I listen to a lot of rap music. I even spent a few of my teenage years jotting down lyrics of my own and performing them at various open mic sessions. The thing that amazes me the most about rap music is the skill certain rappers have to describe everyday life, the extraordinary people they know or their superior skills on the microphone with melody and high definition clarity. I must quickly make the clear distinction between a rapper who simply lines up rhymes and catchy choruses along a beat and the emcee alias M.C. a.k.a. the Master of Ceremonies a.k.a. The Mic Controller who is more of an orator with a message that carries more importance and substance that a simple call to dance. A lot of people can use complicated metaphors and technical rhyme structures in their lyrics, but the true masters of the art form are the emcees that talk to you without you realising they are rapping. The descriptions and attention to detail reach a point where the listener almost forgets about bars and hooks and simply listens to what the mic controller has to say. Flow is critical for a good emcee, but the real skill is when they can match words so naturally that any other combination or syntax seems illogical. There is no need for repetition, ad-libs or proverbial mannerisms. The emcee talks and you listen.
On a side note, I remember having heated debates with friends about the real talent of 90’s duo Group Home. My peers adored their album Livin Proof, but I had difficulty listening to Lil’ Dap and The Nutcracker rapping their tales of inner city life because the lyrical clout just wasn’t there. That said, Lil’ Dap had one of the most recognizable nasal deliveries and DJ Premier’s beats and production are what really place Group Home’s album among the classics of a bygone era in Hip Hop. Maybe it’s because I wrote some of my own rhymes and felt I had an idea of how difficult it is to lace lyrics together, that I saw through the strength of a good instrumental.
Here are a few verses from the Nineties that still have me in awe. The rhymes, metaphors, delivery and flow come together to create some of rap music’s strongest lyricism to date. The first is Nas with New York State of Mind – the opening song from his debut album “Illmatic”.
Rappers I monkey flip em with the funky rhythm I be kickin
Musician, inflictin composition
of pain I’m like Scarface sniffin cocaine
Holdin a M-16, see with the pen I’m extreme, now
Bulletholes left in my peepholes
I’m suited up in street clothes
Hand me a nine and I’ll defeat foes
Y’all know my steelo with or without the airplay
I keep some E&J, sittin bent up in the stairway
Or either on the corner bettin Grants with the celo champs
Laughin at baseheads, tryin to sell some broken amps
G-Packs get off quick, forever niggaz talk shit
Remeniscing about the last time the Task Force flipped
Niggaz be runnin through the block shootin
Time to start the revolution, catch a body head for Houston
Once they caught us off guard, the Mac-10 was in the grass and
I ran like a cheetah with thoughts of an assassin
Pick the Mac up, told brothers, “Back up,” the Mac spit
Lead was hittin niggaz one ran, I made him backflip
Heard a few chicks scream my arm shook, couldn’t look
Gave another squeeze heard it click yo, my shit is stuck
Try to cock it, it wouldn’t shoot now I’m in danger
Finally pulled it back and saw three bullets caught up in the chamber
So now I’m jetting to the building lobby
and it was filled with children probably couldn’t see as high as I be
(So whatchu sayin?) It’s like the game ain’t the same
Got younger niggaz pullin the triggers bringing fame to they name
and claim some corners, crews without guns are goners
In broad daylight, stickup kids, they run up on us
[An intensive use of the ‘–ame’ rhyme slip off the tongue to give a very real description of how dangerous and desperate the younger generations are in the Projects]
Fo’-fives and gauges, Macs in fact
Same niggaz’ll catch a back to back, snatchin yo’ cracks in black
There was a snitch on the block gettin niggaz knocked
So hold your stash until the coke price drop
I know this crackhead, who said she gotta smoke nice rock
And if it’s good she’ll bring ya customers in measuring pots, but yo
You gotta slide on a vacation
Inside information keeps large niggaz erasin and they wives basin
It drops deep as it does in my breath
I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death
Beyond the walls of intelligence, life is defined
I think of crime when I’m in a New York state of mind
[Here Nas introduces an incredible metaphor for insomnia. Many rappers have mirrored this metaphor in homage to the Queensbridge emcee.]
