
My Timberlands are fully laced I be the Mr. Boogeyman
With records from 125th to Japan
I laid them play like Johnny Hathaway and shake a hand, shake a hand
Your lady tried to kick it, but I couldn't play my man
My niggaz is my niggaz ya see she didn't understand
I shake your hand and shit'll hit the fan, just think
Just think, what? What if you could, just blink, what?
Just blink yourself away?

Number 6

Outkast – In 1993, when Freaknic and Aggiefest were still around, there were these two cats from Atlanta – before it was “the ATL” – that didn’t make booty music. Who knew that they would later make booty music for the masses, and maintain an artistic level matched only by the Roots. Though I am not a huge fan, I respect most of all what they stand for – which is individuality is cool. Thanks Dre and Big Boi. Hip-Hop needed that.

Never smelled aroma of diploma, but I write the deep ass rhymes
So let me take ya way, back to when a nigga stayed in Southwest Atlanta,
Y'all could not tell me nuthin, thought I hit that bottom rock
At age 13, start workin at the loadin dock
They layin my mama off of work, General Motors trippin
But I come home Bank like Hank, from lickin and dippin
Doin dumb shit, not knowin what a nigga know now
Yeah, that petty shit will have you cased up and locked down
I dips, over to East Point, still actin a fool
Wastin my time in the school, I'd rather be shootin pool
Cool is how I played the tenth grade
I thought it was all about mackin hoes and wearin pimp fade
Instead of bein in class, I'd rather be up in some ass
Not, thinkin about them six courses that I need to pass
Graduation rolled around like rolly-pollies
Damn, that's fucked up. I shoulda listened when my mama told me
That, if you play now, you gonna suffer later
Figured she was talkin yin-yang, so I payed her no attention
And kept missin the point she tried to poke me with
The doper that I get, the more I'm feelin broke and shit
Huh, but that don't matter though, I am an O-UT-KAST
So get up off your ass

Number 5

A Tribe Called Quest – They came into existence in the age of the D.A.I.S.Y., these natives with silver tongues and platinum ears, and made timless music. You can’t love hip-hop and not appreciate Midnight Marauders. And Bonita Applebaum? Well let’s face it, she gotta put me on.

Goin on and on to the rhythmic variation
Wakin in the morning I still represent the nation
When I speak of nation please don't make the deviation
Rebels of the party who create the jump sensation
Mind is a pit of different information
Microphone is on so of course communication
Bogle at the party then you got the bogle-ation
Decaptatin foes yo as if my name was Jason (c'mon)
Makin all the fellas at the party lose composure
Hook up the beat with the mic and it's over (original, uh!)
A Tribe Called Quest we on the run for whatever
Trials and tribulations that we have to endeavor
Brothers know my steelo it's a letter to the better
If you see a shorty that you like, then you sweat her
Silly with the microphone, in other words I'm loco
Six foot zero with my height, complexion cocoa
Representin on the mic it seems to be my daily
I can do a split and turn around like Alvin Ailey
But when it comes to days like this I got lyrics to go

Number 4

Public Enemy – Party for your right to fight! Let me say this about the most politically thoughtful rap group to ever spit a verse, they made me think. From the lyrics to the liner notes, these cats put it down for black people, and by extension all people , world wide. It is from reading the liner notes that I picked up a book by some guy named Haley about some cat named Red. Detroit Red, who went from Harlem to Mecca and back. Chuck and Flav – despite his search for love – are still doing it 20 years later, and we should all be thankful for it. RIP Terminator X. Cold Medina! Cold Medina!

Radio - suckers never play me
On the mix – they just O.K. me
Now known and grown when they're clocking my zone it's known
Snakin' and takin' everything that a brother owns
Hard - my calling card
Recorded and orderd - supporter of ChesimardLoud and proud kickin' live next poet supreme
Loop a troop, bazooka, the scheme
Flavor - a rebel in his own mind
Supporter of my rhyme
Designed to scatter a line of suckers who claim I do crime

Number 3

Wu Tang Clan – From the slums of Shaolin, comes The RZA, The GZA, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, Inspectah Deck, Raekwon the Chef, U-God, Ghostface Killa and...M-e-t-h-o-d- Man. The Wu-Tang Killa Bees are on the swarm. These cats put Staten Island on the map in the biggest possible way. They are the culmination of all rap groups before them, sort of like evolution. They have personalities that are so different, so diverse that it is a wonder that they could even co-exist on the same planet, let alone the same stage. Back in the early 90’s, when the Wu was performing at your local venues, they would come 100 deep with samurai swords, sais, butterfly knives, the whole nine yards. Rap collectively entered the 36th chamber and we were never the same. Our children’s children will be studying them.

