I'm pretty positive I'm going to catch some flak for this... what with it being my first post in almost 6 months and all. Whatever...
October 24th, 1929... not ringing a bell? Let me press on.
December 7th, 1941... still not jogging your memory? Figures.
This obviously isn't working for you so let me try something a little more recent.
August 24th, 1992
April 19th, 1995
August 28th, 2005
Seriously? Nothing?! Damn...
Go back on decade though and one date pops up in your mind. 9/11. Unfair. Bullshit. That's fucked up.
"But Fed, almost three thousand people died that day!" you say. And?
"Fed, a country was changed forever!" you hollerin at me. So?
"How would you feel if you lost someone, my nigga?" you getting pissed off at me. I can feel it.
BIG DEAL.
Now. If you haven't guessed by now, I could give a fuck about 9/11. Not at all. Not one bit. It's my freedom as a fuckin person to choose not to care. "You're heartless. I can't fux with you saying shit like that," you thinkin. Bye. It really isn't important to me.
You see, 15 years before the "worst attack on American soil since Pearl Harbor (That was the 12/7/41 date by the way)" Anton Deshawn Johnson was born the same exact day. But it wasn't 9/11 then. It was just September 11th, 1986. The day after the 10th and before the 12th.
"Who the hell is Anton Deshawn Johnson?" I bet you saying right now.
"Federal Ranga," I tell you.
"Federal Ranga? I know him. The dude with the rap video shit on YouTube right?"
"Yeah. Anton is him."
*ding*
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, fuck. Now you figured it out. This post is about ME, me, it's all bout me (Word to Weezy).
"Blasphemy!", "Bullshit!" "How selfish!" I hear that shit already. I've been hearing it for a 10 years. Please believe it's old. It was old the day it happened. People ask me how could I be insensitive about such a tragic event. I give them the same answer. It's out of my hands, has nothing to do with me and didn't change anything for me afterwards. Point blank. Hurricane Andrew, the war in Iraq, Katrina, Oklahoma City Bombings, Tsunamis in Asia and shit. It's all whatever to me.
This is no different.
The truth of the matter is, for every fucked up event that happens out there in the world, you always got that one person who tells you to "get the fuck over it." And guess what? They're right. I blame media and youtube for making a shitty day for America SO DAMN RELIVABLE. What other day in America's history has had so much, footage, testimonies, stories, books, etc done for it? Name one. I dare you. If I were one of the dead, I'd be pissed off. Because when 9/11 rolls around, people don't just think about remember the dead I died, they are pretty much brought back to the past instantly and THAT is truly what makes 9/11 so hard to get the fuck over.
Now y'all know I gotta bring the hip hop in... Biggie. Dead. We got the fuck over it.
Pac. Dead. We got the fuck over it.
Big L.
Proof.
Pun.
Dolla.
G.U.R.U.
Mac Dre.
Eazy E... I can do this shit all day. We still got the fuck over it. I'm not saying you can't cry. I'm not suggesting you can't mourn. I wouldn't dare tell you the country shouldn't unite as one to grief through this shit. What I'm saying is... you can't do it forever.
But back to me... That's what I said this post was about, right? Of course. I'm mad that I have to share my birthday with this shit; clowned year after year about being a 9/11 baby (What the motherfuck?) and being asked the stupidest shit in the world, "Where were you when the towers fell?"
In a mufuckin library minding my damn business.
But I digress... at the end of the day 9/11 is not 9/11 to me. It's my birthday. Just like it was before until the day I die. So take it how you want, but I'll sum this whole clusterfuck of a post with three sentences.
Fuck 9/11. I had a 15 year head start. The only 911 I give a fuck about is a Porsche.
Happy Birthday to Federal Ranga, bitches. Twitter that.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Thursday, March 31, 2011
I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!!
What's crackin world? It's the big homie Federal Ranga... Damn, sounds like I'm doing my show doesn't it? I'on blame you if it does. The last time you guys saw me here it was June 2010 and I was in the middle of the Adventures of Federal Ranga about to have my character tear off in the Game's ass [||]. Honestly? I got stuck. I wrote bars SO hard for Game I didn't know what to put for Fed. Ain't that a bitch? Please believe Fed's gonna win though (come on, I wrote this shit).
That's not the only distraction that's kept me away from WtCMS. My ex-fiance aka Fed's Lady, work, bullshit and the recent explosion that is Commission!!! Productions spearheaded by my "popular" vlog On Yo Ass!!!. Yes you gotta say it with 3!s. On Yo Ass!!! has become the crown jewel of my life. I love talking hip hop & rap shit, interviewing artists, being sent music to review & feature on the show and knowing that I can actually profit from it, too. But I'm not gonna talk y'all heads off with all that. We'll get to that soon enough. I'ma write what the hell I wanna write and what y'all like, just like before and this time... nothing's coming down when it goes up. LET'S GET IT!
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Adventures: Ronnie the Ruler
(As told by Tony Grand$)
Being in the Commission!!! is rough sometimes. Being me is complicated. Being a writer, an emcee, a mentor and a neighborhood conglomerate is hard, but that's neither here nor there. All this is a cakewalk compared to the degree of being associated with -
"GRAND$!!! My man!"
- Ron Mexico's "Better Half". If you haven't guessed now -
"GRAND$!!!"
- I'm -
"GRIZZY!!!"
Tony Grand$.
"AYO, TG!!!"
And that man -
"You ignoring me?"
- who seems to have a megaphone for a voicebox today -
"Nigga, I know you hear me!!! PIERZY!!!"
- is a nuttier than an handmade acorn pie for a squirrel's Thanksgiving. What black man you know gives himself the last name Mexico? But what can I say? I'm his right hand man []. For those of you unfamiliar, if you ever come not too far out from the Cali/Zona border between Interstate 40 and 10 you'll find Ron Mexico City. He was originally going to go with "Siteefullanigguzville", but only changed the name because it wouldn't fit on the city seal for the police cars. Indeed. The man is something else. That may just be how he got this far. Being different. I can respect a man who does his thing, righteously even if unorthodox in their methods at times.
"TONY MUTHAFUCKIN GRA-"
"Damn, dude! WHAT?! I'M RIGHT HERE, HOMEY!!!"
