If sleep is the cousin of death, then death is the cousin of sadness;
Murder’s the cousin of madness, love is the cousin of that bitch.
Ill Bill, “Secrets Worth Dying For,” from DJ Muggs & Ill Bill’s Kill Devil Hills, 2010
Posts Tagged With: hip-hop
The world is kinda cold and the rhythm is my blanket.
Q-Tip, “Verses from the Abstract,” from A Tribe Called Quest’s The Low End Theory, 1991
Believers of Jesus be denouncing Satan on every level,
But every Halloween they’re dressin’ like devils.
KRS-One, “Higher Level,” Return of the Boom Bap, 1993
I’m so Rakim and Eric. B, bitches check out my melody.
I might Slick Rick on a fella…catch me a felony.
I might Shyne Po a ho…POW! Catch me a case.
Producto must have rolled the L because this blunt feels laced.
Killer Mike, “Twin Hype Back,” Run the Jewels, 2013
What’s better than tripping is falling in love.
What’s better than Letterman, Leno, Fallon, and all the above?
What’s better than popping bottles trying to ball in the club?
Is the first caveman pops with his son, ball and a club.
What’s better than paper is balling it up.
What’s better than followers is actually falling in love.
What’s better than frolicking, follies, fallin in mud?
Rolling in green pastures, wandering, following love.
What’s better than eating is feeding your fam.
What’s better than meetings is missing meetings to meet with your fam.
What’s better than leaning and needing your Xan?
Is hitting your zan dreaming a dream could mean leaving the land.
What’s better than yelling is hollering love.
What’s better than rhymes, nickles, dimes, dollars, and dubs?
Is dialing up your darling just for calling her up.
There ain’t nothing better than falling in love.
Chance the Rapper, “Interlude (That’s Love),” Acid Rap, 2013
We ain’t speak, clicking heat is our Morse code.
Ka, “Jungle,” Night’s Gambit, 2013
A letter to you suckers,
Each and every one of you duck muthafuckas…
Your girl puckers her lips, so I stuck her.
Kool G. Rap, “Jive Talk,” from Kool G. Rap and DJ Polo’s Wanted: Dead or Alive, 1990
This game is lame, the music comes second
So you can save that stupidness for all them artists you checkin.
Popularity don’t last long, I’m in it for classics,
Cause the other side of the biz is fake and it’s plastic.
Craig G., “Classic Personified,” Ramblings of an Angry Old Man, 2012
Make a radio hit: heads criticize it.
Underground classic? Nobody buys it.
So, rap is fucked…
And everything blowing up sounds redundant,
But money talks and bullshit does 9 flat in the 100.
Ras Kass, “Reelishymn,” Soul On Ice, 1996
We missed a lot of church, so the music is our confessional.
Big Boi, “Aquemini,” from Outkast’s Aquemini, 1998
I’ve been layin’, waiting for your next mistake,
I put in work, and watch my status escalate.
Guru, “Work,” from Gang Starr’s Moment of Truth, 1998
MCs get a little bit of love and think they hot,
Talkin bout how much money they got…all y’all records sound the same.
I’m sick of that fake thug, R&B-rap scenario, all day on the radio,
Same scenes in the video, monotonous material.
…Y’all don’t hear me though:
These record labels slang our tapes like dope.
You can be next in line and signed, and still be writing rhymes and broke.
stic.man, “Hip-Hop,” from Dead Prez’s Let’s Get Free, 2000
Some rappers stink, like Engelbert Humperdinck,
Better yet Dick Cavett, I got a bad habit
Similar to the girl on She’s Gotta Have It.
Grand Puba, “All For One,” from Brand Nubian’s One For All, 1990
Every time I write these words they become a taboo,
Making sure my punctuation curve, every letter here’s true,
Living my life in the margin, and that metaphor was proof.
Kendrick Lamar, “Poetic Justice,” good kid, m.A.A.d city, 2012
Those who flashin’ don’t blast, they still buffoons,
Just blowin out hot air, they should fill balloons.
I’m like them shorties that could kill for goons,
They started hustlin’ in April to cop wheels in June.
Elzhi, “Mt. Everest,” from U-God’s The Keynote Speaker, 2013
And as for the critics, tell me I don’t get it.
Everybody can tell you how to do it, they never did it.
Jay-Z, “Already Home,” The Blueprint 3, 2009
My days getting shorter, my nights getting longer,
My cell getting smaller, my son getting taller.
