So I'm a lil behind on this one, but Rae BEEN leaking a few joints from the new album (dope cover by the way), and I thought it would be a heresy for me not to share it with the people:
Pure raw rhyming. It's hard not to appreciate such a long winding, rare breath paused verbal barrage that Cappadonna served up here in the classic 96' 'Ironman' album. Being lyrical doesn't always mean you have to drop knowledge, concept or cultured vocabulary. Sometimes the beauty of rhyming can be best seen in it's most simple form. 'Winter Warz' verse by the cab-driving Cappa aint' pretty, it's straight from the Staten Island ghetto. Check the hostility....
You heard of the rasp before but kept waitin for the sun of song, I keep dancehalls strong Beats never worthy of my cause, I prolong Extravangza, time sits still No propoganda, be wary of the skill As I bring forth the music, make love to your eardrum Dedicated to rap nigga beware of the fearsome Lebanon Don, Malcolm X beat threat CD massacre, murder to cassette I blow the shop up, you ain't seen nuttin yet One man ran, tryin to get away from it Put your bifocal on, watch me a-cometh into your chamber like Freddy enter dream Discombumberate your technique and your scheme Four course applause, like a black dat to dat You're stuck on stupid like I'm stuck on the map Nowhere to go except next show bro Entertainin motherfuckers can't stop O in battlin, you don't want me to start tattlin All upon the stage cause y'all snakes keep rattlin Bitch, you ain't got nothin on the rich Every other day my whole dress code switch So just in case you want to clock me like Sherry All y'all crab bitches ain't got to worry Can't get a nigga like Don dime a dozen Even if I'm smoked out I can't be scoped out I'm too ill, I represent Park Hill See my face on the twenty dollar bill Cash it in, and get ten dollars back The fat LP with Cappachino on the wax Pass it in your think, put valve up to twelve Put all the other LP's back on the shelf And smoke a blunt, and dial 9-1-7 1-6-0-4-9-3-11 And you could get long dick hip-hop affection I damage any MC who step in my direction I'm Staten Island's best son fuck what you heard Niggaz still talkin that shit is absurd My repotoire, is U.S.S.R. P.L.O. style got thrown out the car and ran over, by the Method Man jeep Divine can't define my style is so deep like pussy, my low cut fade stay bushy like a porcupine, I part backs like a spine Cut you like a blunt and reconstruct your design I know you want to diss me, but I can read your mind Cuz you weak in the knees, like SWV Tryin to get a title like Wu Killa Bee Kid change your habit, you know I'm friends with the Abbott Me and RZA ridin name printed in the tablet under vets, we paid our debts for mad years Hibernate the sound, and now we out like beers and blunt power, born physically power speakin The truth in the song be the pro-black teachin
