Who taught you to hate the texture of your hair? Who taught you to hate the color of your skin, to such extent that you bleach to get like the white man? Who taught you to hate the shape of your nose, and the shape of your lips? Who taught you to hate yourself, from the top of your head to the soles of your feet?

Who taught you to hate your own kind—who taught you to hate the race that you belong to, so much so that you don’t wanna be around each other? No, before you come around asking Mr. Muhammed does he teach hate, you should ask yourself: who taught you to hate being what God gave you?

“If there was an old days, we pioneered it.”
— Nas

The lyrical quality of 90s hip hop is astounding in comparison to rap these days; even average MCs were technically proficient, and new kids like Nas came through blazing: “I move swift and uplift your mind, shoot the gift when I riff in rhyme”.

Nas, Live at the BBQ (1991)

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 soundwave’s over
Before stepping to me you’d rather step to Jehovah

Slamming MCs 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!

Nas:
“You got some songs, brother that’s violent, without being violent. Without cursing, but you get your point across, you make people stand at attention. There’s times I hear something that Common does that I’m like, ‘I wish I made that song.’ He got a way to approach certain records, like…”
Audience member:
“‘Get Em High!”
Nas:
“Yeah! Get Em High, you know it’s crazy, it’s too many to name actually.”

— 52nd Grammy Weekend

Get Em High (Kanye West ft. Talib Kweli & Common, 2004):

Get ‘em high like noon or the moon,
Or room filled with smoke, a hype filled with dope
Y’all assumed I was doomed, out of tune,
But I still fill the notes with real nigga quotes

Real rappers is hard to find like a remote,
Control rappers out of, used to but still got love,
That’s why I abuse you who are not thugs

Rock clubs like Tiger Woods in the hood,
Should have my own reality show called Soul Survivor
I stole on liver niggas than you,
You’s a bitch, I got ones that are thicker than you

How could I ever let your words affect me,
They say hip hop is dead, I’m here to resurrect me,
Marks is too sexy to even make songs like these
That’s why the raw don’t know your name, like Alicia Keys

To many featured MCs and producers is populer
Twelve thousand spins, nobody got to copping the album,
How come? You the hot garbage of the year,
It’s clear your image is snooped up

Label got you souped up, telling you you sick,
When you a dick with a loose nut
Video hard to watch like Medusa
Even your club record need a booster
Chimped up, with a pimp cup, illiterate nigga!

Read the info/infra-red across your head I’m bread/bred king like Simba
Bo(u)lder then Denver, I ain’t a Madd Rapper just a emcee with a temper
You dancing for money like Honey, I did this my way
So when the industry crash, I survive like Kanye

Spitting through wires and fires, MCs retiring
Got yo hands up? Get them motherfuckers higher then!

“Put the CD on your tongue: yeah, that’s pure man.”
— Kanye West

Nas’ verse on ‘Verbal Intercourse’ is one of the greatest in hip hop history:

Through the lights cameras and action, glamour glitters and gold
I unfold the scroll, plant seeds to stampede the globe
When I’m deceased, by then the beast arise like yeast
To conquer peace, leaving savages to roam in the streets

Live on the run, police paying me to give in my gun
Trick my wisdom with the system that imprisoned my son
Smoke a gold leaf I hold heat, nonchalantly
I’m grungy, but things I do is real it never haunts me

It’s like a cycle, niggas come home, some’ll go in
Do a bullet, come back, do the same shit again
From the womb to the tomb, presume the unpredictable
Guns salute life, rapidly, that’s the ritual.

He first recorded this on a demo track called ‘Deja Vu’, a clear version of which was recently unearthed. It continues:

They telling you your state of mind, like you worthless
So he curses, his moms saying bible verses, that’s all she works with
But miracles never leave the churches,
Instead it hits the pockets of the preacher just to purchase
A house with a swimming pool, labels me a sinning fool,
I’m just a nigga who inherited a winning jewel…

Zip of ‘Deja Vu’ (9 mb). [source]

My girls wear lipstick while they’re making my beats,
They got guitar picks in their purses, Louboutins on their feet
They got no time for waiting in lines,
They got sex and 808s running through their dirty minds…

Mad I smoke hydro, rock diamonds that’s sick,
Got paid off my flow, rhyme with my own clique
Take trips to Cairo, layin with yo [chick],
I know you praying you was rich, fucking prick
When I see ya I’ma Kick in the Door, waving the .44!

This goes out for those that choose to use
Disrespectful views on the King of NY
Fuck that, why try, throw bleach in your eye
Now ya brailling it, stash that light shit, or scaling it

Ain’t no other king in this rap thing, they siblings,
Nothing but my chil’ren, one shot, they disappearing
It’s ill when, MC’s used to be on cruddy shit
Took home, “Ready to Die,” listened, studied shit

Now they on some money shit, successful out the blue
They light weight, fragilly, my nine milly
Make the white shake, thats why my money never funny
And you still recouping, stupid!

Apparently he’s been reading various Thurber portions on TV for a couple months. Here’s another piece: ‘Nine Needles‘.

Never Change (2005): [youtube link]

I asked was he dabbling, he laughed and said he managing
His Carti frames was as clear as a camera lens,
He hardly changed, I was near in comparison

It was Tuesday when I saw him, figured Friday I could call him
Woke up early Wednesday morning, flew a chick in from New Orleans
Up in Nostrum’s for a fresh pair to floss ‘em
Of course with footwear I be that first nigga that sport ‘em
Debating my destination, lacing, weighing my options
Celly started rocking, I anwsered, “What’s poppin’?”
They anwsered and said, “They shot him, now the hood got a problem.”

By Hugh MacLeod