I exercise my mind, my body getting stronger,
But my blood getting colder, heart getting harder.
My chances for appeal getting slimmer,
My skin getting brighter, my hair getting thinner.
See, when you stressed out, you could age fast in here,
I done seen weak niggas not last a year.
So before lights out, I write my kids every night,
Kiss the stamp on the kite,
And say a prayer…I hope it lands safe in these flights,
I pray they sleep safe through the night.
Try to teach my son right, give him some jewels,
But it’s hard to raise my boy from this visiting room.
Many cells turned to prisoner’s tombs,
I just pray I don’t die in here,
And last night I almost cried a tear.
Beanie Sigel, “Have Mercy,” from Raekwon’s Only Built 4 Cuban Linx… Pt. II, 2009
My momma did her part,
But it ain’t her fault that I was born without a heart.
In other words: I’m heartless dude.
I don’t love me…how the fuck I’mma love you?
Scarface, “Born Killer,” Mr. Scarface is Back, 1991
We live in a society created by an empire
That’s based on terror…welcome to the One World Era,
A complete interruption to your lil’ paltry-ass life,
That you thought you was livin, and what you been given.
Coolio, “The Park, from Slam The Soundtrack, 1998
Others tell like it is, while I tell it how I would like it to be.
Cee-Lo, “The World I Know,” from Slam The Soundtrack, 1998
They say that love is powerful as cough syrup and Styrofoam.
All I know is I fell asleep and woke up in that Monte Carlo
With the ugly Kardashian…
Lamar, oh, sorry. Yo, we done both set the bar low.
Eminem, “Berzerk,” The Marshall Mathers LP 2, 2013
I don’t understand the difficulty, people;
Love your brother, treat him as an equal.
Heavy D., “Self Destruction,” Stop The Violence All-Stars, 1989
Redman ready to rock rough rhymes,
Renegade rapper, rip when it’s rhyme time.
Punk push a pen and pencil when I’m pissed,
Pack pistol posse, flow some more pro shit.
Redman, “Hardcore,” from EPMD’s Business as Usual, 1990
I got a girl and she treat me fine,
But the homies all think that I’m losin’ my mind.
I’m trippin’ and I know it cause I’m all nerved up,
Cause everytime I go to sleep, I see this big ol’ butt.
See, I ain’t never gave no chick 4 stars,
But she treat me so good that she be drivin my car.
And every day it get better, I can’t lie,
Went to the house and she made me some hot potato pie.
All my friends be sayin, “She ain’t nothin but a scrub!”
But she make me feel high like I’m hooked on drugs.
So I give her what she need, and what’s done is done,
But I’m a special kind of fool but ayo, it don’t bother me none.
I can’t help myself, I know that I’m trippin’,
But she got it goin’ on like Kentucky Fried Chicken.
Pimp C, “Use Me Up,” from UGK’s Too Hard to Swallow, 1992
It seem like everybody dress tight now,
And I just want my credit.
Kanye West, “Gifted,” from N.A.S.A.’s The Spirit of Apollo, 2009
The mind is a terrible thing to waste.
I show love cause it’s a terrible thing to hate.
Guru, “Peace of Mine,” from Gang Starr’s The Ownerz, 2003
No matter what the name, we’re all the same pieces in one big chess game.
Chuck D., “Rebel Without a Pause,” from Public Enemy’s It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, 1988
Burn, Hollywood, burn, I smell a riot goin’ on,
First they’re guilty, now they’re gone!
Chuck D., “Burn, Hollywood, Burn,” from Public Enemy’s Fear of a Black Planet, 1990
Nowadays, the game is all bugged out,
Phony, like back when Hammer tried to come thugged out.
MF Doom, “Foolish,“ from MF Grimm’s Downfall of Ibliys: A Ghetto Opera, 2002
If you love someone, you should say it often,
You never know when they’ll be layin’ in a coffin.
Wake up, it’s important that you know that
No one on Earth is promised tomorrow.
MC Lyte, “Poor Georgie,” Act Like You Know, 1991
It’s the principle 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.
For those who pose lyrical, but really ain’t true, I feel:
Their time’s limited, hard rocks too.
O.C., “Time’s Up,” Word…Life, 1994
I drop styles on ears…the public bite ‘em.
Not many went to school, so the dummies wouldn’t write ’em.
