Best Rap Verses of All Time

Annotation :

[ 1987 ]

Rakim :

"Thinking of a master plan
Cause ain’t nothing but sweat inside my hand
So I dig into my pocket, all my money spent
So I dig deeper but still coming up with lint
So I start my mission, leave my residence
Thinking how could I get some dead presidents
I need money, I used to be a stick-up kid
So I think of all the devious things I did
I used to roll up, this is a hold up, ain’t nothing funny
Stop smiling, be still, don’t nothing move but the money
But now I learned to earn cause I’m righteous
I feel great, so maybe I might just
Search for a 9 to 5, if I strive
Then maybe I’ll stay alive
So I walk up the street, whistling this
Feeling out of place cause, man, do I miss
A pen and a paper, a stereo, a tape of
Me and Eric B and a nice big plate of
Fish, which is my favorite dish
But without no money it’s still a wish
Cause I don’t like to dream about getting paid
So I dig into the books of the rhymes that I made
So now's a test to see if I got pull
Hit the studio, cause I’m paid in full."

Annotation :

[ 1988 ]

Rakim (Verse 2) :

"Terror in the styles, never error-files,
Indeed I’m known-your exiled!
For those that oppose to be level or next to this...
I ain’t a devil and this ain’t the exorcist!
Worse than a nightmare, you don’t have to sleep a wink,
The pain’s a migraine every time ya think,
Flashbacks interfere, ya start to hear:
The r-a-k-i-m in your ear;
Then the beat is hysterical,
That makes eric go get a ax and chops the wack,
Soon the lyrical format is superior,
Faces of death remain,
Mc’s decaying, cuz they never stayed,
The scene of a crime every night at the show,
The fiend of a rhyme on the mic that you know,
It’s only one capable, breaks-the unbreakable,
Melodies-unmakable, pattern-unecscapable,
A horn if want the style I posses,
I bless the child, the earth, the gods and bomb the rest,
For those that envy a mc it can be,
Hazardous to your health so be friendly,
A matter of life and death, just like a ethch-a-sketch,
Shake ’till your clear, make it disappear, make the next,
After the ceremony, let the rhyme rest in peace,
If not, my soul’ll release!
The scene is recreated, reincarnated, updated, I’m glad you made it,
Cuz your about to see a disasterous sight,
A performance never again performed on a mic:
Lyrics of fury!"

Annotation :

[ 1988 ]

Ice Cube (Verse 1) :

"Straight outta Compton, crazy motherfucker named Ice Cube
From the gang called Niggas Wit Attitudes
When I'm called off, I got a sawed-off
Squeeze the trigger and bodies are hauled off
You too boy if you fuck with me
The police are gonna have to come and get me
Off yo ass, that's how I'm going out
For the punk motherfuckers that's showing out
Niggas start to mumble, they wanna rumble
Mix em and cook em in a pot like gumbo
Going off on a motherfucker like that
With a gat, that's pointed at yo ass
So give it up smooth
Ain't no telling when I'm down for a jack move
Here's a murder rap to keep you dancing
With a crime record like Charles Manson
AK-47 is the tool
Don't make me act the motherfucking fool
Me you can go toe to toe, no maybe
I'm knocking niggas out the box, daily
Yo weekly, monthly and yearly
Until them dumb motherfuckers see clearly
That I'm down with the capital C-P-T
Boy, you can't fuck with me
So when I'm in your neighborhood, you better duck
Cause Ice Cube is crazy as fuck
As I leave, believe I'm stomping
But when I come back boy, I'm coming straight outta Compton."

Annotation :

[ 1991 ]

LL Cool J (Verse 2) :

"The Ripper, the master, the overlordian
Playing MC's like a old accordion
I get the inspiration from unnecessary station
Them sayin I was vacationin
You can't quote with your weaker throat
Tryin to sneak a peek at how I freak the notes
Major MC's become minor B-flats
So retire the mic, get your chains and your bats
Here's your chance to advance, get in your stance
I shoot the holster off your cowboy pants
Pure entertainment, tonight's your arraignment
You're guilty - face down on the pavement!
No holds barred, it's time to get scarred
You and your squad better praise the real God
The undertaker, droppin thunder on fakers
When it comes to lyrics I'm as freaky as Seka
So lay the mic down slow and careful
Cause mine is fully loaded and I got another handful
A clip to slip in and start rippin
Divin and dippin and givin punks a whippin (aww shit)
Just in case you wanna go a few rounds or so
I'm down so that you clowns'll know
Me gettin burnt or hurt won't be tolerated
I got rhymes up the huh - forget it I'm constipated - L!"

