I Would Thirst Often As A Youth Cause Of You

Moms nursin self-esteem issues
Round the house it's hard to find a clean tissue,
minus her tears
To rewind this time I promise I’ll minus my years
to the day to take the pain away
Seemed sunny outside, always rained on Jay
Pop you my umbrella,
come help your son with the weather...

In order to get right we gotta deal with this wrong
And the pain I felt all my life you feel in this song
Your lack of warmth left a chill in the morn'
Your lack of love, left me loveless,
and I'm of your breath
I'm your mind body and soul, your heart, your flesh
Your alcohol, your smoke, the results I'm a mess
And dad, still I love you no less, dad
Hope you didn't think success would make me less mad
But not mad, just disappointed - we wasted years
I swear to God, may you take me away from here
If you taught me anything
The one thing you taught me is to face my fears, coward
How could you let me grow without you?
Grind in this rap game, take dough without you?
Wear my Pro Keds close to the sole without you?
Family pictures pose without you - WHY?! ..
Why shouldn't I be mad?

I can’t claim to be the author of these words. But I could have written them. I could have written them just as easily as any other fatherless child could have written them. Please, for those who read this erratic ramble that I call a blog, please drink in the desperation, the frustration and the confusion of these words. They are the formation of my years, and the foundation of my youth. And my dad was pretty damn decent, all in all.

But these are the thoughts and the feelings of each and every fatherless son in the United States today. I hope you have read that. These are the thoughts of every single young man that you know who did not grow up with his father.

What’s that you say? A grand generalization? No, not at all. The sobering, God awful (because it is awful) baseline truth. This my friends, is reality.

I mention this, because a black child has a 25% chance of being born in wedlock. And y’all know I hate statistics. But a 25% chance of being born in wedlock, to a mommy (or Mommie, as mine is appropriately titled) and dad (or Pop) is fucked up.

And the worst part of that stat is that I seem to be the only motherfucker on the planet earth who cares two shits either way. And I’ll be honest, that hurts me to my heart. If only because maybe I do owe an apology to Joy Jones. Maybe marriage is for white people. Maybe the old ways died off because they weren’t so good. What did the old ways get us anyway besides lynched, and boycotting and marching for some shit. We don’t need that shit no more. After all, niggas got New Orleans back, and they are prosecuting them whiteboys over at Duke, and OJ got off, and that Latham broad got herself her groove back with the white gardener, and Terry Macmillan and Wendy Williams has already identified that all the good black men are in jail, and the rest of us ‘chancleta and jeans’ wearing niggas is on the down low, so why even try to better ourselves anyway because the white man is out to get us and can beat us at any thing we try. Why the fuck do we even bother?

Then, in the midst of that frustration, I am reminded that we bother, brothers and sisters, because we must. We bother because we shall. We bother because in addition to Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King and Malcolm X, there were others -- who are less known -- who died for our betterment.

We struggle for Denmark Vesey, who died tring to free his people even though he himself was already free.

We fight for Nat Turner, whose belief in himself and his terrible mission shaped the laws of America for generations.

And we win for Emmit Till, who died for whistling at a white girl. Something I witness being done by brothers every single day.

And straight up and down, if that isn’t what y’all is doing it for, then I have little use for y’all. I have little use for those who don’t want to see us succeed. I have little use for those who aren’t out achieving all that they can. And I have little use for those who are unwilling to sacrifice and struggle for what we’ve been given, particularly knowing the sacrifices made to get us this far.

I’ll admit, I’ve gone soft. I guess I went and got reflective in my old age, more accepting of others mediocrity. Kindler and gentler villain, I suppose. Fuck that. We have all been hand-held too damn long, and quite frankly, my hands are sweaty.

The time has passed when our children are seen as a financial burden by their fathers, nothing more than a bill to be paid, akin to some boderline utility, like the cable bill; and a possession by their mothers, their own personal moveable lovable hugable teddy bears that can walk and talk and never judges mommy for her faults whatever they may be.