They say, “Yo Keith! You’re Kool, you usin’ big words!”
I went to college, I’m even more stupid, herb.
Kool Keith, “Raise It Up,” from Ultramagnetic M.C.’s The Four Horsemen, 1993
We made plans, but we’ll never be able to fulfill ‘em.
This is shit we put together since we was little…
Every time we had dreams, you found a way you could kill ’em.
Kurupt, “Keep it Moving,” from Hi-Tek’s Hi-Teknology 2: The Chip, 2006
Payback’s a bitch, that’s why I never borrow;
And if push comes to shove, I’d do a stickup tomorrow.
Daddy-O, “Inner City Boundaries,” from Freestyle Fellowship’s Innercity Griots, 1993
Everything will eventually come to an end,
So try to savor the moment, cause time flies, don’t it?
The beauty of life, you gotta make it last for the better,
Cause nothin’ lasts forever.
Nas, “Nothing Lasts Forever,” The Lost Tapes, 2002
I ain’t goin out like a spineless jellyfish.
Some say life is a bitch…
Ask that punk who dug his own ditch.
B-Real, “Hand on the Pump,” Cypress Hill’s Cypress Hill, 1991
Who’s that peeking in my window?
Pow.
Nobody now.
Goodie Mob, “Cell Therapy,” Soul Food, 1995
Raise your right palm: We do solemnly swear
To stack more dough more calmly this year.
MF Doom, “Get ‘Er Done,” from Jake One’s White Van Music, 2008
Comin’ from the school of hard knocks,
Some perpetrate…they drink Clorox.
Attack the black, cause I know they lack exact
The cold facts, and still they try to Xerox.
Chuck D., “Don’t Believe the Hype,” from Public Enemy’s It Takes a Nation of Million’s To Hold Us Back, 1988
We fight every night, now that’s not kosher.
I reminisce with bliss of when we was closer,
And wake up to be greeted by an argument again,
…You act like you’re ten.
So immature, I try to concentrate on a cure,
And keep lookin’ at the front door.
Large Professor, “Looking at the Front Door,” from Main Source’s Breaking Atoms, 1991
I drink twenty forties, smoke forty blunts,
Say a hundred rhymes, and not sound like you once.
Dres, “Roll Wit Tha Flava,” from Flavor Unit’s Roll Wit Tha Flava, 1993
In this life ain’t no happy endings;
Only pure beginnings followed by years of sinning and fake repentance.
J. Cole, “Runaway,” Born Sinner, 2013
You and your friends…always together,
No time for the B-I-G, so I’m O-U-T.
The sex was great, but the headaches I can’t take.
I think I made a very big mistake.
Notorious B.I.G., “Buddy X (Remix),” from Neneh Cherry’s Homebrew, 1992
It’s been a long time…I shouldn’t have left you
Without a strong rhyme to step to.
Rakim, “I Know You Got Soul,” from Eric B. and Rakim’s Paid In Full, 1987
It’s a beautiful day, and everybody’s feelin’ wonderful,
The ladies is out, lookin’ fly, dressed comfortable.
I love to wake up, and feel the breeze through my window,
Slip on fatigues, grab a dutch, and roll some indo.
Dead Prez, “Happiness,” Let’s Get Free, 2000
I go to Queens for queens to get the crew from Brooklyn,
Make money in Manhattan and never been tooken.
Go Uptown and the Bronx to boogie down,
Get strong on the Island, recoup, and lay around.
Rakim, “Juice (Know the Ledge),” from Eric B. & Rakim’s Don’t Sweat the Technique, 1992
Bitch, you ain’t got nothin on the rich,
Every other day my whole dress code switch.
Cappadonna, “Winter Warz,” from Ghostface Killah’s Ironman, 1996
It was magic, I felt the bond between us.
She was a jelly to my peanuts, Mars to Venus,
The Earth to my sun, moon and stars,
We added up mathematically…
It’s like I had a bad habit, B!
Ghostface Killah, “The Center of Attraction,” Twelve Reasons to Die, 2013
The last batter to hit, blast shattered your hip,
Smash any splitter or fastball—that’ll be it.
Pharoahe Monch, “The Next Shit,” Internal Affairs, 1999
The rap era’s outta control,
Brothers’ sellin their soul to go gold…
Going, going, gone, another rapper sold!
Parrish Smith, “Crossover,” EPMD’s Business Never Personal, 1993