Annotation :

[ 1991 ]

Nas (Verse 1) :

"Street's disciple, my raps are trifle
I shoot slugs from my brain just like a rifle
Stampede the stage, I leave the microphone split
Play Mr Tuffy while I'm on some Pretty Tone shit
Verbal assassin, my architect pleases
When I was twelve, I went to hell for snuffing Jesus
Nasty Nas is a rebel to America
Police murderer, I'm causing hysteria
My troops roll up with a strange force
I was trapped in a cage and let out by the Main Source
Swimming in women like a lifeguard
Put on a bulletproof nigga I strike hard
Kidnap the President's wife without a plan
And hanging niggas like the Ku Klux Klan
I melt mics till the sound wave's over
Before stepping to me you'd rather step to Jehovah
Slamming MC's on cement
Cause verbally, I'm iller than a AIDS patient
I move swift and uplift your mind
Shoot the gift when I riff in rhyme
Rapping sniper, speaking real words
My thoughts react, like Steven Spielberg's
Poetry attacks, paragraphs punch hard
My brain is insane, I'm out to lunch, God
Science is dropped, my raps are toxic
My voicebox locks and excels like a rocket."

Annotation :

[ 1991 ]

2Pac :

"I hear Brenda's got a baby
But Brenda's barely got a brain
A damn shame, the girl can hardly spell her name
That's not our problem, that's up to Brenda's family
Well let me show you how it affects our whole community
Now Brenda never really knew her moms
And her dad was a junkie putting death into his arms
It's sad, cause I bet Brenda doesn't even know
Just cause you're in the ghetto doesn't mean you can't grow
But oh, that's a thought, my own revelation
Do whatever it takes to resist the temptation
Brenda got herself a boyfriend
Her boyfriend was her cousin, now let's watch the joy end
She tried to hide her pregnancy, from her family
Who didn't really care to see, or give a damn if she
Went out and had a church of kids
As long as when the check came they got first dibs
Now Brenda's belly is getting bigger
But no one seems to notice any change in her figure
She's twelve years old and she's having a baby
In love with a molester, who's sexing her crazy
And yet and she thinks that he'll be with her forever
And dreams of a world where the two of them are together, whatever
He left her and she had the baby solo
She had it on the bathroom floor and didn't know so
She didn't know, what to throw away and what to keep
She wrapped the baby up and threw him in a trash heap
I guess she thought she'd get away, wouldn't hear the cries
She didn't realize how much the the little baby had her eyes
Now the baby's in the trash heap bawling
Momma can't help her, but it hurts to hear her calling
Brenda wants to run away
Momma say, you making me lose pay
The social workers here everyday
Now Brenda's gotta make her own way
Can't go to her family, they won't let her stay
No money no babysitter, she couldn't keep a job
She tried to sell crack but end up getting robbed
So now what's next, there ain't nothing left to sell
So she sees sex as a way of leaving hell
It's paying the rent, so she really can't complain
Prostitute, found slain and Brenda's her name, she's got a baby."

Annotation :

[ 1992 ]

Busta Rhymes :

"Watch as I combine all the juice from the mind
Heel up, wheel up, bring it back, come, rewind
Powerful impact (Boom!) from the cannon!
Not braggin', try to read my mind, just imagine!
Vo-cab-u-lary's necessary
When diggin' in-to my library
Oh-my-gosh! Oh my gosh!
Eating Ital Stew like the one Peter Tosh
Unh! Unh! Unh! All over the track, man
Unh, pardon me, unh! As I come back
As I did it yo I had to beg your pardon
When I travel through the town I roll with the squadron
RRRRAOWR, RRRRAOW, like a dungeon dragon
Change your little drawers cause your pants were saggin'
Try to step to this, I will twist you in a turban
And have you smelling ripe like some old, stale urine
Chickity Choco, the chocolate chicken
The rear cock diesel, buttcheeks, they were kicking
Yo, bust it out before the Busta bust another rhyme
The rhythm is in sync (Uh!) the rhymes are on time (Time!)
Ripping up the sound just like Horatio
Observe the vibe and check out the scenario
Yeah, my man, mothafucka!"

