Big K.R.I.T. - how is it that you have become a rap blog darling even though your music is completely devoid of originality and you are half-witted Tracy Morgan/Devin The Dude love-child with a seventh-grade windowless resource room dyslexic whipper snapper’s sense of poetry?
(Source: yayodancing)
Immortal Mo’Nique is a sassy, opinionated, independent *real woman with curves* trying to effect positive change in the male-dominated world of hawd ganksta full-blown wackaloon conspiracy theory tru skool rap blogz rap whid gatz.
No gimmicks, no apologies. Immortal Mo’s music is something that everyone at your Armed Faction Of The Salvation Army/ Wiccan Commune/ Organic Comic Book Hut can swag the fuck out during the Winter Solstice Sapphic Orgy Initiation Rite Night Sacrifices. Mo’ is harder to break than MC DJ Kool Herc’s calcified cholesterol laden kidney stones, word to da muthaland.
You think Immortal Mo’Nique is all puberty ‘stache and AK-47 illustrations? Non-fascist truth-seeking nuccahs and bytches know that Immortal Mo’Nique is engaged in a hands-on struggle to rescue the world’s cocoa butter supply from the hands of corrupt neo-colonialist mercenaries and increase the availability of “thick guhl” brown leggings in *high risk* neighborhoodz of color.*
Immortal Mo’Nique is like that one friend you have that makes you feel guilty for not personally starting the Tunisian revolution, combined with that other friend that makes you feel bad for laughing at the incest rape scenes in Precious. But Immortal Mo’Nique’s raps are like Stinger missiles fired at the helicopters of co-murshul rap, bling bling “subculture,” and a whole host of isms that threaten the very fabric of life in West Bushwick, Brooklyn.
Personally I liked Immortal Mo’Nique betterwhen she was “underground” and battling other sassy fat femcees on the “scrimps scampies circuit,” but if you are new to the subaltern revolutionary sound of tru skool rap blogz rap, Mo’ will show you the path towards true enlightenment and plus-size sass. What’cha waiting for, sista?
*Not the one you just moved into, the other ones.
This is Pill. He is a post-modern cerebral trap-ological rapper of promise, according to people who know better than you or me.
Look at him staring into the distance, hoping to find a ray of sense in this crazy world.
Look harder, faggot.
We are supposed to listen to Pill because he wears “wife-beaters” as a matter of comfort, not to be ironi-cal. Also, he “explicates the psychologically debilitating d-boy experience, setting his ruggedly introspective corner rhymes against the backdrop of the panoptical necocon police state in the greater Atlanta metro area.”
Basically, Pill has a fanbase that thinks he makes no kind of fucking sense and they like him for that.
DasCoolio if you are a tween I guess. I mean, back in a simpler time I was a huge fan of Foo-Shniggins. I only listened to their tape while high speed dubbing it. So I couldn’t understand one fucking thing those googily race moppets said.
But now we live in serious times. Rappers should be making as much as sense as possible, to as many people as possible. Unfortunately, Pill is hard to follow. Take for instance his use of the passive voice:
“a handgun is risen when it’s all about the digits”
Son, WTFxLOL. Seriously, WTFxLOL. A handgun is risen? You watch too much Pulp Fiction you nonsense-spewing leviticus grammar having jabberwocky flocky fuck?
How’s this for a line:
“ho checker, you can call me scantron pimpin”
U mean a tool of automated assessment? The man is frankly a threat to rational discourse. Peep this video if you don’t believe me. Around 2:35 he mentions something about rappers “hiding in the basement/ redecorate their wardrobe and go and get a facelift.” Not only doesn’t that rhyme in any dialect of American English, it’s utter flapdoodle, akh.
I have no idea what this motherfucker is ever talking about, and you shouldn’t either. Twitcott this balderdash until he starts talking sense or you might find yourself rubbing elbows with Aysop Roc aficianados in a too-mildewy-to-be-hip old man’s bar in outer Queens, yo.
L_________O_______________L
D E A D
Can someone link the torrent for this flick? Haven’t caught a good “‘hood flick” since Fresh.
Anonymous asked: tell me what to think about young jeezy, and will he ever have a heatrock collabo with odd future??
I don’t think anything young jeezy. Why? Should I be thinking something about jeezy? Is there a wide ranging spectrum of opinions about young jeezy? Is thinking about young jeezy more important than thinking about the abandonment of the dolphins, the hole in the hoe-zone layer, or the black scholarships, g?*
Awd Futurez, Inc. weren’t even born before the three week period when “heatrock” was a tru skool rap blogz word of the month so I’m not even sure what you’re getting at, hops.
*These aren’t rhetorical questions. I’m lost in the storm/caught up in the game/all kinds of mass confusion, g. Hold me (nh).
Miss Saigon a.k.a. Sai-Giddy Up a.k.a. Sigh, You’re Not Gone Yet a.k.a. High S’Ditty is a tru skool rap blogz experimental “coque au vin diesel” Vietnamese prison dyke femcee who combines the geo-political sophistication of her sister-n-cryme Immortal Mo’Nique with the empathetic and soul-stirring stylings of Neyo-Viet-Sole artist Quang Le.