[Ghostface Killer]
Who the fuck knocked our buildings down?
Who the man behind the World Trade massacres, step up now
Where the four planes at huh is you insane bitch?
Fly that shit over my hood and get blown to bits!
No disrespect, that's where I rest my head
I understand you gotta rest yours true, nigga my people's dead
America, together we stand, divided we fall
Mr. Bush sit down, I'm in charge of the war!

[Inspectah Deck]
Yes yes y'all, the I-N-S bless y'all
Stop hearts like cholesterol, let's brawl
Never fall, tear it down like a wreckin ball
Role call where my niggaz that's one for all
And all for one, we draw the guns on impulse
Cash in the envelope, spend it on kinfolk
Then smoke a ounce as we count mills
Providin you pure ecstasy without pills

Number 2

NWA—All change ain’t good. But some is eternal. Schooly D may have invented gangster rap, but these cats perfected it. Cube, Dre, Yella, Ren and Easy –motherfuckin-E made gangster rap gangsta! They simultaneously put Compton, Los Angeles, California and the entire West Coast on the map.

[Dr. Dre] Eazy is his name and the boy is comin...


...straight outta Compton
is a brotha that'll smother yo' mother
and make ya sister think I love her
Dangerous motherfucker raises hell
And if I ever get caught I make bail
See, I don't give a fuck, that's the problem
I see a motherfuckin cop I don't dodge him
But I'm smart, lay low, creep a while
And when I see a punk pass, I smile
To me it's kinda funny, the attitude showin a nigga drivin
but don't know where the fuck he's going, just rollin
lookin for the one they call Eazy
But here's a flash, they never seize me
Ruthless! Never seen like a shadow in the dark
except when I unload, see I'll get over the hesitation
and hear the scream of the one who got the last penetration
Give a little gust of wind and I'm jettin
But leave a memory no one'll be forgettin
So what about the bitch who got shot? Fuck her!
You think I give a damn about a bitch? I ain't a sucker!
This is the autobiography of the E, and if you ever fuck with me
You'll get taken by a stupid dope brotha who will smother
word to the motherfucker, straight outta Compton

Wow. What a group of artists. All I can say about number one is...

Now we have...
A whole lot of superstars...
on this stage here tonight...
But I want y’all to know one thing...
This is...
My House!
and when I say who's house,
yall know what time it is.




Who's house?


Number 1

RUN-DMC – It is indeed Run’s house! The single greatest group of all time, inductees into the rock and roll hall of fame, the Kings from Queens reign supreme over everything! The good right Reverend Run, DMC, and the late great Jam Master Jay will forever be remembered as the spark that took this thing we call hip hop to the masses. I give you, the Kings of Rock!

I'm the king of rock, there is none higher
Sucker MC's should call me sire
To burn my kingdom, you must use fire
I won't stop rockin' till I retire

Now we rock the party and come correct
Our cuts are on time and rhymes connect
Got the right to vote and will elect
And other rappers can't stand us, but give us respect

They called us and said we're gettin iller
There's no one chiller
It's not Michael Jackson and this is not Thriller
As one def rapper, I know I can hang
I'm Run from Run-DMC, like Kool from Kool and the Gang
Roll to the rock, rock to the roll
DMC stands for devastating mic control
You can't touch me with a ten foot pole
And I even made the devil sell me his soul

Now we crash through walls, cut through floors
Bust through ceilings and knock down doors
And when we're on the tape, we're fresh out the box
You can hear our sound for blocks and blocks
For every living person we're a purple treat
It's me and DMC, Jay where's the beat?

Now we're the baddest of the bad, the coolest of the cool
I'm DMC, I rock and roll. I'm DJ Run, I rock and rule
It's not a Trick or Treat and it's not a April Fool
It's all brand new, never ever old school

Simply the best. Honorable mentions...comments.

Who's The Best MCs, Biggie, Jay-Z, and Nas...

It’s a celebration bitches! I’m like 3-6 at the Oscars – I’m happy to be here, but how the fuck did this shit happen? I have been blogging a year. Twelve months. Wow. Talk about longevity. And, notwithstanding some shit on Valerie Plame (I ain’t forget, Glory), and some other shit I wanted to do, it’s my fucking blog-oversary, dammit!

So, I am going to lay to rest my self-imposed crusade to save the world (or at least black America), and do a series on what I care about. Yes, series. So, some of y’all may be entertained. If so, tell a friend. Some of y’all may be enlightened. Definitely tell a friend. Some of y’all may be incensed. Comment, definitely comment. And some of y’all may not care one wit. See youse in like a week, cause from now and continuing for the next 4-5 posts, I am doing my Hip-Hop top ten lists.