"Oh... well, when you put it like that, I think you may want to use your inside voice then," he says to me walking around my office looking at my many literature plaques. I'm not going to say I'm the next Stephen King, but my pen breaks the mightiest of swords if you smell my cologne.
"I was..."
"Nigga please. This is an inside voice," he replies actually louder than when he first toned it down.
"Whatever you say. So what can I do for the man with the keys to the city today?"
"Nothing much," he says calmly while lifting the remote to my plasma on the wall. "Have a look at this." He points the remote to the TV and turns it on. The screen shows live news footage of LAX and a what looks like a mob to me. "Recognize anybody familiar, sir? You remember that broad back in Jersey wah wah wah wahhh waaahhh wah wah wah..."
As I rise out of my chair (and Ron begins to sound like every adult in Peanuts) I do notice a figure I can't mistake for anybody else. Is he serious? It's Fed, alright. A news team is reporting:
This is Kristal Hansburg for Channel 9 KCAL News live at LAX. What appears to be a battle going on between Miamian Federal Ranga and mysteriously freed from prison, ex G-Unit Blood rapper, The Game has now drawn the attention of airline staff, flight passengers, police, Rakim Allah and hundreds of fans who are rushing the airport just to get a glimpse of what some are already calling "lyrical carnage." Apparently The Game is returning a favor of some kind is has already spit an amazing 64 bars. There have been no reports of any injuries during at this time, but we'll keep you posted with the latest as this battle continues.
"Word. A battle at LAX?," I ask myself out loud focusing on my man Fed.
"Battle? Fuck no. Something much more important" he replies changing the channel to Maury. I still can't believe that show is still on... "Remember her?"
Maury - When it comes to now 6 month old Mexavier. Ron, you are NOT the father...
*Wild reaction from the crowd as the girl in question runs off to the backstage.*
Ron - What!!! What!!! I told that bitch! I told that bitch!!! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!! Nigga, pleeeeease!
BZZZT
"Wait a minute, that's what you wanted to show me? Hold up... Is that why you took last week off? To go on Maury?"
"Well... yeah. Shit, a mayor of my stature can't be associate with that crab ass trick."
"That child doesn't have a father. Doesn't that disturb you at all?" A long pause. Ron intensely stares at me for a second and then...
"Nope."
"That's cold. Look, I'ma gonna slide down to LAX and see what's going on down there, you should-"
"Nonsense, my man," he says grabbing me by the shoulder and leading me out of the office. "Come. I wanna show you something." Walking on the overpass above all the newspaper's workers, I look down and can't help but to ignore Ron for a minute just to admire how far this thing has come over the years. Mad proud. After crossing the overpass into his office he claps and the blinds come up at all of his windows and the city appears in plain view. Gotta admit, it's breaktaking at times. The city is busy as usual and everything seems normal. "You see that shit?"
"What?" I ask approaching the window he's looking out of.
"That shit," he repeats pointing towards a building a few blocks away. I noticed a U-Haul truck and the people moving out of the joint. "Why in the hell are they moving out of my city?"
"Maybe to another place in RMC, man. Relax. It's no big deal," I say walking away from the window.
"Nigga, please," he rasps back. "Look at these numbers, man."
I walk towards the desk a few papers are sitting on and pick them up. It's an emigration chart for the 1Q of the year. "Aight, so 14 percent more people moved out of the city than last quarter. That's nothing. 26 percent more moved in this quarter. Dude, you're coming up on 3.5 million residents. You wilding, my man."
"Maybe, I am, Grands. Maybe. I. Am. Nonetheless, I can tell the people's morale is low. This city needs something. Something big. And damnit, I'm going to give it to them. I'm going to give it to them ALL, nigga. You feel me?"
"Ummm, pause? I guess... but I really should get on down to the airport."
"I GOT IT!" Ron screams raising a finger in the air. "I'm going to throw the biggest hip hop concert this side of the planet! I want everybody. Snoop, 50, Dre, Wu-Tang, Common, Aye Verb, Murs, the list goes on and on. WAIT!!! What about that guy you're cool with from Miami? Goverment Official or something..."
"Federal Ranga," I correct him. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind we could add him to the concert line up."
"Wait... I have an idea. What if we get him and add him to the concert line up?"
"I just said -"
"I'm a genius! My idea. Mwuahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaa!!! I got your morale right here," he boasts grabbing his jewels.
"Yep, your idea. You're a genius," I say slowly sneaking out of the door of his office.
Having finally escaped what was sure to be one of his epic monologues that start out of nowhere, I made it downstairs to go to my car. Along the way I could only think of why the hell there was a battle going on at the airport. Why's Rakim there? How did Game get out of prison? Weird. After finally getting to my car, I jumped in and turned on the TV to the live broadcast of the battle. LAX, here I come. "Hold on, Fed. It's not over yet..."
To be continued...
Being in the Commission!!! is rough sometimes. Being me is complicated. Being a writer, an emcee, a mentor and a neighborhood conglomerate is hard, but that's neither here nor there. All this is a cakewalk compared to the degree of being associated with -
"GRAND$!!! My man!"
- Ron Mexico's "Better Half". If you haven't guessed now -
"GRAND$!!!"
- I'm -
"GRIZZY!!!"
Tony Grand$.
"AYO, TG!!!"
And that man -
"You ignoring me?"
- who seems to have a megaphone for a voicebox today -
"Nigga, I know you hear me!!! PIERZY!!!"
- is a nuttier than an handmade acorn pie for a squirrel's Thanksgiving. What black man you know gives himself the last name Mexico? But what can I say? I'm his right hand man []. For those of you unfamiliar, if you ever come not too far out from the Cali/Zona border between Interstate 40 and 10 you'll find Ron Mexico City. He was originally going to go with "Siteefullanigguzville", but only changed the name because it wouldn't fit on the city seal for the police cars. Indeed. The man is something else. That may just be how he got this far. Being different. I can respect a man who does his thing, righteously even if unorthodox in their methods at times.
"TONY MUTHAFUCKIN GRA-"
"Damn, dude! WHAT?! I'M RIGHT HERE, HOMEY!!!"
"Oh... well, when you put it like that, I think you may want to use your inside voice then," he says to me walking around my office looking at my many literature plaques. I'm not going to say I'm the next Stephen King, but my pen breaks the mightiest of swords if you smell my cologne.
