Introspective rapping at it's finest, Push and Malice are on form as expected but Ab Liva and Sandman don't get enough credit, every verse is flawless.
[Malice:] You're gonna have good days, but better save for the rainy ones! So much pain, it weighs on my cran-ium. Dollars, no cents, the walls are caving in. 30 years, my parents split, I'm so ashamed of them; And so I swerve, life throws curve-balls; 2 Mill, ain't got the nerve to get birds off, I compensate for my wrong, I give a Berg-doff, I pour my heart in the song, and that's unheard of.
malice wtf, this is him at his best how can he give u street content n yet teach n inspire all at once verses like that we should value n not take for granted especially when we stuck what we stuck with
[Malice, cont'd:] Especially these days, rap's got a key place In my heart, and if it fails, remember to keep faith. Cuz I can't wait for Skateboard to save me, My house in de-fault; his house paisley! He's not at fault, no not vaguely, He's on a yacht, somewhere with Jay-Z. Luckily for me, I'm a hustler baby, A fly-ass '89 guy, you can call me crazy.
Ab a Philly underrated rapper. Don’t get the credit of top tier. Sandman might’ve been completely slept on but may be a lack of material exposed to the masses. If only they had the platforms we have today
[Pusha-T, cont'd:] And I ain't gon' talk to Russ the way RUN is Powder in my past, reminisce on the tonnage, Add in the President, call it the Second Coming. I apo-lo-gize for the destruct and decay, That was part of pun by my Liberace key-play, Twist metaphors to avoid sounding cliche, Nancy: Reagan dead, Ronald put in the PJs. 80's Baby, when the mayhem was born, I wear the rainy days like I was made for the storm.
[Ab-Liva:] On rainy days I sat back and cooked crack in Bugz' house The kitchen light was dim from the crack smoke, Peeking through a cracked back door for the po-lice, Back room crack friends front 'fore we throw dice, In between sales on them slow nights, cold nights, Kerosene heaters huddled over but the smoke Make you choke like the re-si-due of those lost souls At the end of they rope, like, cuz see I'm losing hope like And have kids injected to this shit: what a low-life!
[Sandman, cont'd:] The plan to add hard, all my work was moving, How I get the pack? Them 31 illusions! Tricking the minds, of those with broke dreams, Seeing reality, through the crack pipe steam, And all I seen, was handles on the Beemer Hammer in my jeans, under the Sergio Tuquina; Bitches on the lenses, and my lenses rocking Tinas In they Benzes while they laughing and they leaning; And we never seen't it; thought we had it made and laid, 'Till the Feds came down, bringing rainy days.
[Sandman:] I remember the first time my mom broke food: "Fuck them Jordans, you cuttin' up in school!" Them pretty bitches had me slippin', cuttin' class for ass, GOD DAMN, I had my mom riffin'! Lord as my witness, I still feel the sickness, My '93 Christmas, when I didn't get shit; That day I gripped my coat, and just moped, Around outside, not knowing that I'd find: Reason to believe in what they call the raw, The sales-man, selling cooked up salt for glass frogs,
[Ab-Liva, cont'd:] Rims on cars, gems like a star, But it gotta be a better fucking way, but it was slow like, Babies. Hades, is where my kind goes like, Feelin' like a raisin in the sun, I can't grow right, Then I gotta flow right, now a nigga so right.....unh!
that nigga really was feelin a kind of way and when you're a lyrical artist on top of your character and the relations you have with people are flakey the business will get aired out on the mic.