Annotation :

[ 1992 ]

Snoop Doggy Dogg (Verse 1) :

"1, 2, 3 and to the 4
Snoop Doggy Dogg and Dr. Dre is at the door
Ready to make an entrance so back on up
(Cause you know we're about to rip shit up)
Give me the microphone first so I can bust like a bubble
Compton and Long Beach together now you know you in trouble
Ain't nothing but a G thang, baby
Two loc'ed out niggas so we're crazy
Death Row is the label that pays me
Unfadeable so please don't try to fade this
But um back to the lecture at hand
Perfection is perfected, so I'mma let em understand
From a young G's perspective
And before me dig out a bitch I have to find a contraceptive
You never know, she could be earning her man
And learning her man and at the same time burning her man
Now you know I ain't with that shit, Lieutenant
Ain't no pussy good enough to get burnt while I'm up in it (Yeah)
And that's realer than Real-Deal Holyfield
And now you hookers and hoes know how I feel
Well, if it's good enough to get broke off a proper chunk
I'll take a small piece of some of that funky stuff."

Annotation :

[ 1992 ]

Ice Cube (Verse 1) :

"Just waking up in the morning, gotta thank God
I don't know but today seems kinda odd
No barking from the dog, no smog
And momma cooked a breakfast with no hog
I got my grub on, but didn't pig out
Finally got a call from a girl I wanna dig out
Hooked it up for later as I hit the door
Thinking will I live another 24
I gotta go cause I got me a drop-top
And if I hit the switch, I can make the ass drop
Had to stop at a red light
Looking in my mirror and not a jacker in sight
And everything is alright
I got a beep from Kim, and she can fuck all night
Called up the homies and I'm asking y'all
"Which park are y'all playing basketball?"
Get me on the court and I'm trouble
Last week fucked around and got a triple double
Freaking niggas every way like MJ
I can't believe today was a good day."

Annotation :

[ 1993 ]

Inspectah Deck (Verse 2) :

"It's been twenty-two long hard years of still struggling
Survival got me bugging, but I'm alive on arrival
I peep at the shape of the streets
And stay awake to the ways of the world cause shit is deep
A man with a dream with plans to make cream
Which failed; I went to jail at the age of fifteen
A young buck selling drugs and such who never had much
Trying to get a clutch at what I could not touch
The court played me short, now I face incarceration
Pacin' - going upstate's my destination
Handcuffed in back of a bus, forty of us
Life as a shorty shouldn't be so rough
But as the world turns I learned life is hell
Living in the world no different from a cell
Every day I escape from Jakes giving chase, selling base
Smoking bones in the staircase
Though I don't know why I chose to smoke sess
I guess that's the time when I'm not depressed
But I'm still depressed and I ask what's it worth
Ready to give up so I seek the old Earth
Who explained working hard may help you maintain
To learn to overcome the heartaches and pain
We got stickup kids, corrupt cops, and crack rocks and
Stray shots, all on the block that stays hot
Leave it up to me while I be living proof
To kick the truth to the young Black youth
But shorty's running wild, smoking sess, drinking beer
And ain't trying to hear what I'm kicking in his ear
Neglected for now, but yo, it gots to be accepted
That what, that life is hectic."