Our children are our responsibility. We aren't to be breeding best friends forever (bff's) any more than we are supposed to be breeding bills. We care for them, raise them, and teach them, so they can care for, raise and teach our great-grands.

Take Me Over, Somewhere Peaceful For The Weekend

[Then] it's back to speakin of vultures...

Yo, I’m out. Going to take the show on the road for the weekend. Oh, you thought I was leaving? Nah, you ain’t that lucky. And don’t worry, I’ll resume the celebration of my 1 – year blog-o-versary. Shit, I’m like Disney, I’ll celebrate for the whole damn year (it’s going to take me that long to finish these damn lists.) Speaking of Disneyworld, I am going soon. I like Disney. That’s my shit.

Anyway, my little brother will be graduating from my alma mater this weekend, so I get to get gussied up in finery and see the ole’ campus. I am immensely proud of my brother who, (1) graduated early (Hell, I didn’t. What's the opposite of early? Yep. "Get your hand outta my...digression), (2) has at least one 4.0 semester under his belt (I never did that. Closest I came was a 3.8 and a 3.6), and (3) has no baby's mommas or criminal records and good credit (I am having a Chris Rock moment, forgive me). I am (as you can tell) very proud of him.

I am also going to check out the new National Air and Space Museum this weekend, and generally take a well deserved break. As a child of the 80's, nothing has excited my mind more than the space shuttle. And getting to see one live and up close? Fugheddaboutit. I’ll also hit up some of the DC clubs while I am out there, I’m sure.

But, ever the hustler there are some deals I will be getting up to speed on as well, as the hustle never stops.

Enjoy your weekend! Cause I know I will. The Redds (Grandmom Redd, Uncle Redd, Cousin Uncle Redd, Jr., Big Brother Redd, Redd nephews, ah eff it, the whole Redd-tang-clan [who are indeed nothing to fuck wit]) are going to DC! Baby Redd is Graduating!!!

Now Star is Mad I Won't Grant Him An Interview

I am taking a break from the pursuit of hip-hop immortality to address what is a tragic miscarriage of justice and shows how fucking unbelievable this country is. I live in Miami. This morning, like every morning, I turned on my radio to tune in to the Star and Buc Wild show. It is a great show that has the courage to challenge the vicious stereotypes surrounding black manhood in this country. Where else could Shahrazad Ali co-exist with a black republican married to a white woman? Where else can "nigga" be bandied about like it is on the streets, but in the context of discussions about Ann Rand? No where! But wait...

To my utter amazement, Prince Markie Dee (Fat...Boys...Fat-fat...Boys) was “spinning” or rather blandly talking up the traditional clear channel communications pabulum that they pass off as hip-hop or r&b (rap and bullshit) this morning. Where was my “ko-bo-bo-bo”? What the fuck?!? They fired Star? Fucking re-got-damned-dic-you-lous.

The official story is that Star, without provocation, said that he would molest DJ Envy’s daughter. He went on to call Envy’s wife a “slant eyed” whore. *Gasp!* The horror. It was on the O’Reilly Factor, so it must be true!

Nope.

It is not often that you witness news. But when it happens, you remember it. I can say I was there. And that is not the whole story. I’ll tell you what happened -- what really happened.

Yeah, Star said terrible things. Yeah, he threatened to “R.Kelly” Envy’s “seed.” Yeah, yeah, yeah. So the fuck what?

Let’s look at exactly what it is being reported Star said (courtesy of the transcript as posted on Hiphopmusic.com)

No, let me just touch on this real quick... Yes, I disrespected your seed. If you didn't hear me, I said, I would like to do an R. Kelly on your seed, on your little baby girl. I would
like to tinkle on her.

"Call the cops"? Nigga, please, there's no bodyguards. ... I'm disrespecting your seed. I would like to skeet on the face of your seed. Now that's, that's real talk dog. You have to come holla at me now. Call me, I'll meet you somewhere, but don't act like
you were waiting in some parking lot with like 50 niggas. Please.