I got four, and possibly a bonus top 10 on like Friday. Today we will have the 10 greatest single emcees. After that, the top 10 groups of all time. Then we will have the top ten battles of all time, followed by the top 10 verses of all time. We will round it out with the top 10 female lyricists of all time.

This will be fun!

First, let me say, that being a lyricist – as opposed to a rapper – is an ART. This is poetry where your creative license may cause disaster. Unlike spoken or written poetry, your voice, your rhythm, your cadence and your flow all become part of the composition and are all artificially controlled by the beat that you’re riding. Try to get too cocky, do too much, and you lose the beat. Once that happens...toast.

Additionally, hip-hop is arguably the world’s only competitive art form. Only in hip-hop is a piece created with the express intent to outshine your competition. Finally, this list is always in flux. Since 1996 (the first year of my list) there have been additions and subtractions, with artists going from worst to ... well let's just say significant changes. And, it could change tomorrow.

With that said, let’s get the party started!

Sonnyredd’s Top Ten MC’s of all time.



Number 10
KRS-One – Living legend. Don’t care what nobody says, he gave it to Nelly in 2004. He is also prophetic. He wrote this in 87.

some mc's be talkin' and talkin'
tryin' to show how black people are walkin
but I don't walk this way to portray
or reinforce stereotypes of today
like all my brothas eat chicken and watermelon
talk broken english and drug sellin'
See I'm tellin, and teaching real facts
The way some act in rap is kind of wack
and it lacks creativity and intelligence
but they don't care cause the company is sellin' it...

Sounds like an indictment of southern rap to me.

Number 9
Ice Cube- Wessyde! Before you start thinking about all the kiddie movies he makes today, let’s remember that he and MC Ren (who?) wrote the entire Straight Outta Compton Album. His solo albums were very pro-black music. I wonder how long it will be before somebody uses the Predator album to attack his star power.

I remember we painted our names on the wall for fun
Now it's "Rest in Peace" after every one
Except me, but I ain't the one to front
Seems like I'm viewin' a body after every month
Plus, I knew him when he was yea big
Pour beer on the curb before I take a swig
But somethin' ain't right
When it's a tragedy,
that's the only time that the family's tight
Lovin' each other in a caring mood
There's lots of people and lots of food
They say "Be Strong" and you're tryin'
But how strong can you be when you see your Pops cryin'?
So that's why Ice Cube's dressed up
Because the city is so fuckin' messed up
And everybody is so phony
Take a little time...to think about your dead homiez.

Number 8
Kool G. Rap – Mr. Superhead himself is also one of the most vicious and gifted lyricists who ever lived. Road to the Riches is an anthem (to me) to this day. A fierce battle rhymer, he is also one of the most vivid story tellers who ever blessed the mic.

Yo, Marley gives the slice, I get nice,
and my voice is twice as horrifying as Vincent Price
goes deep, till you fell in a spell of a sleep,
and while I'm countin' the money, you count sheep.
When G Rap strikes the mic, I recite the type of hype that you like,
and make the people unite.
I grip up hips and zip up lips, step on reps, you flip and wanna sip on my tip.
Take a deep breath, because you don't have another left.
Comin' back like I'm avengin' my brother's deat.
Makin' veterans run for medicine,
cuz I put out more lights in a fight than ConEdison.
Rip the damn cage like I'm on a rampage.
And if you want rage, I'm-a make front page.
Read the headlines, suckers, today’s the deadline,
your head is way past bedtime.

Number 7
Scarface– Sorry T.I. The King of the South is and – based upon your ability – will likely remain, Mister Mister Scarface. Face has style, substance, and depth in his words. Oh, and his flow is impeccable. But what he also brings to the table is a Christian message and a vivid reality. The South never has had a better ambassador. The rest of y’all, step your game up. (Re-read KRS’s verse.) btw- should Momma Redd ever pass...THIS will be read at the funeral. (I’m just a ‘lil ghetto.)

