The Grande Poo
Sticking with my topic of choice in the conclusion of my blog week, I thought I’d pay homage to one of my favorite old-school rappers, the high and mighty, Mr. Grand Puba. Yes, the man is very special. With his new album Retroactive, dropping earlier this week, the Brand Nubian MC has been getting a lil’ press here and there, and it got me revisiting some of his undeniable classics.
I almost forgot how insane, Grand P was. I mean dude could spit something ferocious like Tom Hanks in A League Of Their Own and I feel like sometimes he gets overlooked. Now I hope I’m not just speaking to the choir here – for all you young’n’s maybe this ole blog would put you on to an East Coast legend.
But I’m not about to list all of Puba’s classics. I wanted to just take one, regular verse from P’s extensive catalog, to highlight the man’s swag juice (pause). I might not agree with Dante Ross, about him being the swag originator, but I will go on the record and say there’s no doubt in my mind that this cat was a huge influence to a slew of big dogs.
Anyway, as I was saying, I been bumping a bunch of vintage Puba lately, and I must of played his verse on “Back up off the Wall “ 100 times in the last two days. No disrespect to the other Nubians but he obliterated that shit. DEAD. I know its an old-ass verse but please – this kind of stuff is timeless. There’s nothing for me to say, just listen to it yourself…
In fact, let me transcribe that for ya
(from 2:24 on…)
Now I’ma put a rush up on molasses
Breeze on through like E-ZPasses
Wiggle more asses than aerobic classes
El kabong, my people blaze them trees up like Cheech and Chong
Get that ass open like a pair of butt cheek in thong
For sure dog, I don’t mean to come off pushy
Blaze your party hot, and have it smelling like Bidussy
Spit my phlegm and drop my gem
Collect my wins and cop the Benz with the icy rims
I’ll be dramatical, mathematical, radical thriller
The mic killa wreckin more shit than Godzilla
Matter of fact I’m more illa, knock your shit off the pillar
The four-wheeler touched every flava but vanilla
You know my name, my game, so shorty shake that thang
I get you open like them ball-head niggaz on Rogaine
Spit my flow all the way from New Ro’
to Acapulco, white poos brown like cocoa
Flip flows def like so so
SMH. You see what I’m saying? Tell me that verse ain’t perfection personified? SWAG JUICE!!!
But then again that’s just me, I know y’all are gonna chime in. What do YOU guys consider a perfect verse? –Jesse Gissen