Be havin dreams that I’ma gangster — drinkin Moets, holdin Tecs
Makin sure the cash came correct then I stepped
Investments in stocks, sewein up the blocks
to sell rocks, winnin gunfights with mega cops
But just a nigga, walking with his finger on the trigger
Make enough figures until my pockets get bigger
I ain’t the type of brother made for you to start testin
Give me a Smith and Wessun I’ll have niggaz undressin
Thinkin of cash flow, buddah and shelter
Whenever frustrated I’ma hijack Delta
In the P.J.’s, my blend tape plays, bullets are strays
Young bitches is grazed each block is like a maze
full of black rats trapped, plus the Island is packed
From what I hear in all the stories when my peoples come back, black
I’m livin where the nights is jet black
The fiends fight to get crack I just max, I dream I can sit back
and lamp like Capone, with drug scripts sewn
Or the legal luxury life, rings flooded with stones, homes
I got so many rhymes I don’t think I’m too sane
Life is parallel to Hell but I must maintain
and be prosperous, though we live dangerous
cops could just arrest me, blamin us, we’re held like hostages
It’s only right that I was born to use mics
and the stuff that I write, is even tougher than dice
I’m takin rappers to a new plateau, through rap slow
My rhymin is a vitamin, Hell without a capsule
The smooth criminal on beat breaks
Never put me in your box if your shit eats tapes
[Nas releases several clever metaphors for his lyrical ability comparing it to the strength of a geometric cube and the difficult ingestion of medication. He then warns of the worth of his rhymes by refusing the listener to insert his music into faulty appliances.]
The city never sleeps, full of villians and creeps
That’s where I learned to do my hustle had to scuffle with freaks
I’ma addict for sneakers, twenties of buddah and bitches with beepers
In the streets I can greet ya, about blunts I teach ya
Inhale deep like the words of my breath
I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death
I lay puzzle as I backtrack to earlier times
Nothing’s equivalent, to the New York state of mind
Following from Nas comes the late-great Notorious BIG. Born Christopher Wallace of Brooklyn, BIG debuted with an amazing album entitled “Ready To Die”. The first single that introduced the lyrical prowess of BIG was Juicy, a song where BIG rapped about his ascension from rap fan to rap star.
It was all a dream
I used to read Word Up magazine
Salt’n’Pepa and Heavy D up in the limousine
Hangin’ pictures on my wall
Every Saturday Rap Attack, Mr. Magic, Marley Marl
[Notorious BIG paints a vivid image of his early years and the way he idolized the rap stars of the late 80’s.]
I let my tape rock ’til my tape popped
Smokin’ weed and bamboo, sippin’ on private stock
Way back, when I had the red and black lumberjack
With the hat to match
Remember Rappin’ Duke, duh-ha, duh-ha
You never thought that hip hop would take it this far
Now I’m in the limelight ’cause I rhyme tight
[This is an example of lyrical dexterity where Biggie Smalls duplicates ‘-ime’ and ‘-ight’ rhymes.]
Time to get paid, blow up like the World Trade
Born sinner, the opposite of a winner
Remember when I used to eat sardines for dinner
Peace to Ron G, Brucey B, Kid Capri
Funkmaster Flex, Lovebug Starsky
I’m blowin’ up like you thought I would
Call the crib, same number same hood
It’s all good
Uh, and if you don’t know, now you know, nigga, uh
I made the change from a common thief
To up close and personal with Robin Leach
And I’m far from cheap, I smoke skunk with my peeps all day
Spread love, it’s the Brooklyn way
The Moet and Alize keep me pissy
Girls used to diss me
Now they write letters ’cause they miss me
I never thought it could happen, this rappin’ stuff
I was too used to packin’ gats and stuff
Now honies play me close like butter played toast
From the Mississippi down to the east coast
Condos in Queens, indo for weeks
Sold out seats to hear Biggie Smalls speak
Livin’ life without fear
Puttin’ 5 karats in my baby girl’s ears
Lunches, brunches, interviews by the pool
Considered a fool ’cause I dropped out of high school
Stereotypes of a black male misunderstood
And it’s still all good
[In four lines, the Notorious BIG explains his victory over the naysayers who didn’t believe that an uneducated Black male could make it in life, but doesn’t hold a grudge because he enjoys his success.]