Don't cry mama, your baby boy done weathered the storm
And I found peace right here in your arms
By the way, how you gettin along, huh?
I know it's been tough bearing the pain since daddy's been gone
But, all in all, you still stood tall and never shed-ed a tear
I'm thankin God you still here
Cause, only heaven knows all my heartaches and setbacks
Goin from a high school dropout to shovelin wet wax
I'm never gon' forget that,
look in your eyes, [look in your eyes]
When you told me that my grandfather died
It was like nothing had happened,
[naw] and I'm knowin that you miss him
But to accept death, is just the sign of a good Christian
And I miss him, in words, and I lived it in life [lived it in life]
and I take it step by step, but I take it in Christ [take it in Christ]
Cuz I'm knowin I can't make it alone [uh, uh]
You told me not to buy you a new house because in heaven's your home
and as hurt as I was, I had to smile witcha
and thank God that we crossed paths cuz you one strong sister
and I'm never gon' forget ya
Heaven sent us an angel and the world gon' miss ya... Mama

Number 6
Nas – I may be killed for this. First, there was no question he was going to make the list. None. But, I couldn’t see him beating the folks above him in a battle, and failing that, no props. Nas’s one failing (aside from getting murdered on his first album by the one guest appearance) is that it took him so long to find his voice. He started out a back packer, then he went Escobar on us. Esco was fun, but it wasn’t him. No doubt the boy is nice with the verbs though, without question. He's a backpacker again, and it is a good thing.

Dear Born, you'll be out soon, stay strong
Out in New York the same shit is goin on
the crack-heads stalking, loud-mouths is talking
hold, check out the story yesterday when I was walking
the nigga you shot last year tried to appear like he hurtin' something
word to mother, i heard him fronting
and he be pumping on your block
your man gave him your glock
and now they run together, what up son, whatever
since I'm on the streets I'ma put it to a cease
but I heard you blew a nigga with a ox for the phone piece
Whylin on the Island, but now in Elmira
better chill cause them niggaz will put that ass on fire
...
so stay civilised, time flies
though incarcerated your mind [dies]
I hate it when your mom cries

Number 5
Big L – Simply put, that nigga! Murdered before his time, Big L was a member of both Harlem World (Not the bad Ma$e album, but the good loose knit group of rappers) along with Murder Mase, Killa Cam, and Herb McGruff, and the DITC Crew along with the PR Don Fat Joe, Showbiz and AG, and Lord Finesse. There were rumors of L going with Roc-a-fella before he was killed. That would have been ridiculous. He and Jigga have a 8 minute freestyle they did together, and damnit if L didn’t put Jigga through his paces. Simply put, the single best freestyler ever. Built to battle, and could murder a nigga, lyrically.

I got more riches than you, fuck more bitches than you
Only thing I haven't got is more, stitches than you
Fuckin punk, you ain't a leader --what? Nobody Follow you
You was never shit, your mother shoulda swallowed you
(Mmmm.. WHOO!) You on some tag along flunkie yes man shit
Do me a favor, please get off the next man dick
And if you think I can't fuck with whoever, put your money up
Put your jewels up, no fuck it put your honey up
Put your raggedy house up nigga, or shut your mouth up
before I buck lead, and make a lot of blood shed
Turn your tux red, I'm far from broke, got enough bread
And mad hoes, ask Beavis I get nuttin But head(Classic!)
{*laughter*} My game is, vicious and cool
Fuckin chicks is a rule
If my girl think I'm loyal then that bitch is a fool
How come, you can listen to my first album
and tell where a lot of niggaz got they whole style from?
(YEAH!) So what you actin for?
You ain't half as raw, you need to practice more
Somebody tell this nigga sum'un, 'fore I crack his jaw
You runnin with boys, I'm runnin with men
I'ma be rippin the mics until I'm a hundred and ten
Half y'all niggaz like, "Damnit this nigga done done it again"
I throw slugs at idiots, no love for city cops
I sport a pretty watch, eight-hundred and fifty rocks
I'm makin wonderful figures
I don't fuck with none of you niggaz
I might pull out this gun on your niggaz
and rob every last one of you niggaz

Number’s 4 and 3
Big Daddy Kane/Rakim - This is a a tie, or a toss-up. Let me put this into context. In 1989, the question was, who’s the best MC, Big Daddy or Rakim. By 1993, the consensus was Rakim, owing largly to BDK’s unfortunate foray into pop culture. (Remember Madonna’s Sex book?) Both were 5%ers, both had strong pro black lyrics, and both brought to the game a level of lyricisim that – until recently – was the main-stay of hip hop. Make up your own mind.