"I was..."
"Nigga please. This is an inside voice," he replies actually louder than when he first toned it down.
"Whatever you say. So what can I do for the man with the keys to the city today?"
"Nothing much," he says calmly while lifting the remote to my plasma on the wall. "Have a look at this." He points the remote to the TV and turns it on. The screen shows live news footage of LAX and a what looks like a mob to me. "Recognize anybody familiar, sir? You remember that broad back in Jersey wah wah wah wahhh waaahhh wah wah wah..."
As I rise out of my chair (and Ron begins to sound like every adult in Peanuts) I do notice a figure I can't mistake for anybody else. Is he serious? It's Fed, alright. A news team is reporting:
This is Kristal Hansburg for Channel 9 KCAL News live at LAX. What appears to be a battle going on between Miamian Federal Ranga and mysteriously freed from prison, ex G-Unit Blood rapper, The Game has now drawn the attention of airline staff, flight passengers, police, Rakim Allah and hundreds of fans who are rushing the airport just to get a glimpse of what some are already calling "lyrical carnage." Apparently The Game is returning a favor of some kind is has already spit an amazing 64 bars. There have been no reports of any injuries during at this time, but we'll keep you posted with the latest as this battle continues.
"Word. A battle at LAX?," I ask myself out loud focusing on my man Fed.
"Battle? Fuck no. Something much more important" he replies changing the channel to Maury. I still can't believe that show is still on... "Remember her?"
Maury - When it comes to now 6 month old Mexavier. Ron, you are NOT the father...
*Wild reaction from the crowd as the girl in question runs off to the backstage.*
Ron - What!!! What!!! I told that bitch! I told that bitch!!! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!! Nigga, pleeeeease!
BZZZT
"Wait a minute, that's what you wanted to show me? Hold up... Is that why you took last week off? To go on Maury?"
"Well... yeah. Shit, a mayor of my stature can't be associate with that crab ass trick."
"That child doesn't have a father. Doesn't that disturb you at all?" A long pause. Ron intensely stares at me for a second and then...
"Nope."
"That's cold. Look, I'ma gonna slide down to LAX and see what's going on down there, you should-"
"Nonsense, my man," he says grabbing me by the shoulder and leading me out of the office. "Come. I wanna show you something." Walking on the overpass above all the newspaper's workers, I look down and can't help but to ignore Ron for a minute just to admire how far this thing has come over the years. Mad proud. After crossing the overpass into his office he claps and the blinds come up at all of his windows and the city appears in plain view. Gotta admit, it's breaktaking at times. The city is busy as usual and everything seems normal. "You see that shit?"
"What?" I ask approaching the window he's looking out of.
"That shit," he repeats pointing towards a building a few blocks away. I noticed a U-Haul truck and the people moving out of the joint. "Why in the hell are they moving out of my city?"
"Maybe to another place in RMC, man. Relax. It's no big deal," I say walking away from the window.
"Nigga, please," he rasps back. "Look at these numbers, man."
I walk towards the desk a few papers are sitting on and pick them up. It's an emigration chart for the 1Q of the year. "Aight, so 14 percent more people moved out of the city than last quarter. That's nothing. 26 percent more moved in this quarter. Dude, you're coming up on 3.5 million residents. You wilding, my man."
"Maybe, I am, Grands. Maybe. I. Am. Nonetheless, I can tell the people's morale is low. This city needs something. Something big. And damnit, I'm going to give it to them. I'm going to give it to them ALL, nigga. You feel me?"
"Ummm, pause? I guess... but I really should get on down to the airport."
"I GOT IT!" Ron screams raising a finger in the air. "I'm going to throw the biggest hip hop concert this side of the planet! I want everybody. Snoop, 50, Dre, Wu-Tang, Common, Aye Verb, Murs, the list goes on and on. WAIT!!! What about that guy you're cool with from Miami? Goverment Official or something..."
"Federal Ranga," I correct him. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind we could add him to the concert line up."
"Wait... I have an idea. What if we get him and add him to the concert line up?"
"I just said -"
"I'm a genius! My idea. Mwuahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaa!!! I got your morale right here," he boasts grabbing his jewels.
"Yep, your idea. You're a genius," I say slowly sneaking out of the door of his office.
Having finally escaped what was sure to be one of his epic monologues that start out of nowhere, I made it downstairs to go to my car. Along the way I could only think of why the hell there was a battle going on at the airport. Why's Rakim there? How did Game get out of prison? Weird. After finally getting to my car, I jumped in and turned on the TV to the live broadcast of the battle. LAX, here I come. "Hold on, Fed. It's not over yet..."
To be continued...
Monday, May 24, 2010
Adventures: Battle or Bus Pt. 5: Game Goes Off
Game's Bars
(As told by Federal Ranga)
We finally about to get it on. Rakim is in the house, it's 64 bars and it's time to go. What's the Difference by Dr. Dre is spinning (what's up with all these west coast beats, man?) and the crowd is pumped. Feeling cocky than a mufucka, I opt to go first. I didn't want people to think I had time to think lyrics out. Fuck that. I got some type of integrity damnit.
"Yo, let's do this shit!," I holler out. "I'ma go ahead and straight-" This nigga completely cuts me off and starts his 64 bars off. Fine. Fuck it. Let him go... fag. Only one of us really has something to prove here.
Game 64:
Now keep ya eyes wide open. I dilate you, nigga
I'on need Busta Rhymes to Violate you, nigga
This is Eazy like the E, but minus the 40
And they gon be pourin em out when I'm done with you, shorty
This nigga'z like 5'10". Why he rappin tough?
Spike Lee must be doing casting the way he acting up
You as real as Avatar. Nigga, paint ya skin blue
And cripwalk down Compton so my Bloods can skin you
Is you insane in the membrane like B-Real?
Taking this battle bigs you up, nigga, let's be real
You be dickriding $yk on some groupie shit
That's killing ya whole crew softly on some Fugees shit
I done been to Miami and you know what I noticed?
Survey says Fed's a rapper, but nobody know it
Who can blame em? Nigga, please, you trash and you weak.