Uh…and if you don’t know, now you know, nigga
Super Nintendo, Sega Genesis
When I was dead broke, man I couldn’t picture this
[Another vivid image with reference to state of the art gaming technology that BIG never dreamt of owning.]
50 inch screen, money green leather sofa
Got two rides, a limousine with a chauffeur
Phone bill about two G’s flat
No need to worry, my accountant handles that
And my whole crew is loungin’
Celebratin’ every day, no more public housin’
Thinkin’ back on my one-room shack
Now my mom pimps a Ac’ with minks on her back
And she loves to show me off, of course
Smiles every time my face is up in The Source
We used to fuss when the landlord dissed us
No heat, wonder why Christmas missed us
Birthdays was the worst days
Now we sip champagne when we thirst-ay
Uh, damn right I like the life I live
‘Cause I went from negative to positive
[Biggie Smalls permits himself to play with the suffix of the word ‘thirsty’ to rhyme with ‘days’. He then displays unreserved joy at his newly acquired social status because he has moved from bad to good.]
And it’s all…
(It’s all good)
The Wu-Tang Clan counts nine members and numerous affiliates. Each member of the clan has a unique style and their union is one of the most formidable forces in rap music in the last 20 years. One of the most prolific members of the Clan is Ghostface Killah who has released nine solo albums laced with street slang and emotion. Emotion is a rare quality that rappers show, but when Ghostface sang the final verse of Impossible, taken from the Wu Tang double album “Forever”, the listener holds their breathe as the emcee describes the final moments of a friend slain in the projects.
Call an ambulance, Jamie been shot, word to Kemit
Don’t go Son, nigga you my motherfuckin heart
[Straight away, GhostfaceKillah throws the listener into the scene using his lyrics to reiterate his words and thoughts.]
Stay still Son, don’t move, just think about Keeba
She’ll be three in January, your young God needs you
The ambulance is taking too long
Everybody get the fuck back, excuse me bitch, gimme your jack
One, seven one eight, nine one one, low battery, damn
Blood comin out his mouth, he bleedin badly
[Ghostface describes his despair as the phone he’s using to call help starts to lose battery power and the victim’s situation is quickly getting worse and internal bleeding becomes apparent.]
Nahhh Jamie, don’t start that shit
Keep your head up, if you escape hell we gettin fucked up
When we was eight, we went to Bat Day to see the Yanks
In Sixty-Nine, his father and mines, they robbed banks
[As death gets closer, Ghostface reminisces about days past in the company of his dying friend and the history they share.]
He pointed to the charm on his neck
With his last bit of energy left, told me rock it with respect
I opened it, seen the God holdin his kids
Photogenic, tears just burst out my wig
Plus he dropped one, oh shit, here come his Old Earth
[As Ghostface starts to cry, his train of thought is broken by the arrival of the victim’s mother. Ghostface Killah and the Wu Tang Clan use a particular lexicon taken from teachings of the Five Percent Nation that refers to mothers as ‘Earth’, men as ‘Suns’ and children as ‘Seeds’. Each is an essential element for the harmony of the universe we live in.]
With no shoes on, screamin holdin her breasts with a gown on
She fell and then lightly touched his jaw, kissed him
Rubbed his hair, turned around the ambulance was there
Plus the blue coats, Officer Lough, took it as a joke
Weeks ago he strip-searched the God and gave him back his coke
Bitches yellin, Beenie Man swung on Helen
In the back of a cop car, dirty tarts are tellin
But suddenly a chill came through it was weird
Felt like my man, was cast out my heaven now we share
[Ghostface describes the moment death strikes and feels the cold chill spreads through the lifeless body he is holding in his arms.]
