Nas - Illmatic [1994]Can’t stop spinning Nas’ Illmatic. 1994. That mandatory hip hop text that somehow escaped my mindset for fourteen years. Unforgivable. “Straight out the fuckin’ dungeons of rap” Nas says… What can you say back?
“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”
It’s hard to appreciate the truth in these lines if you aren’t from the ghetto. But a good fucking headstart is watching HBO’s phenomenal series The Wire. Yeah, yeah, a TV show. But, in many ways, the anti-show. I could cum-guzzle The Wire all night, but I wont subject ya’ll. Suffice to say The Wire is Illmatic: The Movie.
“I'm out for presidents to represent me (Say what?)
I'm out for presidents to represent me (Say what?)
I'm out for dead presidents to represent me”
Fact is, these lines aren't gangsta posturing, this is the reality of life for black kids from those project corners in countless American cities – especially in the early 90s, at the peak of the crack boom. And we had working class artists like Nas right there, observer-participants, discussing this shitstorm in vivid detail in a form that was really less than a decade old. A form that would come to take over music. That's some Shakespearean shit.
“sometimes i sit back with a budda sack
mind's in another world thinking how can we exist through the facts
written in school text books, bibles, etcetera
fuck a school lecture, the lies get me vexed-er”
One time for you mind. That was Nas too. He was 21 years old when he wrote this shit. Twenty-one.
“Peoples are petrol, dramatic automatic fo'-fo' I let blow
and back down po-po when I'm vexed so
my pen taps the paper then my brain's blank
I see dark streets, hustlin brothers who keep the same rank
Pumpin for somethin, some uprise, plus some fail
Judges hangin niggaz, uncorrect bails, for direct sales
My intellect prevails from a hangin cross with nails
I reinforce the frail, with lyrics that's real”
“Straight up shit is real and any day could be your last in the jungle
Get murdered on the humble, guns'll blast, niggaz tumble
The corners is the hot spot, full of mad criminals
who don't care, guzzlin beers, we all stare
at the out-of-towners (Ay, yo, yo, who that?) They better break North
before we get the four pounders, and take their face off
The streets is filled with undercovers, homicide chasin brothers
The D.A.'s on the roof, tryin to, watch us and knock us
And killer coppers, even come through in helicopters
I drink a little vodka, spark a L and hold a Glock for
the fronters, wannabe ill niggaz and spot runners
Thinkin it can't happen til I, trap em and clap em
and leave em done, won't even run about Gods
I don't believe in none of that shit, your facts are backwards
Nas is a rebel of the street corner
Pullin a Tec out the dresser, police got me under pressure”
“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”
It’s hard to appreciate the truth in these lines if you aren’t from the ghetto. But a good fucking headstart is watching HBO’s phenomenal series The Wire. Yeah, yeah, a TV show. But, in many ways, the anti-show. I could cum-guzzle The Wire all night, but I wont subject ya’ll. Suffice to say The Wire is Illmatic: The Movie.
“I'm out for presidents to represent me (Say what?)
I'm out for presidents to represent me (Say what?)
I'm out for dead presidents to represent me”
Fact is, these lines aren't gangsta posturing, this is the reality of life for black kids from those project corners in countless American cities – especially in the early 90s, at the peak of the crack boom. And we had working class artists like Nas right there, observer-participants, discussing this shitstorm in vivid detail in a form that was really less than a decade old. A form that would come to take over music. That's some Shakespearean shit.
“sometimes i sit back with a budda sack
mind's in another world thinking how can we exist through the facts
written in school text books, bibles, etcetera
fuck a school lecture, the lies get me vexed-er”
One time for you mind. That was Nas too. He was 21 years old when he wrote this shit. Twenty-one.
“Peoples are petrol, dramatic automatic fo'-fo' I let blow
and back down po-po when I'm vexed so
my pen taps the paper then my brain's blank
I see dark streets, hustlin brothers who keep the same rank
Pumpin for somethin, some uprise, plus some fail
Judges hangin niggaz, uncorrect bails, for direct sales
My intellect prevails from a hangin cross with nails
I reinforce the frail, with lyrics that's real”
“Straight up shit is real and any day could be your last in the jungle
Get murdered on the humble, guns'll blast, niggaz tumble
The corners is the hot spot, full of mad criminals
who don't care, guzzlin beers, we all stare
at the out-of-towners (Ay, yo, yo, who that?) They better break North
before we get the four pounders, and take their face off
The streets is filled with undercovers, homicide chasin brothers
The D.A.'s on the roof, tryin to, watch us and knock us
And killer coppers, even come through in helicopters
I drink a little vodka, spark a L and hold a Glock for
the fronters, wannabe ill niggaz and spot runners
Thinkin it can't happen til I, trap em and clap em
and leave em done, won't even run about Gods
I don't believe in none of that shit, your facts are backwards
Nas is a rebel of the street corner
Pullin a Tec out the dresser, police got me under pressure”
No comments:
Post a Comment