I love Hip Hop. I love everything about what makes it so profound in my life and how I am always a part of it. It is a culture born from above average people whom ingeniously created to make a better aesthetic life out of limited resources. It is revolutionary. It never asked for permission to be seen or heard while inspiring the uninspired, and it neither apologized for its liberty being felt. Hip Hop is a culture born to outright the wrongs of all conditions in an environment of injustice by celebrating life. Yes, a better life fantasized about in the American Dream. No, not celebrating materialism, bling, or capitalism because it did not begin with anything or was it given anything from the start. No, Not at all, but to celebrate urban life as an expression for liberty and happiness by the inviting spirit of what the Statue of Liberty was meant to represent:
“Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Let us continue into the nitty gritty.
By: www.scmbconsulting.com
Solomon W.F. Comissiong
President, SCMB Educational Consulting
What Hip Hop Means to Me:
Words, beats, and life! Words, beats, and life! Those three things are what R.A.P. (Rhythm And Poetry) became to mean to me. It is what defines how I felt about the music that I fell in love with almost instantaneously. I became consumed with this music that made my body move but at the same time stimulated my curiosity for learning. I mean, it was obvious that I was being entertained by this music…that much I knew. What was not obvious was the fact that I was learning things from this new style of music at an incredible rate. It was so regaling to me and I was so young that I had no idea what was being feed to my brain. I just simply could not get enough of it. Rap music was life. The words and the beats became my life.
When I came to the US from Trinidad around the age of 10, I was devoid of the music that I grew up on. There was an absence of the rich steel pan and soca music that Trinidad had provided me. Suddenly I was in a place where those forms of music failed to exist. I mean, no one outside of my apartment was listening to anything that resembled soca or steel pan. I quickly had to adapt to a new way of life as do many children who come to the states from other countries. I had always taken to things that I found interesting. I took to basketball immediately and I took to rap music in the same way. I became entranced the first time I heard that sound accompanied by spoken words flowing out of my friend’s boom box. It sounded like nothing I had ever heard before. I could feel the passion that emanated from the rapper’s voice and the beats that clung to it. That day I was formerly introduced to rap music. Rap music became my solace, my teacher, my buddy, and one of the sources of my black identity.
I grew to know artists like: KRS-ONE, Public Enemy, Poor Righteous Teachers, Brand Nubian, Intelligent Hoodlum, Queen Latifah, Main Source, the Native Tongues Crew, Too Short, and LL Cool, to name a few. I didn’t know them personally, but I sure felt as though I did, based on all the time I spent listening to their words. The words these artists rapped was nothing short in ingenious. I was so entertained by the rhythm, the beats, the lyrical content, and the style that these musicians encompassed. I later found out that some of these artists became among the best teachers of history that I had ever had. I was not formerly taught by them in a conventional classroom with a dilapidated blackboard, out dated text books, and squeaky wooden desks. That was not my classroom for instruction. When I was being taught by the likes of BDP and Public Enemy my classroom occurred wherever I happened to be listening to their music. Sometimes it was on the bus while my walkman’s headphones rested gently on my ears. Sometimes it was outside near the basketball courts where they (rap artists) lectured from my friend’s boom box, or “ghetto blaster” as we used to call it. These lectures could take place at any time or anywhere. All I had to do was listen to the music. The best part was that it was fun to learn from them. I didn’t even realize until I was older, as to how much I actually was learning about history, politics, and vocabulary.
KRS showed up as a surprise guest at a show hosted by Chuck D. He then proceeds to wreck shop and get seriously busy by rhyming about Barack Obama and Democracy. he says its good to have an African American in office but the revolution does not stop
Just another classic joint from Nas..........
[Lyrics]
[sample singing]
"Woke up this mornin', you got yourself a gun, you got yourself a gun"..
[Chorus]
Yo I'm livin' in this time behind enemy lines
so I got mine, I hope you ("got yourself a gun")
You from the hood, I hope you ("got yourself a gun"
you want beef I hope ya ("got yourself a gun")
And when I see you I'ma take what I want
so you tried to front, hope ya ("got yourself a gun")
You ain't real, hope ya ("got yourself a gun")
[Verse 1]
My first album had no famous guest appearances
the outcome, I'm was crowned the best lyricist
many years on this professional level
why would you question who's better?
the World is still mine, tattoos real
with "God's Son" across the belly, the boss of rap
you saw me in Belly with thoughts like that
to take it back to Africa, I did it with Biggie
Me and 2Pac were soldiers of the same struggle
You lames should huddle, your teams shook y'all feel
the wrath of a killer, 'cause this is my football field
Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder pads, apparel
but the Q.B. don't stand for no quarterback
every word is like a sawed-off blast
'cause y'all all soft and I'm the black hearse
that came to haul y'all ass in
it's for the hood by the corner store
many try, many die, come at Nas if you want a war.