Laid on the stretcher, blood on his Wally’s like ketchup
Deep like the full assassination with a sketch of it
It can’t be, from Yohoo to Lee’s
Second grade humped the teachers, about to leave
Finally this closed chapter, comes to an end
He was announced, pronounced dead, y’all, at twelve ten
[The song ends like the final scene of a film with Ghostface announcing the exact time of death for his fallen friend. Ghostface adds weight to his lyrics by using two rhyming synonyms ‘announced’ and ‘pronounced’, but also keeps in mind that he is recounting his tale to the listener who he refers to as ‘y’all’. These final elements highlight Ghostface’s masterful understanding of song writing.]
When Jay-Z released his debut album “Reasonable Doubt” it signalled the dawn of a new day in rap music – even if initial sales did not reflect the incredible effect Jay-Z would have on the art form. Jay-Z brought very intelligent and suave lyrics to the table and served them up with wit and emotion. With the track Cashmere Thoughts, Jay-Z delivered 4 minutes of metaphors and similes that would focus on quality and set a new standard for future rappers to abide by if they wanted to reach the same level of influence as the Brooklyn born emcee.
I talk jewels and spit diamonds, all cherry
like a hymen, when I’m rhymin with remarkable timin
[Straight off the bat, Jay-Z produces a steady supply of ‘-ime’ rhymes. This is linked to a Jay-Z earlier career debut in the early 90’s when he rapped with a very fast and bumpy flow. With Cashmere Thoughts, Jay-Z keeps up the tradition but with a much more relaxed delivery.]
Caviar and silk dreams, my voice is linen
Spittin venom up in the, minds of young women
Mink thoughts to think thoughts type similar
Might you remember, my shit is col-l-l-ld like December
[Here Jay-Z acts out the chill of the word ‘cold’ by slightly stuttering the adjective.]
Smoother than Persian rugs
cashmere chromosomes make a nigga Jigga Jay-Z lethal drugs
Eighteen carat gold pen, when it hits the sheets
Words worth a million like I’m rappin em through platinum teeth
I got the Grey Poupon, you been warned
Cause all beef return well done filet mignon
The Don, smell of Dom on my breath as I
yawn, (slow) when you hoes try to con a pro
As if you didn’t know, Jay’s about gettin dough
Spittin flow like fine wines down your earlobe
I’m smooth but deadly like a pearl handled pistol
Honies hum in melody when I, rub it like crystal
The proper ettiquette, when I drop the subject verb
then the predicate, with this rich nigga rhetoric
I’m solid gold, I rap like a mink stole
I stick pearl tongues your world’ll never know
From New York, to Paris, the vocal style vary
From nice to deadly like a bad bag of D, now
notice, the child swift like a lotus
Focus on the loc’ I be the greatest nigga that wrote it
[Another example of Jay-Z exercising his repetitious rhyme technique. In order to maintain a steady flow, Jay-Z pronounces ‘Paris’ with a French accent that gives it a ‘-ee’ sounding suffix. He also abbreviates the word ‘local’ to ‘loc’ in order to prolong the use of words rhyming with the ‘-oh’ sound.]
Return of the Jedi, from Rio De Genaro
on the red eye, yet I, still feel the need to be fly
I did die when I’m rappin then slide like satin
You know the black eye white china in the brain cabinet
I never cry if I did I’d cry ice
From my nigga Sauce, I hit you with this advice
Life’s short, so play hard and stick hard
and the only time you love em is when your dick hard
Check it out, check it out
Ghettos, Errol Flynn, hot like heroin
Young pimps is sterile when I pimp through your borough and
I gotta keep your tricks intact
Cause I walk like a p-iyimp, talk like a mack man
[By accentuating the word ‘pimp’, Jay-Z demonstrated the following phrase of speaking like a mack.]
The star player, the golden bar layer
The sweet Ms. Fine Thing puh-layah, sho’ yo right
I’m game tight, so watch it it change to night
Go tell your peeps dawg I’m lethal til it ain’t right
I pimp hard on a trick, look
Fuck if your leg broke bitch, hop up on your good foot
Common is a Chicago-born emcee who differentiates himself from other lyricists by his swapping the violent and bragadocious themes that dominate a lot of rap music for more conscious subject matter and clever metaphors. When he released his third album “One day it’ll all make sense”, he demonstrated great maturity and this was clearly apparent in his song Retrospect for life where he questioned the theme of abortion and becoming a father – a story that that was drawn from his real-life experiences.