Homo nigga. He'll be On Yo Ass!!! every week
You don't make ya own shit. You gotta team fullof writers
Faking the funk. Gossipping like divas and liars
You preach to the choirs, but I ain't tryna hear that
Factor in the fact when you rap, I can't fear that
It's nothing. Have this nigga crying back to his mammy
Throw a tiara on him. He's the new Queen of Miami
Please. I'ma have this faggot MIA
The only plane you know is paper like MIA
In MIA? He be running with the Dolphins and shit
I'ma catch him at the AAA small talking and shit
It's easy for me to do. My gun closet is the zoo
Don't know whether to Desert Eagle, slug or hawk him and shit
We gon see who's tough then. So why's you lying?
He 5'8" putting 5'10" on his driver's license
It's fitting. He bout to C Deez Ls like a trucker
Since you push gas, duck these Shells mufucka
Put the Exxon his head if he think he Mobil
Marathon of bullets fill his ass up for real
So chill. Or die like ya name's Yung Berg
I'm a tree. You a shrub. Bitch ass young herb
Black Wall Street, nigga. You wanna be down
Been in this shit for years and still the man you wanna be now
Wannabe clown. Put the mic down. Learn to krump
Before I pull that Tommy out and let the burner dump
This nerd's a chump. You thought you had the smarts to win
Too bad nigga. You lost. Go play ya part again
You gon lose ya head, chest, legs and arms again
You feeling like 50? Nigga, get ya army then
And speaking of that faggot, we gon beef for life
Run all you want. Nigga, you can't escape me for life
G for life. To a bitch like you it's hard to understand it
Now back to regularly scheduled programming
Look at me and look at you. You should clap yaself
Stop playing. You don't even believe you can rap yaself
It's niggaz like you people think southern rappers are stupid
When they need proof they pop in that trash you call music
I'm 10 million records deep. I did that shit on my own
And I don't have time to play with these kiddies. I'm grown
My son could probably son you. So if y'all placing a bet
Put the money on my nigga. Son of Jayceon's a threat
Ain't nothing you can say. Back to the drawing board
I mastered the art of war. What you saying your harder for?
The game is mine. It always will be
That's never gonna change until the day they kill me
But I'm too nice, my nigga. Too tight, my nigga
Ain't no way in hell you gettin on this flight, my nigga
So that plane you tryna catch? Take a look at it now
The only way you hittin NY's with your foot on the ground. BLAOW!
The crowd goes completely ape shit as this nigga starts slappin fives, fist bumping niggaz and waving at people like a fuckin parade princess and stuff. I'm floored. At this point a nigga ain't feeling to hot after that. The fighter in my says I can take this nigga, but he came stronger than I expected... not too much name droppin and if I'm not mistaken, this nigga didn't say Dr. Dre's name ONCE. I think I might be in trouble. Fuck it... I look up an Rakim and he gives me the motion to crack it off. As he does, his eyes light up Raiden style again and the music changes to a different beat. A favorite of mine. Multiply by Xzibit. I can fux with this...
Stay tuned...
(As told by Federal Ranga)
We finally about to get it on. Rakim is in the house, it's 64 bars and it's time to go. What's the Difference by Dr. Dre is spinning (what's up with all these west coast beats, man?) and the crowd is pumped. Feeling cocky than a mufucka, I opt to go first. I didn't want people to think I had time to think lyrics out. Fuck that. I got some type of integrity damnit.
"Yo, let's do this shit!," I holler out. "I'ma go ahead and straight-" This nigga completely cuts me off and starts his 64 bars off. Fine. Fuck it. Let him go... fag. Only one of us really has something to prove here.
Game 64:
Now keep ya eyes wide open. I dilate you, nigga
I'on need Busta Rhymes to Violate you, nigga
This is Eazy like the E, but minus the 40
And they gon be pourin em out when I'm done with you, shorty
This nigga'z like 5'10". Why he rappin tough?
Spike Lee must be doing casting the way he acting up
You as real as Avatar. Nigga, paint ya skin blue
And cripwalk down Compton so my Bloods can skin you
Is you insane in the membrane like B-Real?
Taking this battle bigs you up, nigga, let's be real
You be dickriding $yk on some groupie shit
That's killing ya whole crew softly on some Fugees shit
I done been to Miami and you know what I noticed?
Survey says Fed's a rapper, but nobody know it
Who can blame em? Nigga, please, you trash and you weak.
Homo nigga. He'll be On Yo Ass!!! every week
You don't make ya own shit. You gotta team fullof writers
Faking the funk. Gossipping like divas and liars
You preach to the choirs, but I ain't tryna hear that
Factor in the fact when you rap, I can't fear that
It's nothing. Have this nigga crying back to his mammy
Throw a tiara on him. He's the new Queen of Miami
Please. I'ma have this faggot MIA
The only plane you know is paper like MIA
In MIA? He be running with the Dolphins and shit
I'ma catch him at the AAA small talking and shit
It's easy for me to do. My gun closet is the zoo
Don't know whether to Desert Eagle, slug or hawk him and shit
We gon see who's tough then. So why's you lying?
He 5'8" putting 5'10" on his driver's license
It's fitting. He bout to C Deez Ls like a trucker
Since you push gas, duck these Shells mufucka
Put the Exxon his head if he think he Mobil
Marathon of bullets fill his ass up for real
So chill. Or die like ya name's Yung Berg
I'm a tree. You a shrub. Bitch ass young herb
Black Wall Street, nigga. You wanna be down
Been in this shit for years and still the man you wanna be now
Wannabe clown. Put the mic down. Learn to krump
Before I pull that Tommy out and let the burner dump
This nerd's a chump. You thought you had the smarts to win
Too bad nigga. You lost. Go play ya part again
You gon lose ya head, chest, legs and arms again
You feeling like 50? Nigga, get ya army then
And speaking of that faggot, we gon beef for life
Run all you want. Nigga, you can't escape me for life
G for life. To a bitch like you it's hard to understand it
Now back to regularly scheduled programming
Look at me and look at you. You should clap yaself
Stop playing. You don't even believe you can rap yaself
It's niggaz like you people think southern rappers are stupid
When they need proof they pop in that trash you call music
I'm 10 million records deep. I did that shit on my own
And I don't have time to play with these kiddies. I'm grown
My son could probably son you. So if y'all placing a bet
Put the money on my nigga. Son of Jayceon's a threat
Ain't nothing you can say. Back to the drawing board
I mastered the art of war. What you saying your harder for?