Compare BDK's

Here I am . . . R-A-W
terrorist, here to bring trouble to
phoney emcees, I move on and sieze
I just conquer, and stomp another rapper with ease
Cause I'm at my apex and others are be-low
nothing but a milliliter, I'm a kilo
Second to none, making emcees run
Also don't try to step to me, cause I ain't the one
I relieve rappers just like Tylenol
and they know it, so I don't see why you all
try to front, perpetrating a stunt
when you know that I'll smoke you up like a blunt
I'm genuine like Gucci, raw like sushi
The Sage of Rage is what rap did to me
To make me want to create chaos and mayhem
cold rock a party, until the A.M.
I'll make a muscle, grab the mike and hustle
while you stand dazed and amazed, I'll bust a little rhyme
with authority, superiority
and captivate the whole crowd's majority
The rhymes I use definately amuse
better than Dynasty or Hill Street Blues
I'm sure to score, endure for more without a flaw
Cause I get RAW!

With Rakim’s

I came in the door, i said it before
I never let the mic magnatize me no more
But it's biting me, fighting me, inviting me to rhyme
I can't hold it back, I'm looking for the line,
Taking off my coat, clearing my throat
My rhyme will be kicking it until I hit my last note
My mind'll range to find all kinds of ideas
Self-esteem makes it seem like a thought took years to build
But still say a rhyme after the next one
Prepared, never scared, I'll just bless one
And you know that I'm the soloist
So Eric B, make 'em clap to this

Number 2
Biggie/Tupac – They are united as one. Neither would be on this list without the other one. They are the ying and yang of hip-hop, the holy duo who each spawn imitations and tributes from lyricists from around the globe. Youse guys make up your minds on which you prefer because, I know better than to try to convince a Tupac fan that he is dead. Both had their careers cut short, both were talented lyricists, and the impact of both is still felt in hip-hop today. Tupac is not one of my favorite lyricists, but he possessed the best flow of any rapper who ever lived. No wonder he is followed by so many. Think rap’s Bob Marley – certainly not the best artist in the genre, but the best for the people. Biggie, on the other hand – the best story teller in hip-hop. If G. Rap and Slick Rick are rap’s Cecil B. Demile and Francis Ford Coppola, Biggie is Martin Scorcese. And I am not calling him B.I.G. He is Biggie Smalls, and Biggie Smalls is the illest. We’ll deal with the beef later.

Biggie
Since it's on, I call my nigga Arizona Ron
From Tuscon, pushed the black Yukon
Usually had the slow grooves on, mostly rock the Isley
Stupid as a young'un, chose not the moves wisely
Sharper with game, him and his crooks, caught some juxs
Heard it was sweet, bout three-fifty a piece
Ron bought a truck, two bricks laid in the cut
His peeps got bucked, got locked the fuck up
That's when Ron vanished, came back, speakin Spanish
Lavish habits, two rings, twenty carats
He's a criminal, nigga made America's Most
Killed his baby mother brother, slit his throat
The nigga got bagged with the toast
Weeded, took it to trial, beat it
Now he feel he undefeated, he mean it
Nothing to lose, tattooed around his gun wounds
Everything to gain, embedded in his brain
And me I feel the same for this money and diamonds
Specially if my daughter cryin, I ain't lyin
Y'all know the science


2pac
This is for the masses the lower classes
The ones you left out, jobs were givin', better livin'
But we were kept out
Made to feel inferior, but we're the superior
Break the chains in out brains that made us fear yah
Pledge allegiance to a flag that neglects us
Honor a man that who refuses to respect us
Emancipation, proclamation, Please!
Nigga just said that to save the nation
These are lies that we all accepted
Say no to drugs but the governments' keep it
Running through our community, killing the unity
The war on drugs is a war on you and me
And yet they say this is the Home of The Free
But if you ask me its all about hyprocracy
The constitution, Yo, it don't apply to me
Lady Liberty still the bitch lied to me
Steady strong nobody's gonna like what I pumpin'
But its wrong to keeping someone from learning something
So get up, its time to start nation building
I'm fed up, we gotta start teaching childern
That they can be all that they wanna to be
There's much more to life than just poverty

Number 1
Jay-Z – I know you weren’t shocked. And nor should you be. I am going to make this case, statistically like they do for the baseball hall of fame. Number 1, he has two “five mic” albums – Reasonable Doubt and The Blueprint (Nas has 2, too). Secondly, he has been on top of the game – i.e. the guy everyone else was gunning for – for 9 years. Thirdly, he was involved in one of the greatest battles of all time. Four – he is willing to take artistic chances – Unplugged, Best of Both Worlds and Blueprint 2. Five – he raps with everyone. Six – Who do you think wrote Foxy Brown’s first album? He is one part Big Daddy Kane (who mentored him. Big Jaz, who?), one part Public Enemy (y'all need to listen closely. Haven't y'all been paying attention all this time? It's in my freaking titles!!), and one part back packer. Is he the greatest storyteller? No, Biggie is. Is he the best freestyler? Nope, that’s Big L. Best flow? Nope- Pac. But pound for pound, he is the best all-round. But...I’ll let the artist speak for himself.