Miss Saigon used to be signed to Raw Kiss records alongside such “90s DIY stalwarts” as Taliban Squallay, Yes Certainly, and Sh’bam S’Dique. The in-dust-ry Rule #4080 types at Raw Kiss did not see eye-2-eye with Miss Saigon and were afraid that the harsh realities of headache inducing tight corn rows and toxic shock syndrome described in her prison dyke ballads might turn away potential fans.
Miss Saigon was forced to wait out her contract on Raw Kiss for the remainder of “the golden era” when the hip hop “culture” was pure and noble and nobody wore swatsikas or rapped about rape. By the time she was released from her contract, the whole “landscape” of music had changed so she had no choice but to go “underground” and record middling tru skool blogz rap, the known antidote to all of the world’s ills.
Once you tru skool blog rap, or guest star on shitty cable shows, ghettos turn into sprawling mansions with swimming pools, cheap bodega foodstuffs loaded with high fructose corn sizzerp turn into Acai-flavored utopian space shuttle vitamins, and hip hop pioneers gain access to dental insurance.
Miss Saigon “hooked up” with a producer named Just Blase who is a product of “the golden era” herself. Just Blase is red-blooded 100% AmeriKKKan boom-BAPs to the heart core, but in Miss Saigon she saw a tru skool rap blogz souljah with an ambition to kick the truth to the young internet-addicted youths ‘til the break of prawns. They got together in “the lab,” recorded some “latter day classics” over Just Blase’s unadulterated beatz, and the rest, well, is history.
No, seriously, it’s history. That was back in 1988 and the album just hit the tru skool rap blogz yesterday. It got “shelved” for reasons I cannot divulge here because they are both boring and inconsequential. I can’t be bothered with this afrocentric asian self-conscience rap in the age of Twitter! Can somebody out there download this mixtape, skim it, and tell me why I should backlash against it? Ok, thx. Peace knowledge knowledge.
yayodancing asked: you are amazing. I am a fan.
Likewise my precise hoverhand-over-grille dancing nuccah. In addition to tumblr eye can also be followed on Twitter, because if I couldn’t be followed on Twitter how could you be sure that I was a (in)credible Source of information pertaining to da hip hop “culture”?
tumblrbot asked: WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE INANIMATE OBJECT?
It’s probably a tie between MC DJ Premier’s magic-al beatmaking machine robot thingy and the now-decomisioned sittin’ on En Vogues H.P. Hovercraft that Special Ed (the rapper who stole Maino’s girlfriend in Juice, not the retarded race-moppet minstrel) commandeered.
Phonte* is one down-in-fraggle-rock Cantus And The Minstrels lookin’ ass nuccah.
Phonte, formerly of tru skool rap blogz rap Norf KaKalaKa trio Lil’ Brohem and 1/2 of the celebrated international (hip hop without borders) duo Bork-N-Gobo, b.k.a. Percy Lyrical Miracles, has rhymes galore that “tend to to be no frills perspectives on working class life.”
I used to like Lil’ Brohem because they convincingly rendered a simulacrum of antebellum racism and postmodern signifying with their *high concept* album The Menstrual Flow, which was not a huge co-murshul success but won a Grammy for “Safest Paltry Imitation of Pete Rock and CL Smooth To Top The Starbucks In-Store Charts For Months On End.”
This was important at the time because “the culture” was under fire from gat-packing coons and sambos and race-moppets like Ludonkulous, Likkle John, and Kennedy Fried Silver Half-Dollar.
Lately Phonte has been sanging way too much. Sanging is permissible if it is an Immortal Mo’Nique song about an angelic bitch dying of third stage Syph or if it is a multivalent reimagining of the cathartic chimera of Northern Soul.
But Phonte just warbles about life in the caves and hillsides of Eu-Rope, encouraging his fellow fraggles to “find their inner songs” and other Esoteric and 7l new age solar systems that sounded good when I was eighteen and visibly Umad at the Multiverse.
But now that my skillz is po-mo while you’re deaf, dumb, and blind to a phono (zunga-zing-zunga-zing-zag-zing!) eye know that Phonte is just a sanging ass minstrel hiss damned delf. He might as well just smear shoe polish on his face and tap dance for Liar Coin.
Not even tru skool rap blogz rap beatz courtesy of MC DJ Premier can rescue Phonte Da Minstrel from the muck of mediocrisee that this Tar-Baby-Par calls home. He needs to return to his roots/rap/reggae and write some lyrics that inspire all of us to half-heartedly criticize evil pop rappers. Maybe do some Sole-searching on some Uncle Travelling Matt/Bottle Of Human steez, knowhumsayin’?
*”Phonte” is Dunnish: terminology for “Power He Cipher Now Truth Equality.” Do the Naledge.
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Get the EP here.
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GLOBAL DRUG DEALERS MOBILE NEVER LOCAL
This album connected me with my roots. Made me understand the work my father did, via the Bobbi Humphrey samples. Ish did that. Trip to think...