Annotation :

[ 1993 ]

2Pac (Verse 1) :

"Some say the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice
I say the darker the flesh then the deeper the roots
I give a holla to my sisters on welfare
2Pac cares, if don't nobody else care
And, I know they like to beat you down a lot
When you come around the block, brothers clown a lot
But please don't cry, dry your eyes, never let up
Forgive but don't forget, girl, keep your head up
And when he tells you you ain't nothin', don't believe him
And if he can't learn to love you, you should leave him
Cause sister, you don't need him
And I ain't tryin' to gas ya up, I just call 'em how I see 'em
You know what makes me unhappy
When brothers make babies, and leave a young mother to be a pappy
And since we all came from a woman
Got our name from a woman and our game from a woman
I wonder why we take from our women
Why we rape our women, do we hate our women
I think it's time to kill for our women
Time to heal our women, be real to our women
And if we don't we'll have a race of babies
That will hate the ladies that make the babies
And since a man can't make one
He has no right to tell a woman when and where to create one
So will the real men get up
I know you're fed up ladies, but keep your head up."

Annotation :

[ 1994 ]

Nas (Verse 1) :

"Rappers, I monkey flip em with the funky rhythm
I be kicking, musician, inflictin' composition
Of pain I'm like Scarface sniffin cocaine
Holding an M-16, see with the pen I'm extreme, now
Bullet holes left in my peepholes, I'm suited up in street clothes
Hand me a nine and I'll defeat foes
Y'all know my steelo with or without the airplay
I keep some E&J, sitting bent up in the stairway
Or either on the corner betting Grants with the cee-lo champs
Laughing at baseheads trying to sell some broken amps
G-packs get off quick, forever niggas talk shit
Reminiscing about the last time the Task Force flipped
Niggas be running through the block shootin'
Time to start the revolution, catch a body, head for Houston
Once they caught us off-guard, the Mac-10 was in the grass and
I ran like a cheetah with thoughts of an assassin
Pick the Mac up, told brothers, "Back up," the Mac spit
Lead was hitting niggas, one ran, I made him backflip
Heard a few chicks scream, my arm shook, couldn't look
Gave another squeeze, heard it click, "yo, my shit is stuck"
Try to cock it, it wouldn't shoot, now I'm in danger
Finally pulled it back and saw 3 bullets caught up in the chamber
So now I'm jetting to the building lobby
And it was full of children probably couldn't see as high as I be
(So what you saying?) It's like the game ain't the same
Got younger niggas pulling the triggers, bringing fame to their name
And claim some corners, crews without guns are goners
In broad daylight, stickup kids: they run up on us
4-5's and gauges, Macs, in fact
Same niggas will catch a back-to-back, snatching your cracks in black
There was a snitch on the block getting niggas knocked
So hold your stash 'til the coke price drop
I know this crackhead who said she's got to smoke nice rock
And if it's good, she'll bring you customers in measuring pots
But yo, you gotta slide on a vacation, inside information
Keeps large niggas erasin' and their wives basin'
It drops deep as it does in my breath
I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death
Beyond the walls of intelligence, life is defined
I think of crime when I'm in a New York state of mind."

Annotation :

[ 1994 ]

AZ (Verse 1) :

"Visualizing the realism of life in actuality
Fuck who's the baddest, a person's status depends on salary
And my mentality is money-orientated
I'm destined to live the dream for all my peeps who never made it
Cause yeah, we were beginners in the hood as 5 percenters
But something must have got in us cause all of us turned to sinners
Now some resting in peace and some are sitting in San Quentin
Others such as myself are trying to carry on tradition
Keeping this Schweppervescent street ghetto essence inside us
Cause it provides us with the proper insight to guide us
Even though, we know somehow we all gotta go
But as long as we leaving thieving, we'll be leaving with some kind of dough
So, until that day we expire and turn to vapors
Me and my capers, will be somewhere else stackin' plenty papers
Keeping it real, packing steel, getting high
Cause life's a bitch and then you die."

Annotation :

[ 1994 ]

Nas (Verse 1) :

"I sip the Dom P, watching Gandhi til I'm charged
Then writing in my book of rhymes, all the words past the margin
To hold the mic I'm throbbin', mechanical movement
Understandable smooth shit that murderers move with
The thief's theme - play me at night, they won't act right
The fiend of hip-hop has got me stuck like a crack pipe
The mind activation, react like I'm facing time like
Pappy Mason, with pens I'm embracing
Wipe the sweat off my dome, spit the phlegm on the streets
Suede Timbs on my feet makes my cipher complete
Whether cruising in a Sikh's cab or Montero Jeep
I can't call it; the beats make me falling asleep
I keep falling, but never falling six feet deep
I'm out for presidents to represent me (say what)
I'm out for presidents to represent me (say what)
I'm out for dead presidents to represent me."