The game is mine. It always will be
That's never gonna change until the day they kill me
But I'm too nice, my nigga. Too tight, my nigga
Ain't no way in hell you gettin on this flight, my nigga
So that plane you tryna catch? Take a look at it now
The only way you hittin NY's with your foot on the ground. BLAOW!
The crowd goes completely ape shit as this nigga starts slappin fives, fist bumping niggaz and waving at people like a fuckin parade princess and stuff. I'm floored. At this point a nigga ain't feeling to hot after that. The fighter in my says I can take this nigga, but he came stronger than I expected... not too much name droppin and if I'm not mistaken, this nigga didn't say Dr. Dre's name ONCE. I think I might be in trouble. Fuck it... I look up an Rakim and he gives me the motion to crack it off. As he does, his eyes light up Raiden style again and the music changes to a different beat. A favorite of mine. Multiply by Xzibit. I can fux with this...
Stay tuned...
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Adventures: Battle or Bus Pt. 4: The Game & The God
(As told by a spectator in the crowd)
Aight, so check it, right? This Fed nigga destroys Crook L or whatever the fuck his name is and we snatch his ass up, namsayin? Next thing you know Game steps in all huffin, puffin and shit outta nowhere. Now I know I'm just a nigga in the crowd, but shit, I was tryna catch a flighy my-damn-self, y'know? But fuck all that, I'm into the battle now.
When Fed said that shit about Game being locked up for 50 years for impersonating an MC, he wasn't kidding. Game was already on his 6th year so I'm like *ppssshhh* fuck he get outta there and shit? See back in 2021, not too long after the USA became the Newnited States of Rap it was like all mandated and stuff that fraud wasn't tolerated on any level especially in rap. Part of some "Keep it 103" Law or something like that. So impersonating an MC today is like... like.... 1st degree murder in this bitch. And nobody takes this law more serious than President Snoopy D-O-Dub. But anyways back to this battle.
The P.A. nigga comes on again he's all: IT'S THE GAME VS FED!!! 64 STRAIGHT BARS!!! YOU CRACK, YOU LOSE!!! YOU GO IN, YOU FLY!!! LET'S GO!!!
So the nigga is about to get it in and next thing you know a light starts all shining all bright and shit. I'm talking like, police car bright, cuzo. Blinding everybody up in this bitch. When the flash finally stops beaming in my fuckin eyes, everybody in this bitch silent. I look up and I'm shuttin the fuck up off rip. Nigga, you don't disrespect the God MC. Damn, right. You heard it. Rakim, in all his realness hovering above it Fed & Game with the both of them just lookin up. Fed must don't know any better cuz before Rakim Allah can say a word...
"Ayo! What the fuck, fool!!! I'm tryna battle up in this bitch, DAMN!" Fed snaps at him!
I know this nigga.... did NOT... just size Ra up like that. The God's eyes light up, I'm talking like completely white haze up in here... like he's Raiden or something and the entire ground starts shaking hard as fuck! Now, I'da ran myself, but being from the West? Shiiiiiiiiiit, quakes are like random traffic stops. Everybody know what its like. You just waiting for it to happen again.
"Silence, kid...," Ra's voice booms like a James Earl Jones.... if he was from New York.
"Nigga, forrrrrrrrrr WHAT?! As if I'm not having a fucked up enough day as it is! I got half jacked by Kurupt, sent on a secret mission to NY by $ykotic, jammed up in here, I gotta rap my ass off to get on this plane, Game's unexplicably out the clink, and now YOU'RE here! And can somebody tell me how the fuck Nipsey Hussle got an AIRLINE JOB?! Nigga, I want answers."
"There is foul shit goin on, homie. As God MC I'm making it my personal business now to see that this is a fair contest, na'mean?" Rakim says to Fed. He starts lowering from the air to the ground while he talking. Everybody's all quiet and shit. Like you never seen a nigga fly before. DMX 737 Hijacking in 2016, anybody?
"So whatchu tryna say? This shit ain't no coincidence?"
"That's something you have to find out on your own. You got some miles to put on, aight? Now... Let's get this battle started."
Ain't nobody scared anymore, but slowly loud cheers emerge from the crowd as the battle gets read to jump again. Beat? Shit... couldn't have done it better myself. DJ starts spinning What's the Difference by Dr. Dre. Nigga, it's on!!!
Aight, so check it, right? This Fed nigga destroys Crook L or whatever the fuck his name is and we snatch his ass up, namsayin? Next thing you know Game steps in all huffin, puffin and shit outta nowhere. Now I know I'm just a nigga in the crowd, but shit, I was tryna catch a flighy my-damn-self, y'know? But fuck all that, I'm into the battle now.
When Fed said that shit about Game being locked up for 50 years for impersonating an MC, he wasn't kidding. Game was already on his 6th year so I'm like *ppssshhh* fuck he get outta there and shit? See back in 2021, not too long after the USA became the Newnited States of Rap it was like all mandated and stuff that fraud wasn't tolerated on any level especially in rap. Part of some "Keep it 103" Law or something like that. So impersonating an MC today is like... like.... 1st degree murder in this bitch. And nobody takes this law more serious than President Snoopy D-O-Dub. But anyways back to this battle.
The P.A. nigga comes on again he's all: IT'S THE GAME VS FED!!! 64 STRAIGHT BARS!!! YOU CRACK, YOU LOSE!!! YOU GO IN, YOU FLY!!! LET'S GO!!!
So the nigga is about to get it in and next thing you know a light starts all shining all bright and shit. I'm talking like, police car bright, cuzo. Blinding everybody up in this bitch. When the flash finally stops beaming in my fuckin eyes, everybody in this bitch silent. I look up and I'm shuttin the fuck up off rip. Nigga, you don't disrespect the God MC. Damn, right. You heard it. Rakim, in all his realness hovering above it Fed & Game with the both of them just lookin up. Fed must don't know any better cuz before Rakim Allah can say a word...
"Ayo! What the fuck, fool!!! I'm tryna battle up in this bitch, DAMN!" Fed snaps at him!
