Even though it’s way old, for some reason, I still haven’t heard anything I like better than an old De La Soul rhyme:
Phonetics and kinetics persevere, therefore I kick it
I took the L.I.R.R., but I didn’t have a ticket
Others?
Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juice (beeotch!!)
Laid back
Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juice (beeotch!!)
Laid back
.
I’ve alway been partial to the following:
The Wu is too slammin for these Cold Killin labels
Some ain’t had hits since I seen Aunt Mabel
Be doin artists in like Cain did Abel
Now they money’s gettin stuck to the gum under the table
Also,
C4 to your door
No peace no more
.
“I get eleven points for the word ‘quagmire’”
or
“Dear Alex and Marilyn
They’re Lovey and Thurston howellin
The grasshopper unit is prowellin
And Rufus is back home growellin
For all of y’all that are dozin
On Hornblower’s lederhosen
Like Walt Disney he is frozen
And then the Swiss Hall of Fame he goes in
Cause when he’s out in space carousin
Pick up my mic and start joustin
My name plate medallion
Says never trust a hal 9000”
.
Heard this in a rap/Hip-hop tune on the local campus radio station last year. Never caught the name of the artist or the tune.
“It was really tough
Very hard to get by
. . had to ride a bike 'round like that Lance guy!”
Good-bye to the game all the spoils, the adreneline rush
Your blood boils you in a spot knowing cops could rush
And you in a drop your so easy to touch
No two days are alike
Except the first and fifteenth pretty much
And “trust” is a word you seldom hear from us
Hustlers we don’t sleep we rest one eye up
And a drought can define a man, when the well dries up
You learn to work the water without workin, of thirst you’ll die YUP
And niggas get tied up for product
And little brothers ring fingers get cut up
To show mothers they really got em
And this was the stress i live with til i decided
To try this rap shit for a livin
I Pray i’m forgiven
For every bad decision i made
Every sister i played
Cause i’m still paranoid to this day
And it’s nobody fault i made the decisions i made
This is the life i chose or rather the life that chose me
.
A bunch of triathletes quoting hip-hop. I’ve stepped in to a parallel universe. 
“Realistic, kinda mystic when I kick this/So you should witness the slickness/Of the horn player and the dope rhyme sayer/Quite emotional and inspirational…”
Guru, “Loungin’” from Guru’s Jazzmatazz Vol. 1.
For meaning:
“I can make money, open up a thrift store
I can make a living off a magazine
I can design an engine 64 miles to the gallon of gasoline.”
I think that’s really the turning point in the song Handlebars.
For style:
“East coast stompin’
Rippin’ and rompin’
New York, North Kakalaka and Compton.”
For cleverness, old school:
“Her chicken tastes like wood.”
And for cheese:
“So you think you’re bad, with your rap
well I’ll tell you pilgrim I started the crap
When you were in diapers and wettin’ the sheets
I was at the Ponderosa, rappin’ to the beat.
Da ha da ha, da ha ha ha ha.”
FYI, this white home boy is debuting his rap skillz tomorrow night. I do the rap for Bleed it Out in our band. Wish me suck. ; ^ )
Rap and hip-hop have done more to destroy melody and harmony in music than any other lyrical art form. It’s silly, juvenile, of no redeeming social value and completely misogynistic (think Jay Z’s “Ninety-nine Problems, and My Bitch Ain’t One of 'Em,” as just a minor example) and contemptuous of women and the weaker among us, in addition to sufferring from a complete obssession with materialism and public image.
Then again, they once said the same thing about rock 'n roll, so who am I to say anything?
I’m old school, though, when it comes to this stuff. NWA and Public Enemy are still the co-kings and all these faux tough-guy “rappers” are just pussy-boys when it comes to dealing it out. Even rapcore bands (Old School: Beastie Boys) like Kottonmouth Kings and Hollywood Undead bring it harder than Fitty Cent and the rest of those hammerheads.
T.
“I got 99 problems but a bitch ain’t one.”
Wish I could say that.
I hear that one of Pres. O’Bama’s favorite songs.
T.
Hit the skins hard, she hang on to the bed post
Then I’ll drop my load
Then get up and make some french toast
.
Not hip-hop exactly but;
“Fuckin or fightin its all the same”
.
Yup. You build up about the same amount 'o sweat from either one.
T.
“I love you like a fat kid love cake” - 50 cent, “21 questions”
.
“Cirles.
She’s spinning me around in circles.
Again.
Ohhh, that skinny blonde girl.
Something about the ages.
I failed college algebra.
Again.
That skinny blonde girl.
And the circles.
And the ages.
And the age.
…
Beautiful!”
J5, Quality Control:
Ayo my quality control, captivates your party patrol
Your mind, body, and soul
For whom the bell tolls, let the rhythm explode
Big, bad, and bold b-boys of old
Many styles we hold, let the story be told
Whether platinum or gold, we use breath control
So let the beat unfold, intro on drum roll
We be the Lik like E, Tash, and J-Ro
We harass niggas like we was the po-po
We can rule the world without Kurtis and still Blow
Finesse, from SP to Casio
Your jams ain’t def, you ain’t fresh, you’re so-so
If you don’t know us by now you’ll never know
You set that mood when we groove and prove a show
The name of the game is survive and prove your flow
You can’t out take Jurassic syllable
Cause it’s survival of professional radio
Stop and comprehend and heed the words of my pen
Survival of professional poetical Highlanders
.
Another fave:
Raw I’ma give it to ya, with no trivia
Raw like cocaine straight from Bolivia
My hip-hop will rock and shock the nation
like the Emancipation Proclamation
Weak MC’s approach with slang that’s dead
you might as well run into the wall and bang your head
I’m pushin’ force, my force your doubtin’
I’m makin’ devils cower to the Caucus Mountains
.
But I can’t teach 'em my swag
You can pay for school but you can’t buy class
School of hard knocks I’m a grad
And that all-blue Yankee is my graduation cap
and
18 years, 18 years
She got one of yo kids got you for 18 years
I know somebody payin child support for one of his kids
His baby momma’s car and crib is bigger than his
You will see him on TV Any Given Sunday
Win the Superbowl and drive off in a Hyundai
She was spose to buy ya shorty TYCO with ya money
She went to the doctor got lypo with ya money
She walkin around lookin like Micheal with ya money
Should of got that insured got GEICO for ya moneeey
If you aint no punk holla We Want Prenup
WE WANT PRENUP! Yeaah
It’s not rap…but it could be.
Watch what you say they’ll be calling you a radical.
A liberal, oh fanatical, criminal.
Won’t you sign up with me We’d like to feel you’re acceptable.
Respectable, oh, presentable…a vegetable.