Hate on my MJB post all you want, but real nukkas don’t watch 106 and Park. Especially since AJ and Free bounced. The little girl they got hosting now looks like a muskrat and that dude’s a straight herb.
Did you see Rihanna on Rap City yesterday? She admitted Jay-Z’s verse on Pharrell’s “Young Girl” is about her. Who knew? Next time consult the OGs, my nigga please.
Doesn’t that Fat Joe “Clap and Revolve” sound a little like Rick Ross’ “Hustlin’”?
I’m just fuckin’ around. Seriously, I don’t know about you when Crack spits gangsta lyrics like—“We’ll open your chest/Nigga, you just a victim/And I’m a rat killer”—I feel like he’s visualizing 50 Cent standing in front of him. (PPBSD) Post-“Piggy Bank” Stress Disorder.
Not to be curt like Curtis, but can you cats in the streets give D-Block their swagger back? It’s getting real ugly. Getting real ugly. I just can’t get excited about any movement that revolves around anointing J-Hood.
That Obie Trice video “Cry Now” is phenomenal. Get the VMA ready! Way to make up for that “Snitch” debacle.
Speaking of loose lips, you want to know what’s goin’ on with Jay or Game’s albums—just ask a producer. These guys run their jibs to more than just Scratch magazine. Might be time for MC’s to come to the studio armed with confidentiality agreements.
When did stuttering become the cool new vocal s-s-s-style?
Is Rick Ross the new remix king? He’s on everything. Eat your heart out, Bussa-Bus!
DMX’s “I Run Shit” song contains one of the worst hooks in hip-hop history. It’s abominable. Speaking of X, that BET show is a tragic infomercial on the dangers of drugas. It’s a tragedy like the homie Percy Chapman. Damn, the Dark Man used to move them magazines for me. Tsk, tsk.
I don’t think I heard Mr. One Blood get a shout-out on Mr. Crip’s “My Peoples.” But I could be wrong. Shit, even Murs got love.
So Stack Bundles switched team uniforms from Desert Storm to Byrd Gang? Where the hell have I been? I thought I noticed dude in the Capo’s DVD. The streets wanna know the deal. Somebody get Clue on the phone.
Speaking of which I heard Flex blacked out on the Question mark man last week so bad it made his Benzino tirades seem lightweight. Guess Mr. Fix-Your-Whips isn’t excited about the prospects of finally facing real comp. He needs to take a page out my book. Wasn’t there talk a while ago that some chick named Cherry Martinez was already beating him in the ratings? Guess we can squash that hogwash.
It’s no longer Who is Mike Jones? It’s Where Is Mike Jones? Even though the nigga got that big giant Ice Age chain it seems like the only thing really on ice is his career. Might be time to make nice with Michael Watts.
Since we’re already in Swishahouse land, let me be the one millionth person to revel in the craziness that Chamillionaire actually sold more records than Paul Wall. Just when you think you got this rap shit figured out you get hit on the arm with the curveball. Ouch.
Wonder if that Source Fat Tape CD is gonna do XXL Raps numbers?
Hey, somebody tell Ms. Slut Monkey to let YN breathe. I read her little slick talk in her latest swagger-jackin’ editorial. Why should I support your awards shows when I work for a competing magazine, you big dummy? Don’t make me George Bush the button over nothin’. Word to Maniyah! (That’s Tony Yayo’s baby girl, you busted butt-kisser.)