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Time to carry on tradition. Time for YN to reveal his latest masterwork—way before it touches y’all greedy, sweaty hands on them newsstands. XXL muthafuckas, this is only a preview. Allow myself to introduce myself.

Big Things Poppin’

Sometimes light-skinded niggas say the smartest things. Truth be told, Sickamore was right. His proclamation on (the soon-to-be-crowned best rap Web site in the game) a year ago wasn’t dead wrong—it was dead on. Hip-hop is all about them three Southern heavyweights: T.I., Lil Wayne and this month’s cover subject, Young Jeezy. All these MCs may or may not have pushed coke in their pasts (I’m no snitch), but, today, like Pepsi, these niggas is the choice of the new generation. It’s truer than anything Kurt Angle ever barked into a microphone. Live with it, my East Coast niggas. And can someone give Papoose a release date already? Sai and my nigga Just, what’s really good? You hear the sound of the clicking, you hear the sound of the clock, y’all. We ready. Anyway…

Yeeeaaaah, that’s right, Da Snowman was on the front page only a few months ago. But like one of the only two other artists who keep my pockets fat not flat, Shawn Carter, said: Men lie, women lie, but numbers don’t. Mr. 17.5 does OEs like Birdman Jr. and the K-I-N-G. So I’m recycling (I see you, JR) the champions until I take a loss. After you finish dissecting the story of Jeezy and his USDA crew (Slick Pulla and Blood Raw), thirty days later I’m coming with Clifford “The ’06 Champ” Harris all over again. That’s right, mo’ Southern covers. I’m even workin’ on my accent, patnas! And when it’s Carter 3 time, whatchu think I’m gonna do?

Shit, has YN grown tired of being Jimmy I’s concubine and copped a crib in the A-T-L or the Sunshine State, for Chrissakes? What the Net nerds, spineless industry fucks and mad rappers gonna say about me now? The E-I-C ain’t playing fair—jive. Yeah, I make a mistake or two (why’d the Clipse have to brick so hard?), but my animal instincts and spider senses usually take me on the right path. I focus. I concentrate. I obliterate. I destroy. Check the résumé. Google a nigga.

Yup, hip-hop’s so bad that only a handful or two of rappers are worthy enough to even think of getting the cover of rap’s finest mag this year. Yes, Swizz, a producer, has made the best rap song of the year. Yes, Puff made a better album than Jay-Z and Timbaland. Yes, young rap dudes like Fab have egos that are so big they’ll never, in spite of their talent, reach the career level they deserve. Yes, I sometimes think of hanging it up before you rap cats jump the shark, but I stupidly still believe in youse. Yes, hip-hop isn’t dead—it just sucks.

No, Joe Budden’s album is never coming out on Def Jam. No, that Mims song hasn’t grown on me. No, Luda didn’t deserve that Grammy over Tip. No, you can’t make friends when your boss hates everyone. No, the mixtape game will never be the same. No, I don’t give two shits about reverends, shock jocks, rich crackers from Duke or bullshit lawsuits. No, I can’t speak on the alleged incident involving Henchman’s son. (Do I look stupid?)

Yes, I no longer have any respect for allhiphop and will cherish the day I destroy them like I did y’all-know-what. Yes, you can be dead and still put out magazines. Yes, I’ll do more TV shows, so stop askin’ me and my crew. Yes, that was me on pissy drunk at the Vibe anniversary party. Yes, it’s not easy being married to your competition. Yes, Stretch Armstrong’s blog is better than most of the crap that drops on Tuesdays. Yes, O.C.’s and Mobb Deep’s unreleased shit is better than most of the crap that drops on Tuesdays. Yes, I can think of plenty things that are better than most of the crap that drops on Tuesdays.

No, I can’t put you on, make you famous or break bread with you if you ain’t willing to work hard. No, I can’t go to strip clubs without a signed permission slip. No, you can’t be my friend if you work for a record company. No, bringing the baby mama to a listening session is not a good look. No, still watching wrestling at the age of 36 doesn’t make you gay. No, we don’t sell covers or spend scrilla for stories. No, I ain’t got shit else to say.

You betta ask somebody,

Elliott “El Shabazz” Wilson

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