I want to do an R. Kelly in the mouth of your seed ... You holla at me now. I'm the easiest man in the world to find.

Okay. I am not responsible for that transcript, but it generally follows my memory of what was said that morning. My point is that, notwithstanding the terribleness of the words, there is context outside of this passage, or the other passages you will read and hear that have to be remembered.

The context was provocation. He was provoking DJ Envy. “Now you have to come see me...” was his statement. The listeners are getting an education about the way of the world, one that is missed in the hype of “slant eyed whore” (acknowledging that “slant eyed whore” is bad, because it is bad) he was saying and showing that, this is not real life, this is the radio. These personalities whose overt ‘street cred’ you all (the listeners, particularly the young black and brown ones) emulate are not gangsters, even if, “they play one on T.V.” Envy won’t be talking tough again, and that is a good thing.

Star proved his point. Often in life we win battles, only to lose wars. Here, I think the battle was won, and a guarenteed contract means that even if he lost the war, he'll be okay. At the end of the day i will always remember, Envy didn’t do anything -- his wife did. That, my friends, is literally a bitch move. (Me pun? Definitely.)

You Made It A Hot Line, I Made It A Hot Song

As we proceed to give you what you need! Sonnyredd’s Top 10 Verses of all time. There is plenty of room for disagreement, and my East coast bias is probably readily apparent here. The folks and verses who didn’t make the list are numerous, yet memorable all the same. Hood’s verse on the original Scenario, Willie D’s on Mind’s Playing Tricks, J-Live’s on Braggin Writes, Jay Z’s on Can I Get Open, the honorable mentions are ridiculous. But that is the fun of Top Ten lists. The amount of research I had to do for this was incredible. Let’s get to it.


Number 10
Cappadonna – Winter Warz
Rarely does a cat come out of nowhere and outshine a group of established emcees. But Cappadonna did. And what’s worse, he went 16 plus some. He rode the Rza track in a way that no Wu member had in a long time. Unfortunately he, like so many members of this list, never found commercial or solo success. But damn if he didn’t spit fire here.

You heard of the rasp before but kept waitin
for the sun of song, I keep dancehalls strong
Beats never worthy of my cause, I prolong
Extravangza, time sits still
No propoganda, be wary of the skill
As I bring forth the music, make love to your eardrum
Dedicated to rap nigga beware of the fearsome
Lebanon Don, Malcolm X beat threat
CD massacre, murder to cassette
I blow the shop up, you ain't seen nuttin yet
One man ran, tryin to get away from it
Put your bifocal on, watch me a-cometh
into your chamber like Freddy enter dream
Discombumberate your technique and your scheme
Four course applause, like a black dat to dat
You're stuck on stupid like I'm stuck on the map
Nowhere to go except next show bro
Entertainin motherfuckers can't stop O
in battlin, you don't want me to start tattlin
All upon the stage cause y'all snakes keep rattlin
Bitch, you ain't got nothin on the rich
Every other day my whole dress code switch
So just in case you want to clock me like Sherry
All y'all crab bitches ain't got to worry
Can't get a nigga like Don dime a dozen
Even if I'm smoked out I can't be scoped out
I'm too ill, I represent Park Hill
See my face on the twenty dollar bill
Cash it in, and get ten dollars back
The fat LP with Cappachino on the wax
Pass it in your think, put valve up to twelve
Put all the other LP's back on the shelf
And smoke a blunt, and dial 9-1-7
1-6-0-4-9-3-11
And you could get long dick hip-hop affection
I damage any MC who step in my direction
I'm Staten Island's best son fuck what you heard
Niggaz still talkin that shit is absurd
My repotoire, is U.S.S.R.
P.L.O. style got thrown out the car
and ran over, by the Method Man jeep
Divine can't define my style is so deep
like pussy, my low cut fade stay bushy
like a porcupine, I part backs like a spine
Cut you like a blunt and reconstruct your design
I know you want to diss me, but I can read your mind
Cuz you weak in the knees, like SWV
Tryin to get a title like Wu Killa Bee
Kid change your habit, you know I'm friends with the Abbott
Me and RZA ridin name printed in the tablet
under vets, we paid our debts for mad years
Hibernate the sound, and now we out like beers
and blunt power, born physically power speakin
The truth in the song be the pro-black teachin