Knowin you the best part of life do I have the right to take yours
Cause I created you irresponsibly
[Common opens the song as an open conversation with the child he may or may not have.]
Subconciously knowin the act I was a part of
The start of somethin, I’m not ready to bring into the world
Had myself believin I was sterile
I look into mother’s stomach, wonder if you are a boy or a girl
Turnin this woman’s womb into a tomb
But she and I agree, a seed we don’t need
You would’ve been much more than a mouth to feed
But someone, I woulda fed this information I read
to someone, my life for you I woulda had to leave
Instead I lead you to death
I’m sorry for takin your first breath, first step, and first cry
But I wasn’t prepared mentally nor financially
Havin a child shouldn’t have to bring out the man in me
Plus I wanted you to be raised within a family
I don’t wanna, go through the drama of havin a baby’s momma
Weekend visits and buyin J’s ain’t gon’ make me a father
For a while bearing a child is somethin I never wanted to do
For me to live forever I can only do that through you
Nerve I got to talk about them niggaz with a gun
Must have really thought I was God to take the life of my son
I could have sacrificed goin out
To think my homies who did it I used to joke about, from now on
I’ma use self control instead of birth control
Cause $315 ain’t worth your soul
$315 ain’t worth your soul
$315 ain’t worth it
[By repeating the price of an abortion, Common highlights how the life of an unborn child cannot be quantified.]
Seeing you as a present and a gift in itself
You had our child in you, I probably never feel what you felt
But you dealt with it like the strong black woman you are
Through our trials and tribulations, child’s elimination
An intergration of thoughts I feel about the situation
Back and forth my feelings was pacin
Happy deep down but not joyed enough to have it
But even that’s a lie in less than two weeks, we was back at it
Is this unprotected love or safe to say it’s lust
Bustin, more than the sweat in somebody you trust
Or is it that we don’t trust each other enough
And believe, havin this child’ll make us have to stay together
Girl I want you in my life cause you have made it better
[This is an example of Common’s aptitude to build his rhyme structure into a steady flow of information. By continuing a rhyme into a change of subject, the listener is compelled to pay attention to what he says. ]
Thinkin we all in love cause we can spend a day together
We talkin spendin the rest of our lives
It’s too many black women that can say they mothers
but can’t say that they wives
[Here Common is making a statement on the situation for Black women in America which he believes are getting pregnant outside of marriage. As a young Black man, his actions are not helping the situation.]
I wouldn’t chose any other to mother my understanding
But I want our Parenthood to come from Planning
It’s so much in my life that’s undone
We gotta see eye to eye, about family, before we can become one
If you had decided to have it the situation I wouldn’t run from
But I’m walkin, findin myself in my God
So I can, discipline my son with my writin
Not have a judge tellin me how and when to raise my seed
Though his death was at our greed, with no one else to blame
I had a book of African names, case our minds changed
You say your period hasn’t came, and lately I’ve been sleepy
So quit smokin the weed and the beadies and let’s have this boy
[The song ends with Common accepting his responsibilities and looking forward to becoming a father to his partner’s child. Despite the many questions and introspection he covers in the song, this ending takes the sombering thought of abortion and ends with an uplifting position of embracing parenthood.]
I limited this study to five verses, but if I had to add a bonus verse I think a member of Hip Hop’s super group the Wu Tang Clan can get in line. Considered the 10th clansmen by Wu fans, Cappadonna shot to stardom through his blistering verse on the title Winter Warz, a song that first released for a soundtrack to the urban movie “Don’t be a menace to South Central while drinking your juice in the hood” which would later be featured on fellow Wu representative Ghostface Killah’s debut album, “Ironman”. No liner notes for this one. Just listen and enjoy.
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
First Name Ralph 