I know this nigga.... did NOT... just size Ra up like that. The God's eyes light up, I'm talking like completely white haze up in here... like he's Raiden or something and the entire ground starts shaking hard as fuck! Now, I'da ran myself, but being from the West? Shiiiiiiiiiit, quakes are like random traffic stops. Everybody know what its like. You just waiting for it to happen again.
"Silence, kid...," Ra's voice booms like a James Earl Jones.... if he was from New York.
"Nigga, forrrrrrrrrr WHAT?! As if I'm not having a fucked up enough day as it is! I got half jacked by Kurupt, sent on a secret mission to NY by $ykotic, jammed up in here, I gotta rap my ass off to get on this plane, Game's unexplicably out the clink, and now YOU'RE here! And can somebody tell me how the fuck Nipsey Hussle got an AIRLINE JOB?! Nigga, I want answers."
"There is foul shit goin on, homie. As God MC I'm making it my personal business now to see that this is a fair contest, na'mean?" Rakim says to Fed. He starts lowering from the air to the ground while he talking. Everybody's all quiet and shit. Like you never seen a nigga fly before. DMX 737 Hijacking in 2016, anybody?
"So whatchu tryna say? This shit ain't no coincidence?"
"That's something you have to find out on your own. You got some miles to put on, aight? Now... Let's get this battle started."
Ain't nobody scared anymore, but slowly loud cheers emerge from the crowd as the battle gets read to jump again. Beat? Shit... couldn't have done it better myself. DJ starts spinning What's the Difference by Dr. Dre. Nigga, it's on!!!
Friday, February 19, 2010
Adventures: Battle or Bus Pt. 3 - Crooked Embarrasment
As told by Fed....
Hype to Vans, I can't believe this guy is ready to go. Hold on... I guess Mr. I is about to strike when out of nowhere the announcer come back on:
AIGHT YA'LL MUFUCKAZ!!! WE GON DO IT A LITTLE DIFFERENT THIS ROUND!!! THESE NIGGAZ GON GO FOR 32 IN 4X8 ROUNDS!!! EACH ARTIST'S 8BARS BACK TO BACK AFTER THE OTHER UNTIL IT'S OVER. YOU HEARD ME, NIGGA!!! CROOK GO 8, FED GO 8 AND YA DON'T STOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!! NO STOPPIN, NO FLINCHIN!!! LET'S GO!!!
Aight... that's a real nice switch... Besides.. it's more fun that way.
"So what you waiting for, playboy?" I jeer at Crook.
"I'm just savoring this moment... I'm coming back after this one," he responds.
"That's some inspiring shit, nigga. Homo, but inspiring. Shut up and go."
I would son this nigga, but he's more like my daughter
You're way out of order. Out of time. Go to sleep
Little boy. Crooked I is Cronos on beats
And my flow so heat I burn Lincoln's Cabin
As for talent? I don't know what makes you think you have it
My skill? Can't match it. I guess you one of those guys
Who doesn't know spitting garbage is a filthy habit
No Vans on, but you still getting rolled on
Fuck a Slaughterhouse that's been forclosed on
You another hasbeen that just can't sell
So believe it when I say, "Crooked I's taking a STRAIGHT L"
Ya man Buddens is looking for someone to call out
Royce ain't been the same since him and Em had a fallout
The only cool one in ya shit is Ortiz
And he know what it was last time he saw me
Suddenly the beat switches to E-40's "Automatic"
My flow smoother than the moves of Lil Tight Eyez
See, I was playing with you Fed. Now it's no more Mr. Nice Guy
No more bullshit. That ain't what I came here to do
I gotta eat you. I was taught not to play with my food
And I'm straight in the mood to do you all kinda ways
Insomianc type flow. I do this night and day
You can see it in my face, I'm not the one to get heated
I body bag rappers. No toe tags needed
My nigga, you about to piss myself with this hilarity
This battle is favor, bitch. I'm well known for charity
Who you gonna body bag with that average verse?
I'd kill your career. But you'd have to have one first
Church! Oh, my bad. I meant to say Chuuuch!
This West Coast bias shit ain't helping you as a crutch
I'll school you to the game, bitch. I'll set you up for classes
I'm more than meets the eye. You couldn't see me with my glasses
Then the beat switches to Fresh 83' by the Game & 50 Cent? Man, I swear this battle started to get personal.
I swear this nigga think I'm a joke when I'm rappin
He must've forgot that people die laughing
Nigga, I fathered ya style. I technically invented you
I am the prototype. I do what you pretend to do
Nobody's into you. So why you acting all manish?
What its like to always be known as Tony Grand$ bitch?
Fuck you. Give me mills. Crook say what he really feel
You Milli Vanilli lil nigga that's your Achille's Heal
See you done fucked up now. Aye, this bitch gotta go
Grand$ my nigga. But Fed ain't ever dick rode a soul
Yeah I'm part of the Commission!!! Got power you couldn't fathom
Cuz I spit the kinda heat scientists use to split atoms
So with all due respect where respect is due
I can respectfully say I have no respect for you
You can't jump with me, bitch. You lost from the tip off
This a call off, you ain't fall off. You slipped off
The beat switches one last time... It couldn't be more perfect. Still D.R.E. by the Good Doctor
You stuck on your high horse. I'll take you down a step
Just by showing up, you served and clowned yaself
Shit. If I were you, I would break quick nigga
I don't discriminate. I hate bitch niggaz!
I see that look in your eye. You wanna punch me in the face
Go ahead. Swing. It'll be the last punch you'll ever take
Don't be surprised. I'm just so fuckin comfy in my space
You so far behind. You should feel lucky that you raced
See, Crook. You don't know me. I'll show you a surprise
I slice and dice rappers. Plus make Julian Fries
The skill you speak of, you lack to compete
So do a Mayweather and battle who you can actually beat
Back to defeat goes you. I'm back on my feet
I been crack. To spit that, bitch, you have to be heat
Their ain't no one on my level cuz I blew right past others
So call me Mario. Cuz I just SUPER SMASHED BROTHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
The force of my last punchline incited a fuckin riot, man... Before this nigga could even reach out to try to shake my hand for good sport, he was snatched back into the crowd screaming, "I failed you!!!" or some shit. Wonder what the fuck he was talking about?