Number 9
Lord Jamarr – Punks Jump Up To Get Beat Down
The weak sister of Brand Nubian laid down the best verse of his career right here. This verse captures the essence of the song, and Jamarr makes it a solo song featuring Sadat X. I can’t say it ever happended again, but it was good enough for number nine.

Your punk ass'll be grass quick fast like my name was flash
when a nigga try and rob me for my cash.
You thought you had a sweet vic, a nice pick,
but you didn't anticipate that I might be sick.
Now who's the trick, cuz I'm not a up. (No, no-no-no!)
I always do the fuckin', just might do the buckin'.
I leave my Nikes stuck in your rectum, till you learn
Brand Nubian, yo, you gotta respect 'em.
Dissect 'em, yo, our word is bond regardless.
To my what, and do the Puma strut.
So step the fuck off, before I punch you in your face,
with the mothafuckin' bass!
Then you're gonna taste blood in your mouth, it's gonna flood south
to the ground, and you're gonna know I don't fuck around.
So if you think you had two soft newjacks,
we're gonna have to off you with a few cracks
to the jaw and you won't pop that shit no more.
Explainin' to your friends why you're layin' on the floor.
Did you want some more? I didn't think so.
Just got whipped like a faggot in the clink, so
I suggest you take your bloody mess and find a piece of wire,
fix your broken jaw, then it's time to retire.
Lord Jamar will live long, cuz I give strong blows the heads of my foes.
Dread flows, gives me power as it grows.
Watch how rass-cladda you catch the speed knot,
heed not, and hell will be your home,
Lord Jamar, Sadat, as we swell your dome.

Number 8
Biz Markie – Vapors
Can you feel it? Nothing can save you... Biz has a lot of memorable flows, “I’m the rap promoter, I start to motor...” is my personal favorite, but the Clown Prince of hip-hop nails it with Vapors. I had a hard time choosing just one verse, but I think this one is his best of the song.

I got another partner that's calm and plain
He goes by the name of the Big Daddy Kane
A mellow type of fellow that's laid back
Back in the days, he was nothin' like that
I remember when he used to fight every day
What grown-ups would tell him he would never obey
He wore his pants hangin' down and his sneakers untied
And a rasta-type Kango tilted to the side
Around his neighborhood, people treated him bad
And said he was the worst thing his mom's ever had
They said that he will grow up to be nothin' but a hoodlum
Or either injail or someone would shoot him
But now he's grown up, to their surprise
Big Daddy got a hit record sellin' worldwide
Now the same people that didn't like him as a child be sayin'
Can I borrow a dollar, ooh, you're a star now

They caught the vapors

Number 7
Buckshot/Blackmoon – Who Got the Props
This is classic golden age hip hop. When lyrics mattered, Buck had lyrics for days. This verse captures the essence of an innocent time in the artform, and is one of my personal faves.

One, two, melody shows
And before I flip a script you know I must keep you dozing
Enter the stage of the Buckshot Shorty
Son pass the boom, keep the top on the 40
Never ever ever get played, KILL THAT
Bust a mad cap in your back cause I'm all that
Straight from Crooklyn, better known as Brooklyn
Elude the hook and, your whole beat's tookin'
Must take charge, bomb guard, I'm the man
Bust my plan, it feeds back on my fam
Once I cruise, pay dues, I never lose
When I break on fools, wake up, you don't snooze
Bust a move, I get smooth like Roadie
Kick it like the Four Horsemen, yeah you know me
Booming like a speaker with my 100 dollar sneakers
Baggy black jeans, knapsack, and my beeper
keep a fresh cut, never see me with a busted fro
And I'm a let you know...