Annotation :

[ 1994 ]

Nas (Verse 1) :

"I sip the Dom P, watching Gandhi til I'm charged
Then writing in my book of rhymes, all the words past the margin
To hold the mic I'm throbbin', mechanical movement
Understandable smooth shit that murderers move with
The thief's theme - play me at night, they won't act right
The fiend of hip-hop has got me stuck like a crack pipe
The mind activation, react like I'm facing time like
Pappy Mason, with pens I'm embracing
Wipe the sweat off my dome, spit the phlegm on the streets
Suede Timbs on my feet makes my cipher complete
Whether cruising in a Sikh's cab or Montero Jeep
I can't call it; the beats make me falling asleep
I keep falling, but never falling six feet deep
I'm out for presidents to represent me (say what)
I'm out for presidents to represent me (say what)
I'm out for dead presidents to represent me."

Annotation :

[ 1994 ]

Nas (Verse 1) :

"Before I blunt, I take out my fronts
Then I start to front; matter of fact, I be on a manhunt
You couldn't catch me in the streets without a ton of reefer
That's like Malcolm X catching the Jungle Fever
King poetic. Too much flavor, I'm major
Atlanta ain't Brave-r, I'll pull a number like a pager
Cause I'm an ace when I face the bass
40-side is the place that is giving me grace
Now wait, another dose and you might be dead
And I'm a Nike-head, I wear chains that excite the Feds
And ain't a damn thing gonna change
I'mma performer strange, so the mic warmer was born to gain
Nas, why did you do it
You know you got the mad fat fluid when you rhyme, it's halftime."

Annotation :

[ 1994 ]

Nas (Verse 1) :

"It ain't hard to tell, I excel then prevail
The mic is contacted, I attract clientele
My mic check is life or death, breathing a sniper's breath
I exhale the yellow smoke of buddha through righteous steps
Deep like the Shining, sparkle like a diamond
Sneak a Uzi on the island in my army jacket lining
Hit the Earth like a comet – invasion!
Nas is like the Afrocentric Asian, half-man, half-amazing
Cause in my physical, I can express through song
Delete stress like Motrin, then extend strong
I drink Moet with Medusa, give her shotguns in hell
From the spliff that I lift and inhale, it ain't hard to tell."

Annotation :

[ 1994 ]

O.C. (Verse 1) :

"You lack the minerals and vitamins, irons anAnnotated the niacin
Fuck who that I offend, rappers sit back I'm bout to begin
Bout foul talk you sqwak, never even walked the walk
More less destined to get tested, never been arrested
My album will manifest many things that I saw did or heard about
All told first hand, never word of mouth
What's in the future for the fusion in the changer?
Rappers are in danger, who will use wits to be a remainder
When the missile is aimed, to blow you out of the frame
Some will keep their limbs and, some will be maimed
The same suckers with the gab about, killer instincts
But turned bitch and knowin damn well they lack
In this division the conniseur, crackin your head with a 4 by 4
Realize sucka, I be the comin' like Noah
Always simmer you down, perpetratin facadin what you consider
A image, to me this is, just a scrimmage
I'm feel I'm stone, not cause I bop or wear my cap cocked
The more emotion I put into it, the harder I rock
Those who pose lyrical but really ain't true I feel."

Annotation :

[ 1994 ]

Jeru the Damaja (Verse 1) :

"As devils search for the secrets to immortality
I alter my physical chemistry
Walk through the valley of the shadow of death
I exist even when no things are left
Vibrations transcend space and time
Pure at heart because I deal with the mind
That's why I compose these verses
Audible worlds, my thoughts are now universes
Written on these pages is the ageless
Wisdom of the sages, ignorance is contagious
So I hope you keep your focus
There's no hocus-pocus, in the end, it's just us
Devil got brother killin brother, it's insane
Goin out like Abel and Cain
Wisen up and use your brain
There'll be no limit, to the things that you can gain
In positivity, balance it with negativity
Until then, ain't the devil happy."