"G-G-G-G-G-G-UNOT!!!" comes a voice from the background.
"Aww, man... you've gotta be joking."
"You going down, nigga. Is Compton in this bitch?!" Game screams out to a roar from the crowd.
"What the fuck are YOU doing here? Last I heard you doing like 50 to life for impersonating an MC."
"That's none of ya fuckin business, bitch," he snaps taking off his NWA chain. "Let's just say somebody did me a favor and I'm about to return it."
"Fuck... lets do it. I'm sick of all this bullshit. The fuck is Kurupt when you need him?"
Don't go nowhere... the battle gets ugly.
Hype to Vans, I can't believe this guy is ready to go. Hold on... I guess Mr. I is about to strike when out of nowhere the announcer come back on:
AIGHT YA'LL MUFUCKAZ!!! WE GON DO IT A LITTLE DIFFERENT THIS ROUND!!! THESE NIGGAZ GON GO FOR 32 IN 4X8 ROUNDS!!! EACH ARTIST'S 8BARS BACK TO BACK AFTER THE OTHER UNTIL IT'S OVER. YOU HEARD ME, NIGGA!!! CROOK GO 8, FED GO 8 AND YA DON'T STOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!! NO STOPPIN, NO FLINCHIN!!! LET'S GO!!!
Aight... that's a real nice switch... Besides.. it's more fun that way.
"So what you waiting for, playboy?" I jeer at Crook.
"I'm just savoring this moment... I'm coming back after this one," he responds.
"That's some inspiring shit, nigga. Homo, but inspiring. Shut up and go."
Crooked I/Federal Ranga
This is Crook's house now and you about to get slaughteredI would son this nigga, but he's more like my daughter
You're way out of order. Out of time. Go to sleep
Little boy. Crooked I is Cronos on beats
And my flow so heat I burn Lincoln's Cabin
As for talent? I don't know what makes you think you have it
My skill? Can't match it. I guess you one of those guys
Who doesn't know spitting garbage is a filthy habit
No Vans on, but you still getting rolled on
Fuck a Slaughterhouse that's been forclosed on
You another hasbeen that just can't sell
So believe it when I say, "Crooked I's taking a STRAIGHT L"
Ya man Buddens is looking for someone to call out
Royce ain't been the same since him and Em had a fallout
The only cool one in ya shit is Ortiz
And he know what it was last time he saw me
Suddenly the beat switches to E-40's "Automatic"
My flow smoother than the moves of Lil Tight Eyez
See, I was playing with you Fed. Now it's no more Mr. Nice Guy
No more bullshit. That ain't what I came here to do
I gotta eat you. I was taught not to play with my food
And I'm straight in the mood to do you all kinda ways
Insomianc type flow. I do this night and day
You can see it in my face, I'm not the one to get heated
I body bag rappers. No toe tags needed
My nigga, you about to piss myself with this hilarity
This battle is favor, bitch. I'm well known for charity
Who you gonna body bag with that average verse?
I'd kill your career. But you'd have to have one first
Church! Oh, my bad. I meant to say Chuuuch!
This West Coast bias shit ain't helping you as a crutch
I'll school you to the game, bitch. I'll set you up for classes
I'm more than meets the eye. You couldn't see me with my glasses
Then the beat switches to Fresh 83' by the Game & 50 Cent? Man, I swear this battle started to get personal.
I swear this nigga think I'm a joke when I'm rappin
He must've forgot that people die laughing
Nigga, I fathered ya style. I technically invented you
I am the prototype. I do what you pretend to do
Nobody's into you. So why you acting all manish?
What its like to always be known as Tony Grand$ bitch?
Fuck you. Give me mills. Crook say what he really feel
You Milli Vanilli lil nigga that's your Achille's Heal
See you done fucked up now. Aye, this bitch gotta go
Grand$ my nigga. But Fed ain't ever dick rode a soul
Yeah I'm part of the Commission!!! Got power you couldn't fathom
Cuz I spit the kinda heat scientists use to split atoms
So with all due respect where respect is due
I can respectfully say I have no respect for you
You can't jump with me, bitch. You lost from the tip off
This a call off, you ain't fall off. You slipped off
The beat switches one last time... It couldn't be more perfect. Still D.R.E. by the Good Doctor
You stuck on your high horse. I'll take you down a step
Just by showing up, you served and clowned yaself
Shit. If I were you, I would break quick nigga
I don't discriminate. I hate bitch niggaz!
I see that look in your eye. You wanna punch me in the face
Go ahead. Swing. It'll be the last punch you'll ever take
Don't be surprised. I'm just so fuckin comfy in my space
You so far behind. You should feel lucky that you raced
See, Crook. You don't know me. I'll show you a surprise
I slice and dice rappers. Plus make Julian Fries
The skill you speak of, you lack to compete
So do a Mayweather and battle who you can actually beat
Back to defeat goes you. I'm back on my feet
I been crack. To spit that, bitch, you have to be heat
Their ain't no one on my level cuz I blew right past others
So call me Mario. Cuz I just SUPER SMASHED BROTHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
The force of my last punchline incited a fuckin riot, man... Before this nigga could even reach out to try to shake my hand for good sport, he was snatched back into the crowd screaming, "I failed you!!!" or some shit. Wonder what the fuck he was talking about?
"G-G-G-G-G-G-UNOT!!!" comes a voice from the background.
"Aww, man... you've gotta be joking."
"You going down, nigga. Is Compton in this bitch?!" Game screams out to a roar from the crowd.
"What the fuck are YOU doing here? Last I heard you doing like 50 to life for impersonating an MC."
"That's none of ya fuckin business, bitch," he snaps taking off his NWA chain. "Let's just say somebody did me a favor and I'm about to return it."
"Fuck... lets do it. I'm sick of all this bullshit. The fuck is Kurupt when you need him?"
Don't go nowhere... the battle gets ugly.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Adventures: Wacknificent Scandals
In an undisclosed cave somewhere in the middle of Stone Mountain, Georgia a group of men sit with evil looks on their faces...
They are the Wacknificent League of Doom.
They plot to takeover the Newnited States of Rap with their catchy hooks, autotuned voices, retarded dance crazes, technicolored insane jewelry and 3rd Grade lyricism. They are the collective of Soulja Boy, Gucci Mane, OJ Da Juiceman, The New Boyz, Bow Wow, Yung Berg, Plies, Rick Ross and the entire Young Money roster.