Number 6
Kool Moe Dee – Wild Wild West
This is the ultimate shout-out verse. Moe Dee is the man, and this pioneer is never appreciated for his greatness. I love Moe Dee, and even though Ladies Love Cool James, Moe Dee won the battle – but that is the next list, isn’t it?

I'm talking about Nazareth, B.O., Tony and Milton
Mike Mike Sluggo and Mike Chillion
D.O.B., Reggie B, and Sidney
Dana B, Derrick B, Sean B, and don't forget
Big Hank, Don Ice and Sire Rock
God bless Peter Wax, Chuck Chuck, and Po Rock
El Dorado George way back in the day
Had all the brothers on the hill talking this way
They said, "God, have mercy L.A.
Sunshine," and my DJ
Easy Lee, are from aroud the way
Jock Jock, Philly Phil, Don D always
But they're chillin, Keith Keith, KV
Steve O, Ross Ross and A Fi
Beroni, Toss Toss and Hung Hunk
We fight with our hands and nobody's a punk!
At the...

The wild wild west

Number 5
Biggie Smalls – Party and Bullshit
This song was the reason I bought the “Who’s the Man” soundtrack. It is pure Biggie at his essence, and pure golden age, as long as we define the golden age as 88-98 (which I do. Bronze Age is 78-88, and of course this shit we got now is Platinum age, but for the wrong reasons).

I was a terror since the public school era
Bathroom passes, cuttin classes, squeezing asses
Smoking blunts was a daily routine
Since thirteen, a chubby nigga on the scene
I used to have the tre` duce
And the duce duce in my bubblegoose
Now i got the mack in my knapsack
Loungin' black, smoking sacks up in Ac’s
And Sidekicks with my sidekicks rockin fly kicks
Honeys want to chat
But all we wanna know is "Where the party at?"
And can i bring my gat?
If not, I hope I don't get shot
But i throw my vest on my chest
'Cause niggaz is a mess
It don't take nothin' but frontin'
For me to start somethin'
Buggin' and barkin' at niggaz like i was duck huntin'
Dumbing out, just me and my crew
Cause all we wanna do is...

Party... And bullshit

Number 4
LL Cool J – I’m Bad
There can be no denying that LL is a lyricist, and has been for years. When LL dropped I’m bad, rappers were still rocking lines on a one-two beat. LL was – and is – sick when he wants to be.

I'm like Tyson icin' I'm a soldier at war
I'm makin' sure you don't try to battle me no more
Got concrete rhymes been rappin' for ten years and
Even when I'm braggin' I'm bein' sincere

MC's can't win I make 'em rust like tin
They call me Jaws my hat is like a shark's fin
Because I'm bad as can be got my voice all waxed
Some brothers think he's making records now he must have relaxed

I couldn't shouldn't and it'll stay that way
The best rapper you've heard is L.L. Cool J
Kamikaze take a look at what I've done
Used to rock in my basement now I'm number one

And can happen on time never standin' on lime
You wanna try me first you better learn how to rhyme
I'm the pinnacle that means I reign supreme
And I'm notorious I'll crush you like a jelly bean

I'm bad

Number 3
OC – Time’s Up
This joint is so nice, OC gets two verses posted. Choose either one, this is the blueprint for how a rhyme should be constructed. Plus, the message, the message is so on point!

You lack the minerals and vitamins, irons and the niacin
Fuck who that I offend, rappers sit back I'm bout to begin
bout foul talk you sqwak, never even walked the walk
More less destined to get tested, never been arrested
My album will manifest many things that I saw did or heard about
or told first hand, never word of mouth
What's in the future for the fusion in the changer?
Rappers are in danger, who will use wits to be a remainder
When the missile is aimed, to blow you out of the frame
Some will keep their limbs and, some will be maimed
The same suckers with the gab about, killer instincts
but turned bitch and knowin damn well they lack
In this division the conniseur, crackin your head with a 4 by 4
Realize sucka, I be the comin like Noah
Always sendin you down, perpetratin facadin what you consider
a image, to me this is, just a scrimmage
I'm feel I'm stone, not cause I bop or wear my cap cocked
The more emotion I put into it, the harder I rock
Those who pose lyrical but really ain't true I feel