Motherfuckers -
say that I'm foolish
I only talk about jewels (bling bling)
Do you fools listen to music or do you just skim through it?
See, I'm influenced by the ghetto you ruined
That same dude you gave nothin, I made somethin doin
what I do through and through and
I give you the news - with a twist it's just his ghetto point-of-view
The renegade; you been afraid
I penetrate pop culture, bring 'em a lot closer
to the block where they
pop toasters, and they live with they moms
Got dropped roasters, from botched robberies niggaz crotched over
Mommy's knocked up cause she wasn't watched over
Knocked down by some clown when child support knocked
No he's not around - now how that sound to ya, jot it down
I bring it through the ghetto without ridin 'round
hidin down duckin strays from frustrated youths stuck in they ways
Just read a magazine that fucked up my day
How you rate music that thugs with nothin relate to it?
I help them see they way through it - not you
Can't step in my pants, can't walk in my shoes
Bet everything you worth; you lose your tie and your shirt

Honorable mentions are in the comments.

Lord Forgive Him, He Got Them Dark Forces In Him

(Remember, God forgives. Man, especially me, 'eh' not so much.)


No big news. Cept’ if you want to read a detailed account of a man slipping off into the utter depths of madness, you should read about this guy, and his blog. That said, I am going to use this nutjob to show you how the media is. Yeah, I’m hatin’.

You see, Kevin Ray Underwood is an absolute nut. There can be no question that he is. After all, the sane don’t generally chop up little girls and put them in Tupperware. (White folks do some crazy shit, I’ll tell ya.) That said, this post isn’t about that poor miserable pathetic bastard. Nope. It is about the headline that the AP ran, “Suspect Blogged About Cannibalism.” That my friends is a blatant lie.

Nowhere in his blog does he discuss the finer points – or for that matter the baser points – of cannibalism. See for yourself. What appears isn’t much different than what appears throuout the blogosphere – political and news commentary and woe-is-me type depressive blogging. Sick. Yep. But not Hannibal Lecter type sick. As a matter of fact, I’d venture that he was no sicker – on paper – than bout’ 30% (or 60%) of the bloggers out there. “I can’t get a girl, nobody likes me, yada yada yada.”

Now, that said, where’d the cannibal thing come from? Simple, this sick fucker’s Blogger profile. His “question” (Blogger asks er’body a question. Shit like, ‘If you were a watermelon, would you have seeds or be seedless’ to which I responded, ‘ Watermelon? What kind of racist shit is that?!?!?’ Okay, I’m kidding and that will be our first digression, kiddies) was “If you were a cannibal, what would you wear to dinner?” His answer was, “The skin of last night's main course.” Beware of those who try too hard to be witty. They’re nuts. (Cept’ ofcourse me, who does so effortlessly. Ego is a bitch y’all.)

My point here is to be vigilant when hearing a news reports. Sometimes it is worth a further look, because the media -- like all hustlers -- has a product to sell. It is a better story if the miserable fucker blogged about murdering that poor little girl. He didn’t. But I bet you’ll be watching the “Blogger Murder” trial on Court TV in about 9 months. Opps, my bad, make that the "Bizarre Blogger" trials. Shit, I want in. I say we should call it the Oklahoma Blogger Massacre. (If they make that a movie, I want my cut. And as an aside, you see how effortlessly witty that was? I crack me up.)

Lock My Body Can't Trap My Mind

Easily explain why we adapt to crime
I'd rather die enormous than live dormant...

There is usefulness in all things. Cynthia McKinney has become a polarizing force, and a useful ‘tool’ in the discussion of race in this country, and I intend to offer my theory on what is really going on.

But before I do that, let me thank Cynthia – Daniels, not McKinney – for making me consider what I am going to say. She and I share one thing – the most important thing there is – an enduring love and concern for black people. And I respect her. So, check her out.

Now that the preamble is written (now I have carte blanche to say what I want, cause I have given respect, so let’s get raw...) Cynthia during the course of our discussion (here) displayed something that I have noticed and pondered for years, yet never expressed or fleshed out fully. Cynthia—and most black nationalists—are afraid of white people.

White people, particularly in a group of more than one, give many black people anxiety, paranoia, and convulsions bordering on psychotic. Why else does the (black) world lose its mind when a James Byrd incident comes along? For the same reason white America loses its mind when a black man car jacks or rapes a white woman. Fear.