Annotation :

[ 1994 ]

Biggie (Verse 1) :

"It was all a dream
I used to read Word Up magazine
Salt 'n' Pepa and Heavy D up in the limousine
Hangin' pictures on my wall
Every Saturday Rap Attack, Mr. Magic, Marley Marl
I let my tape rock 'til my tape popped
Smoking weed on Bambu, sipping on Private Stock
Way back, when I had the red and black lumberjack
With the hat to match
Remember Rappin Duke? Duh-ha, duh-ha
You never thought that hip hop would take it this far
Now I'm in the limelight cause I rhyme tight
Time to get paid, blow up like the World Trade
Born sinner, the opposite of a winner
Remember when I used to eat sardines for dinner
Peace to Ron G, Brucey B, Kid Capri
Funkmaster Flex, Lovebug Starski (wassup)
I'm blowing up like you thought I would
Call the crib, same number same hood (that's right)
It's all good (it's all good)
And if you don't know, now you know, nigga."

Annotation :

[ 1994 ]

Biggie :

"Call the coroner!
There's gonna be a lot of slow singing and flower bringing
If my burglar alarm starts ringing
What ya think all the guns is for?
All-purpose war, got the Rottweilers by the door
And I feed em gunpowder, so they can devour
The criminals trying to drop my decimals
Damn, niggas wanna stick me for my cream
And it ain't a dream, things ain't always what it seem
It's the ones that smoke blunts with ya, see your picture
Now they wanna grab they guns and come and get ya
Bet ya Biggie won't slip
I got the Calico with the black talons loaded in the clip
So I can rip through the ligaments
Put the fuckers in a bad predicament, where all the foul niggas went
Touch my cheddar, feel my Beretta
Buck! What I'mma hit you with you motherfuckers better duck
I bring pain, bloodstains on what remains
Of his jacket - he had a gun he shoulda packed it
Cocked it, extra clips in my pocket
So I can reload and explode on you rasshole
I fuck around and get hardcore
C-4 to your door, no beef no more nigga
Feel the rough, scandalous
The more weed smoke I puff, the more dangerous
I don't give a fuck about you or your weak crew
What you gonna do when Big Poppa comes for you?
I'm not running, nigga I bust my gun and
Hold on, I hear somebody coming."

Annotation :

[ 1994 ]

Method Man (Verse 2) :

"...T-H-O-D Man, here I am
I'll be damned if this ain't some shit
Come to spread the butter lyrics over harmony grits
It's the low killer death trap, yes I'm a jet-black ninja
Coming where you rest at, surrender
Step inside the ring, you's the number one contender
Looking cold-booty like your pussy in December
Nigga stop bitching, button up your lip and
From Method all you getting is a can of ass-whipping
Hey, I'll be kicking, you son, you doing all the yapping
Acting as if it can't happen
Your frontin' got me mad enough to touch something
Yo I'm from Shaolin Island and ain't afraid to bust something
So what you want nigga, you won't nigga
I got a 6-shooter and a horse named Trigger
It's real, '94 rugged-raw
Kicking down your goddamn door
(And it goes a little something like this)."

Annotation :

[ 1994 ]

Biggie :