"Their time's limited, hard rocks too" -> Slick Rick

Speakin in tongues, about what you did but you never done it
Admit you bit it cause the next man gained platinum behind it
I find it ironic, so I researched and analyzed
Most write about stuff they fantasized
I'm fed up with the bull, on this focus of weed and clips
and glocks gettin cocked, and wax not bein flipped
It's the same old same old just strain it from the anal
The contact, is not com-pexed or vexed
So why you puhsin it? Why you lyin for? I know where you live
I know your folks, you was a sucka as a kid
Your persona's drama, that you acquired in high school in actin class
Your whole aura is plexi-glass
What's-her-face told me you shot this kid last week in the park
That's a lie, you was in church with your moms
See I know yo, slow your roll, give a good to go
Guys be lackin in this thing called rappin just for dough
Of course we gotta pay rent, so money connects, but uhh
I'd rather be broke and have a whole lot of respect
It's the principal of it, I get a rush when I bust
some dope lines oral, that maybe somebody'll quote
That's what I consider real, in this field of music
Instead of puttin brain cells to work they abuse it
Non-conceptual, non-exceptional
Everybody's either crime-related or sexual
I'm here to make a difference, besides all the riffin
The traps are not stickin, rappers stop flippin
For those who pose lyrical but really ain't true I feel

"Their time's limited, hard rocks too"

Number 2
Nas – Live at the BBQ
This verse began a media obsession with Nasir Jones that continues today. I don’t think it is as good as OC’s, but I can’t deny the impact Nas’ first appearance had on hip-hop.

Street's disciple, my raps are trifle
I shoot slugs from my brain just like a rifle
Stampede the stage, I leave the microphone split
Play Mr. Tuffy while I'm on some Pretty Tone shit
Verbal assassin, my architect pleases
When I was twelve, I went to hell for snuffin Jesus
Nasty Nas is a rebel to America
Police murderer, I'm causin hysteria
My troops roll up with a strange force
I was trapped in a cage and let out by the Main Source
Swimmin in women like a lifeguard
Put on a bulletproof nigga I strike hard
Kidnap the President's wife without a plan
And hangin niggaz like the Ku Klux Klan
I melt mics till the sound waves over
Before steppin to me you'd rather step to Jehovah
Slammin MC's on cement
Cause verbally, I'm iller than a AIDS patient
I move swift and uplift
your mind shoot the gift when I riff in rhyme
Rappin sniper, speakin real words
My thoughts react, like Steven Spielberg's
Poetry attacks, paragraphs punch hard
My brain is insane, I'm out to lunch God
Science is dropped, my raps are toxic
My voicebox locks and excels like a rocket

Number 1
AZ – Life’s a Bitch
Here it is-BAM! And you say got damn, this is a dope jam! I can only say that when Nas criticized Jay-Z for letting Eminem murder him on his own shit, he had to visualize the realism of life in actuality, that AZ murdered him on his own shit too. Nobody rides a beat better, and I hope folks start paying attention.

Visualizin the realism of life in actuality
Fuck who's the baddest a person's status depends on salary
And my mentality is, money orientated
I'm destined to live the dream for all my peeps who never made it
cause yeah, we were beginners in the hood as five percenters
But somethin must of got in us cause all of us turned to sinners
Now some, restin in peace and some are sittin in San Quentin
Others such as myself are tryin to carry on tradition
Keepin the schwepervesence street ghetto essence inside us
Cause it provides us with the proper insight to guide us
Even though, we know somehow we all gotta go
but as long as we leavin thievin
we'll be leavin with some kind of dough so
until that day we expire and turn to vapors
me and my capers will be somewhere stackin plenty papers
Keepin it real, packin steel, gettin high
Cause life's a bitch and then you die