Listen there are crazy ass niggas and crazy ass rednecks all over the country. Hell some crazy ass nigga just killed 3 generations of his family in Pennsylvania, and I am sure if I read the Boise Redneck Courier Times (or whatever the fucking paper is called) there will be the story of some Meph’d out toothless redneck who hates niggers and beats his ‘Maw.’ Each one of these crazy motherfuckers exists in the world. Cause crazy motherfuckers exist in the world. Their apparent race is incidental to their craziness.

Fear. Y’all scared of white folks. Fear. You ever know that bother or sister who got a job, did some shit like run perpetually late or curse out their boss or co-workers, got fired and then say, “they racist.” Always it is some larger scheme to destroy black people.

But what is the destructive force in the black community? BLACK PEOPLE. The white man doesn’t do “hand to hands” on the corner. The white man doesn’t sell “stop snitching” tee shirts (and thereby encourage a general lawlessness in the black community).

Let me get intellectual on y’all for a minute. Let’s take the notion of education in this country. Most black children go to predominantly black schools in black neighborhoods. They are taught by black teachers, who are supervised by black administrators. White people don’t make or break black schools. Yet, black schools are considered by black people inferior. Without commenting on the merits (or lack thereof) of that perception, I bring it forward to illustrate my point. Many black people believe that the only way to teach black children is to have them taught by black teachers. The fear here is that a white teacher wouldn’t “understand” the “needs” of black children. I suppose conjugation of verbs in Ebonics is so terribly complicated that 3 +3 = 6, might be better explained as, “if I have 3 keys of china white, and I rob Paco for 3 more keys then I have enough for a brand new BMW 6 with 22’s.

In lieu of encouraging an environment where the BEST teacher teaches black children, there is a movement to keep it in house. That would be fine – I am a product of a HBCU and am proud to be a Coppinite – but the whole point of Brown v. Board of Education was to provide black children the right to learn from the best in any and every field. Today, black fear has devolved into a movement to segregate schools again. Omaha, anyone?

And when 41 lacrosse players raped a black woman (allegedly, I make no value judgments at this time, but it ain’t looking good unless the rapists all wore condoms and shaved their pubic hairs) many screamed in outrage. Notwithstanding the fact that a white woman is most likely to be raped by a white man and a black woman is most likely to be raped by a black man – to the extent that they are likely to be raped at all. This is fear.

Fear, it has been proffered, caused Cynthia McKinney to hit the policeman. She was “afraid” the white man yelling “Madam” was going to hurt her. Fear.

Cynthia Daniels, when asked if she feared white people, said essentially, “no, but...” Everything after the “but” identifies her fear. I suggest you ask your friends if they fear white people. I think the amount of “no, but’s” you get will surprise you.

If you are at the car dealership and no one speaks to you, do you conclude “race”? That is fear. I know that is fear because, in talking to white people, they too are ignored in some dealerships. Some salesmen just suck. Some are racist. It is hard to know which is which. But fear makes the issue clear.

When white women clutch their purse in an elevator with a black man, that is fear. When black people assume rudeness by a white person is racial, that too is fear.

We are all scared of everyone else.

OJ Simpson chopped the head off of two white people, and walked. Partially because everyone feared that LA would turn into Rodney King part two, and partially because Mark Furman said “nigger”. (And in no small part to the single greatest litigator of the 20th century. RIP, Bro. Cochran.) Fear.

Lionel Tate brutally murdered a 9 year old black girl, and rather than spend the rest of his life behind bars, there was commentary about the criminalization of a young black boy. Never mind, that he robbed a pizza delivery man at gunpoint months after his release. Fear.
I am tired of fear. I will no longer accept “scardey-assed” niggas claiming racism at every turn.

Here’s a fact. When racism existed in the open, our families were more intact, and less of our children were born out of wedlock. Whitey? I think not.

Here’s a fact, thinking that you would not want to be black if you are white is not racism. Thinking that you would not want to be white if you are black is not racism.

Thinking that you are inherently better than someone else by virtue of your skin color, or the absence or presence of melanin is racism. Ain’t that right, Frances Cress Welsing?

Fear. Calling white people, “the Man”, or “oppressor” gives power to them, in the same way that calling yourself “victim” or “enslaved” weakens you. Your mind, subconsciously will fear the “oppressor”, and that fear will paralyze you.

Black people, back when we were indeed oppressed, once believed that we had to outperform white folk. We said it and more importantly we lived it. Today, when we are the masters of our fate, we talk of being oppressed. We used to talk of “overcoming” and voting and empowerment. Today we talk of unfairness, and DWB, and conspiracy.

Fear.