"When I die, fuck it, I wanna go to hell
Cause I'm a piece of shit, it ain't hard to fucking tell
It don't make sense, going to heaven with the goodie-goodies
Dressed in white, I like black Timbs and black hoodies
God'll prolly have me on some real strict shit
No sleeping all day, no getting my dick licked
Hanging with the goodie-goodies lounging in paradise
Fuck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice
(You talking some crazy shit now, nigga)
All my life I been considered as the worst
Lying to my mother, even stealing out her purse
Crime after crime, from drugs to extortion
I know my mother wished she got a fucking abortion
She don't even love me like she did when I was younger
(Get a hold of yourself nigga)
Sucking on her chest just to stop my fucking hunger
I wonder if I died, would tears come to her eyes
Forgive me for my disrespect, forgive me for my lies
My baby mother's eight months, her little sister's two
Who's to blame for both of them
(Naw nigga, not you)
I swear to God I want to just slit my wrists and end this bullshit
Throw the Magnum to my head, threaten to pull shit
(Nigga what the fuck)
And squeeze, until the bed's completely red
(It's too late for this shit)
I'm glad I'm dead, a worthless fucking buddha head
The stress is building up, I can't
(Yo, I'm on my way over there man)
I can't believe suicide's on my fucking mind, I wanna leave
I swear to God I feel like death is fucking calling me
Naw you wouldn't understand
(Nigga talk to me please, man)
You see it's kinda like the crack did to Pookie, in New Jack
Except when I cross over, there ain't no coming back
(Yo, I'mma call you when I get in the car)
Should I die on the train track, like Ramo in Beat Street
People at the funeral fronting like they miss me
My baby momma kissed me but she glad I'm gone
(Put your girl on the phone, nigga)
She knew me and her sister had something going on
I reach my peak, I can't speak
(Yo, you listening to me motherfucker)
Call my nigga Chic, tell him that my will is weak
(Eyo c'mon nigga)
I'm sick of niggas lying, I'm sick of bitches hawkin'
Matter of fact, I'm sick of talking
(BANG)."

Annotation :

[1994]

Common :

"Chick-a chick-a I'm
Chick-a chick-a on
Chick-a chick-a my
My, own shit
Like an entrepreneur, that stepped in manure
Man I'm newer than a Jack I went up the hill with Jill
And Jack Jill's big bootay
We did the booty up, I told the Bitch she Betta Have My Money
Or step to the AMG
You know Com Sense, oh yeah him be
That nigga that be making all the bid-by-by-bye sounds
But since then, Common calm down!
I'm on some calm shit watch Com get complicated
Simple motherfuckers say the way that Com communicated
Was too complex, I got a complex not to complain
On my brain no complain and so will my community
And I prefer compliments
So I complement at an angle, of ninety degrees
It's the nineties, and music got known for the grease
I got a sense of direction and a compass
Com passed MC's with no compassion, though I heard the screams of
But I ain't shy, so why shall I comfort?
Com should have been at the fort with Jeff I'm so ill
But I chilled in my compartment with no company and no meals
Now Com could get the penny, but I want my own company
And Com is on a mission not to work for commission
It's a common market and it's so much competition
But to me, competition is none
To my comp I'm a ton I get amped like Watts in a riot
My compact disc is a commodity, so buy it
Instead of competing with Pete
Com compromised, Com made a promise
Not to commercialize, but compound the soul
With other elements, compelling sense into Communism."

Annotation :

[ 1994 ]

Common (Verse 3) :

"I might've failed to mention that this chick was creative
Once the man got to her, he altered her native
Told her if she got an image and a gimmick
That she could make money, and she did it like a dummy
Now I see her in commercials, she's universal
She used to only swing it with the inner-city circle
Now she be in the burbs, looking rock and dressing hippie
And on some dumb shit, when she comes to the city
Talking about popping Glocks serving rocks and hitting switches
Now she's a gangsta rolling with gangsta bitches
Always smoking blunts and getting drunk
Telling me sad stories, now she only fucks with the funk
Stressing how hardcore and "real" she is
She was really the realest, before she got into showbiz
I did her, not just to say that I did it
But I'm committed (giiirl, he's committed), but so many niggas hit it
That she's just not the same letting all these groupies do her
I see niggas slamming her, and taking her to the sewer
But I'mma take her back hoping that the shit stop
Cause who I'm talking bout y'all is hip-hop."

Annotation :

[ 1995 ]

Common (Verse 1) :

"I stagger in the gathering possessed by a patter-in
That be scatterin
Over the global my vocals be travellin'
Unravellin my abdomen it's slime that's babblin
Grammatics that are masculine
I grab them in, verbally badgerin broads
I wish that Madelyne, was back on Video LP
Raps I make up like blacks do excuses
I feel like Noah, hookin' my mellows up on deuces
If a broad ain't got a mind or job or crib she useless
Acoustic basslines embrace rhymes while I chase mines
They say signs of the end is near
I wonder can I walk a righteous path holdin a beer
Got more verses than a Kramer, go off like a pager
Skills uglier than Craig Mack in your ear I'm the flavor
My old bird said some of my songs sound like noise
Don't watch the Bulls as much, they got too many white boys
A million black men walkin, towards one direction
For sure, the cream of the planets... resurrection."

