Sunday Snacklist #2
Ayo everybody, you know what day it is. It's the Lord's day aka the Sabbath aka the day for you to kickback, relax, and come to my website to listen to some wet beats yo. I got five tracks right here for the sound-drums in those weirdly shaped protrusions and orifices on both sides of ya face, so pay attention b, class is in session.
You hear that buzzing noise right behind you? That's the sound of the Killah's swarm of bees comin' after ya neck son. I have just gotten back into the Killah's beats again and I swear every time I hear this song, I want to go commit a felony...not like a heinous atrocity sort of felony...but a felony nonetheless. He reps the worst borough in NYC, but I'm gonna overlook that fact because this man's verses should be scribed on stones and put in our courthouses so these old AF judges knew what was f'real happening on the streets ya feel me? I don't think it's just the rival crews Ghostface is talkin' bout in the chorus about buying fake frowns on ebay...doesn't that straight sound like something a white powder wig-wearing, skin sagging off his bones looking, atrophyzing ass-muscles because of too much sitting down motherfucker shit? I mean jeez...they even have the interwebz in the hood to buy shit on ebay back when this joint came out? nah man...the Killah was really trying to show us how the judicial system is whack. I'm pretty sure at least....
#Ferg4Pope that's all I gotsta say about this ya hurr b. I mean, you hear that a cappella chorus during the closing minute of the song? MMMMMMMMbitch. I'll tell you what, Mr. Ferg, I do feel this shit and this motherfucka will sing along. I don't know what it is about songs that have minimal layers, but this song is stripped down to the bone and that's exactly how it needs to be. No mo' fo'sho. All of you cats should also be on the look out for my review of my good sir Ferg's new album Always Strive and Prosper later this week trilla.
Welcome to the Snacklist el Bronsolini; the one and only big bearded bandito; AKA the man who's one episode of "Fuck, That's Delicious" away from saying "Fuck, that was my last meal"; the motherfucking Action Bronson. I don't give AF about what people saying how he sounds too much like Ghostface Killah. What artist doesn't get into their respective game without a little inspiration and style from the artists who preceded them b? Since when did we get mad for musicians and artists repping their inspiration for their craft & shit 'nahmean? They both came from the same city, probably similar neighborhoods, and Action had a jewish mother. Obviously all these stars aligning at the birth of both of these emcee's allowed for both of them to tear up verses like a geriatric does with a stale loaf of bread when he's feeding pigeons in Central Park because his family doesn't ever come and visit him ever since gam-gam died ya feel me...on a side note...WHO THE FUCK FEEDS PIGEONS? WHO WANTS THEM AROUND? THEY ARE LITERALLY FUCKING FLYING TURD MACHINES. MY CAR IS UPSET YOU ENABLE THESE TURDBIRDS SURVIVAL BY MAKING IT EASIER FOR THEM TO GENERATE MORE SHIT IN THEIR CRAPFACTORY INSIDES. Woah...sorry about that. Anyway...both these guys know how to find the lyrical g-spot and I don't see why we don't just appreciate that our ears erogenous zones have an open relationship with two lovers instead of one.
Mr. Gordy AKA the only man coming outta Gary, the man who's giving the birds just the Tipton. Freddie Gibbs takes it to a lotta levels people ain't comfortable going. The slow, long held note progression forming the foundation of this track makes playing it on repeat almost too easy. You never will actually realize how many times you listened to this song, because a) the start and finish are eerily similar and b) you won't give a fuck, DIS BEAT IS HOT YO. Other than that, you get a feeling of what it was like trying to make it out of a town named after the whitest person you know, Gary. And for all y'all ignorant MFers out there, that shit is in Indiana. And it makes sense to me that this song is about the bad things a gamer's gotta game in order to get out of Gary. I mean...you're in fucking Gary, Indiana. I'd fuck someone up over an incorrect count if I was stuck in Gary fucking Indiana. Wouldn't you?
Now to one of my favorite rappers in the game right now, Big K.R.I.T.. (does the end of that sentence need to periods?) The King Remembered In Time came out with Cadillactica at the tail end of 2014, and that shit will still be pumpin' through my slightly-disappointing sound system for the foreseeable future. This particular track on the album goes out to all the ladies listening; not saying that K.R.I.T. doesn't have other beats catered to the clientele con clitori (clitorises?), but this one is the stand out track. All throughout the album, you can clearly tell this man knows how to make the coochies tremble in his presence, but damn yo, I played this song while driving my slampiece and I had to stop and open up the doors or we would've drowned. Straight up.
Aight suckas, this has been week 2 of your nicely curated Sunday Snacklist. Stay you, world. Don't let any trick motherfucker tell you you can't do whatchu want to do 'nahmean b? Anyways, I'll be on the lookout for what new beats I can send your way next week holmes. Stay family.