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First of all, who’s your A&R?
A mountain climber who plays an electric guitar?
But he don’t know the meaning of dope,
When he’s lookin for a suit and tie rap
That’s cleaner than a bar of soap!
And I’m the dirtiest thing in sight,
Matter of fact, bring out the girls and let’s have a mud fight.
GZA, “Protect Ya Neck,” from Wu-Tang Clan’s Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), 1993
If wonder if I blasted a little Elvis Presley.
Would they pull me over and attempt to arrest me?
I doubt, doubt it, they’ll probably start dancin,
Jumpin on my dick and pissin in they pants and
Wiggle and then jiggle and grab on they pelvis
But you know my name, so you never hear no Elvis.
Masta Ace, “Jeep Ass Niguh,” Slaughtahouse, 1993
I’m sick and tired of these fake-ass niggas,
Saying that they’re catching bodies when they never pulled a trigger.
I know your style, I’ve seen it before,
You wearing army suit, now you think you’re hardcore.
Drinking on your 40’s, smoking on your blunts,
Can’t afford a chain so you wear gold fronts…
You fakin’ the funk, kid.
And you’d be getting it up the ass if you ever did a fucking bid.
Fat Joe, “The Shit Is Real (Remix),” Jealous One’s Envy, 1993
There’s four developing stages in the art of hip-hop,
And most of them developed from the snap, crackle and pop.
The first was the usage of an actual band,
The second was a drum machine made by a man,
The third was the human beatbox and percussion,
The fourth in line was samplin’ and the book of rhyme bustin’.
Afrika Baby Bam, “Book of Rhyme Pages,” from The Jungle Brothers’ J Beez Wit The Remedy, 1993. More from the Jungle Brothers…