Annotation :

[1995 ]

Biggie (Verse 1) :

"Uh, uh
Niggas is mad I get more butt than ash trays
Fuck a fair one, I get mine the fast way
Ski mask way, nigga ransom notes
Far from handsome, but damn a nigga tote
(What you tote)
More guns than roses, foes is shaking in their boots
Invisible bully like The Gooch
Disappear, vamoose, you're wack to me
Take them rhymes back to the factory
I see the gimmicks, the wack lyrics, the shit is
Depressing, pathetic, please forget it
You're mad cause my style you're admiring
Don't be mad, UPS is hiring
You shoulda been a cop, fuck hip-hop
With that freestyle you're bound to get shot
Not from Houston but I rap-a-lot
Pack the gat a lot
The flav's bout to drop uh."

Annotation :

[ 1995 ]

Biggie (Verse 1)

"Who shot ya?
Seperate the weak from the ob-solete
Hard to creep them Brooklyn streets
It's on nigga, fuck all that bickering beef
I can hear sweat trickling down your cheek
Your heartbeat soun like Sasquatch feet
Thundering, shaking the concrete
Finish it, stop, when I foil the plot
Neighbors call the cops said they heard mad shots
Saw me in the drop, three and a quarter
Slaughter, electrical tape around your daughter
Old school new school need to learn though
I burn baby burn like Disco Inferno
Burn slow like blunts with ya-yo
Peel more skins than Idaho potato
Niggaz know, the lyrics molestin is takin place
Fuckin with B.I.G. it ain't safe
I make your skin chafe, rashes on the masses
Bumps and bruises, blunts and Landcruisers
Big Poppa smash fools, bash fools
Niggaz mad because I know that Cash Rules
Everything Around Me, two glock nines
Any motherfucker whispering about mines
And I'm, Crooklyn's finest
You rewind this, Bad Boy's behind this."

Annotation :

[ 1995 ]

Inspectah Deck (Verse 1) :

"Poisonous paragraphs smash your phonograph in half
It be the Inspectah Deck on the warpath
First class leaving mics with a cast
Causing ruckus like the aftermath when guns blast
Run fast, here comes the verbal assaulter
Rhymes running wild like a child in a walker
I scored from the inner slums abroad
And my thoughts are razor sharp I sliced the mic from the cord
First they criticize, but now they have become
Mentally paralyzed with hits that I devise
Now I testify, the rest is I, Rebel INS
Your highness, blessed to electrify
With voltage of a eel, truth that I reveal
Will crush the amateurs who scream they keep it real
Caesar black down hoodied up in fatigues
Part time minor leagues receive third degrees
Attack like a wolf pack, once I pull back
The God-U, and bust through like a fullback."

Annotation :

[ 1995 ]

GZA (Verse 1) :

"Fake niggas get flipped
In mic fights I swing swords and cut clowns
Shit is too swift to bite you record and write it down
I flow like the blood on a murder scene, like a syringe
On some wild out shit, to insert a fiend
But it was your op the shop stolen art
Catch a swollen heart from not rolling smart
I put mad pressure, on phony wack rhymes that get hurt
Shit's played like zodiac signs on sweatshirt
That's minimum, and feminine like sandals
My minimum table stacks a verse on a gamble
Energy is felt once the cards are dealt
With the impact of roundhouse kicks from black belts
That attack, the mic-fones like cyclones or typhoon
I represent from midnight to high noon
I don't waste ink, nigga I think
I drop megaton bombs more faster than you blink
Cause rhyme thoughts travel at a tremendous speed
Clouds of smoke, of natural blends of weed
Only under one circumstance that's if I'm blunted
Turn that shit up, my clan in the front want it."