Lock my body – let come what may – CAN’T LOCK MY MIND – I stand empowered to achieve – I’d rather die enormous than live dormant – and I will achieve, until my last dying breath, without fear.

Through My Peripheral, I See Ya Scheming...

Stop dreamin, I leave your body steamin
Niggaz is fiendin, what's the meanin?
I'm leanin on any nigga intervenin
with the sound of my money machine-in

I am going to get a lil’ buck today, but first – to ensure that my soul is okay with the Big Guy, let me mention that yesterday was the anniversary of the death of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. So, I hope you took a moment to reflect on his accomplishments. If not, and you’re feeling remorseful, peep this link and donate to his memorial fund. I’d like to see a King memorial in DC one day.

And while we are on the subject, let me say that I love Dr. King, yet I know he and I would sharply disagree about some things. Case in point, today’s post:

Hey! All you illegal Mexicans, GET THE FUCK OUT! (and Fuck you too, Cynthia McKinney).

Let’s face facts. Every illegal Mexican who takes a job in the US takes a job from someone here. That ‘someone’, in many instances and thus the reason why I care, is black people.

Now, I am not blaming the illegals for getting their hustle on. Not at all. Anyone who does what they need to do to get legal money gets respect from me. The beef I have is that those who hire illegals are “intervening with the sound of our money machine.” And I cannot and will not support my own demise. Remember when Vincente Fox said that the illegals take jobs that niggers won’t even do? Fuck him.

Poor people, black and white, will take these jobs. Economically speaking, the illegals keep wages artificially low (no Marxist!), because they are willing to work below minimum wage. This leaves the native born poor to linger on public support long after they should have. Even if the jobs were paid at minimum wage, adequately taxed, those requiring public support would in effect be subsidizing their own welfare.

Moreover, areas where there is an increase in illegals (yeah, I’m talking Mexicans), require bi-lingual service providers. Hey, commerce is commerce, but we (as in my folk) don’t generally ‘speakie spannie,’ and as a result we lose out.

Now you may say, “many customer service jobs are going to India anyway, so why care?” The difference is that the jobs that the Mexicans do – construction, farm labor, domestic work – are all areas that can’t be outsourced. They have to be here to work, so we can’t.

Meanwhile Al Sharpton and the NAACP are hollering about “brown solidarity”. There ain’t no brown solidarity. Trust me, the only group of Hispanics who have any real identification with black folk is Puerto Ricans and they don’t really like us either. The Mexicans? The president of the fucking country told you what the deal was.

Minorities are each in their own boat. They know that, we still learning, I guess. I’m not. I know. Economically, it is dog eat dog out there. Ain’t no teams. I am not against them getting theirs, but I ain’t going to give the competition a leg up, either.

In other news, Cynthia McKinny getting stopped at the front desk of the Capital ain’t racial, and even if it is, it ain’t important.

Her statement went like this,

Earlier today I had an unfortunate confrontation with a Capitol Hill Police Officer. It is traditional protocol that Capitol Hill Police Officers secure 535 Members of Congress, including 100 Senators. It is the expectation of most Members of Congress that Capitol Hill Police officers know who they are. I was urgently trying to get to an important meeting on time to fulfill my obligations to my constituents. Unfortunately, the Police Officer did not recognize me as a Member of Congress and a confrontation ensued. I did not have on my Congressional pin but showed the Police Officer my Congressional ID.

This bitch didn't have her pin on. She didn't have her pin on. She didn't have her pin on. She didn't have her pin on. (See where I'm going?)

See, here's my beef -- she didn't have her pin on, the white dude stopped her, she got mad. I KNOW (in the bottom of my heart) that she didn't, calmly and politely take out her ID, and pat the lil' whiteboy on his head, then go upstairs and hop on the phone and get him fired. (That's how business get's done. With class.) You and I both know she was acting like "black eyewitness man" from the Boondocks. And I, like Huey, HATE black eyewitness man.

She is acting like she definitely shouldn’t be stopped by the Capital Police. Fuck her. I could understand if she used this moment – while she has the national attention – to address the treatment of black people at the hands of the police. THAT, I could respect. That is NOT what she’s doing. She’s suing. She gonna get paid, and we – again – lose. So fuck her and her problems. Black folk catching hell, and you bitching about this?!?! You were embarrassed. Get dude fired – quietly – and move on with life. Stupid bitch. I hope y’all in Atlanta pay attention to this stupid broad and her silly-ass shit. Bet you when her ass can’t get shit passed, y’all gonna be like , “racism!” That shit ain’t race. She’s stupid.

That’s it for me, I’ve spread enough hate (and nary a digression -- cept this one). I’m out.