[Chorus]
[Verse 2]
I'm the N the A to the S-I-R
and If I wasn't I must've been Escobar
you know the kid got his chipped tooth fixed
Hair parted with a barbers preciseness
Bravehearted for life, it's -
the return of the Golden Child, son of a blues player
so who are you playa? y'all awaited the true savior
puffin' that tropical, cups of that Vodka too
Papi chu', tore up, wake up in a hospital
Throw up? never, 'member I do this through righteous steps
you Judists thought I was gone, so in light of my death
y'all been all happy go lucky, bunch of sambos
call me Gods Son, with my pants low
I don't die slow, put them rags up like Petey Pablo
this is Nasdaq dough, in my Nascar with this Nas flow, reppin'
hit the record sto', never let me go, get my whole collection.
[Chorus]
[Verse 3]
It's - the - return of the Prince, the boss
this is real hardcore, Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit's soft
sip criss, get chips, wrist gliss, I floss
stick shift look sick up in that boxsta Porsche
with the top cut off, rich kids go and cop the source
they don't know about the blocks I'm on
and everybody wanna know where the kid go, where he rest at?
where he shop at and dress at?
know he got dough, where does he live?
is he still in the bridge?
does he really know how ill that he is?
got all of y'all watchin' my moves
my watch and my jewels
hop in my coupe, dodge interviews like that
It's not only my jewels, ice anything, plenty chains
Look at my tennis shoes, I iced that
Who am I? the back twister, lingerie ripper
automatic leg spreader, quicker brain getter
keepin' it gangsta wit' ya
[Chorus]
[Verse 1]
Tell me wat'chu really wanna do (Come here ma)
Talk to a nigga, talk with me
You look like you could really give it to a nigga,
from the way you talk and the way ya try to walk for me
The way you really try to put it on a dawg
Threw ya hips like ya never did before for me
The way you break yo' back, and I break yo' neck,
and the way you try to put it on the floor for me
(Come on!) Come on (Come on!) Oh yeah
Tell me where my niggas is at (Ok!!)
Lemme address y'all niggas one time,
while I lock that down, and I hit'cha wit that (YOU GONE!)
That bomb shit, y'all niggas gone all day
Be the nigga in the drop,
Y'all niggas know every time I come through,
this motherfucker, where we always takin the ride
(So let me do this bitch)
Y'all niggas know when we come, we be makin it flop,
the way we makin it hot'll make a nigga wanna stop... {*pause*
Get money, then cash that check for me
All my niggas just bust yo' tech for me
Everybody from every hood bang yo' head,
'til you break your motherfuckin head for me!
[Chorus]
Just let me give you real street shit,
to ride in yo' shit with
Recline yo' seat, rewind this heat
Keep bouncin up and down these streets
So nod yo' head and
Break yo' neck nigga!
Break yo' neck nigga!
Break yo' neck nigga!
Bang yo' head until you start to
Break yo' neck nigga!
Break yo' neck nigga!
Break yo' neck nigga!
Break yo' neck!
[Verse 2]
Come along now (Let's put it down nigga!)
When I bounce back and you know I done caught my breath,
y'all niggas all know how we do,
when the way we bang niggas in the head, and we do it to death
(We fold 'em back whodi!) The fire boy, you know we bakin a ounce
I know you love the way we be givin you the music, makin you bounce
Now fuck it up just a little for my niggas,
everytime we come through niggas know that we did it for y'all (Uh-huh)
And the way we do it for the people,
niggas know we always give it to y'all
I said bounce (Come on!)
In the day time or the night, when ya creepin along,
Well just bang this shit up in the truck,
while you break yo' neck, now motherfucker try to figure my flow
See the way we come right through (When we come right through!)
We be always blowin the spot, again and again,
and make a nigga really wanna STOP... {*pause*
Better tell yo' crew, yo' peeps,
all my niggas better put they troops on
And gather up your soldiers nigga,
you know you better keep yo' boots on
All my niggas in the place (Aiyyo!)
Wave your hands high now, and the way we put it down,
make a nigga wonder what he really gonna try now
What'cha really wanna do?
Just place your bet, and put'cha money where ya mouth is (Ah-hoo)
All my niggas in the street just break yo' neck and keep on boun-cin!
[Chorus]
[Verse 3]
Here we go, and you know everytime Busta-Bus be holdin the fort,
my nigga watch how we shuttin it down,
The way we put it on, comin through like a steamroller,
me and Dre nigga ain't no fuckin around
My nigga (WHAT!) Yeah whattup,
Me and my team got a link cuz you know we stay choppin it up
And when get up in the club,
or how my niggas at the bar how we lockin it up
And we get a little (High!) And we get a little (Drunk!)
And we get a little (Crunk! Come on!)
Lemme give y'all niggas some shit,
that'll make you wanna bang this out yo' trunk (Come on!)
Get money, then cash that check for me
All my niggas just bust yo' tech for me
Everybody from every hood, bang yo' head,
'til you break yo' motherfuckin neck for me!