A woman walks around a huge board room table to a wall in the cave as all the rappers turn their attention towards her. The room goes silent she presses a button on the wall and a giant flat panel TV rises from a hidden compartment.
"Where the fuck is Weezy? That swaggerless mungkey... Always fuckin late. Not like the Bossssssss," Ross lets out frustrated.
"Brrrr...," exclaims OJ. "Mayne, it's cold as fuck in here. Who dumbazz thawt it wussa gud idere to put a fuckin boardroom in Stone Mownten?"
"Aye, ya'll shut the fuck up...," an impatient Gudda Gudda lets out.
"I'm Mack Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaine!!!" screams out Mack.
"Is that all you ever say?" Soulja Boy shoots.
"Well.... yeah, I guess. I've been having problems wi-," Mack replied.
"Nigga, I ain't talking to you... I'm on Twitter, stupid," said SB, cutting off Mack.
"EH EH UH EUH EEEEEWWWHHHHHEUUUUUEH," an autotuned screech came from the TV. It was Wayne. He'd become the leader of this League.
"Finally," Drake said with a smirk."What took you so long?"
"Nunya business. I'm the animal. The shi-"
"The shit. The best rapper alive. Weezy F. Baby. Young Carter and all that... blah blah blah... will you get ON with it already? I know it's colder in Canada, but damn... I'on wanna be in this bitch forever."
"Aight. You know I love you."
Everybody in the room raised their eyebrows to this statement.
"Anyways," Weezy restarted "If you'll redirect your attention to the split screen, you'll see everything is going according to plan. Federal Ranga has already been caught in our trap and is battling for his flight to New York. He's disposed of Nipsey as expected, but I've set up his next opponent to be Crooked I."
"AYE! Mayne, how da hell you staht speekin so gud?" a confused Juiceman asks.
"I DID go to college, remember. I'm not as dumb as I am ugly, aight? Now pay attention. Crook-"
"Wait," interrupts Omarion. "How'd you get Crooked I to battle Fed?"
"Easy. I told him that I'd sign him to Young Money when he wins."
"Good idea, nigga. YAH!" spits SB believe Wayne's BS.
"But hold, boss," Jae Millz chimes in. "Nigga, I know lyrics. What if Crook loses? I mean, Fed ain't no joke."
"It matters not," Weezy insists. "Even IF he gets past him. There's no way he can defeat who I hand selected next. Observe." The TV screen shows Fed's next opponent and the room goes wild.
"Nigguh, u a genies," says Gucci.
"I know... I know... settle down. Everybody knows what to do. So for now... just sit back-" Wayne is cut off as the TV screen goes down and off. He steps out in physical form into the room with a cigar. "And enjoy the show."
Wayne and the League all begin to laugh maniacally as they all turn to watch the Crooked I battle.
"Says your prayers, bitch. You'll never make it to New York as long I breathe," seethes a pissed off Weezy.
They are the Wacknificent League of Doom.
They plot to takeover the Newnited States of Rap with their catchy hooks, autotuned voices, retarded dance crazes, technicolored insane jewelry and 3rd Grade lyricism. They are the collective of Soulja Boy, Gucci Mane, OJ Da Juiceman, The New Boyz, Bow Wow, Yung Berg, Plies, Rick Ross and the entire Young Money roster.
A woman walks around a huge board room table to a wall in the cave as all the rappers turn their attention towards her. The room goes silent she presses a button on the wall and a giant flat panel TV rises from a hidden compartment.
"Where the fuck is Weezy? That swaggerless mungkey... Always fuckin late. Not like the Bossssssss," Ross lets out frustrated.
"Brrrr...," exclaims OJ. "Mayne, it's cold as fuck in here. Who dumbazz thawt it wussa gud idere to put a fuckin boardroom in Stone Mownten?"
"Aye, ya'll shut the fuck up...," an impatient Gudda Gudda lets out.
"I'm Mack Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaine!!!" screams out Mack.
"Is that all you ever say?" Soulja Boy shoots.
"Well.... yeah, I guess. I've been having problems wi-," Mack replied.
"Nigga, I ain't talking to you... I'm on Twitter, stupid," said SB, cutting off Mack.
"EH EH UH EUH EEEEEWWWHHHHHEUUUUUEH," an autotuned screech came from the TV. It was Wayne. He'd become the leader of this League.
"Finally," Drake said with a smirk."What took you so long?"
"Nunya business. I'm the animal. The shi-"
"The shit. The best rapper alive. Weezy F. Baby. Young Carter and all that... blah blah blah... will you get ON with it already? I know it's colder in Canada, but damn... I'on wanna be in this bitch forever."
"Aight. You know I love you."
Everybody in the room raised their eyebrows to this statement.
"Anyways," Weezy restarted "If you'll redirect your attention to the split screen, you'll see everything is going according to plan. Federal Ranga has already been caught in our trap and is battling for his flight to New York. He's disposed of Nipsey as expected, but I've set up his next opponent to be Crooked I."
"AYE! Mayne, how da hell you staht speekin so gud?" a confused Juiceman asks.
"I DID go to college, remember. I'm not as dumb as I am ugly, aight? Now pay attention. Crook-"
"Wait," interrupts Omarion. "How'd you get Crooked I to battle Fed?"
"Easy. I told him that I'd sign him to Young Money when he wins."
"Good idea, nigga. YAH!" spits SB believe Wayne's BS.
"But hold, boss," Jae Millz chimes in. "Nigga, I know lyrics. What if Crook loses? I mean, Fed ain't no joke."
"It matters not," Weezy insists. "Even IF he gets past him. There's no way he can defeat who I hand selected next. Observe." The TV screen shows Fed's next opponent and the room goes wild.
"Nigguh, u a genies," says Gucci.
"I know... I know... settle down. Everybody knows what to do. So for now... just sit back-" Wayne is cut off as the TV screen goes down and off. He steps out in physical form into the room with a cigar. "And enjoy the show."
Wayne and the League all begin to laugh maniacally as they all turn to watch the Crooked I battle.
"Says your prayers, bitch. You'll never make it to New York as long I breathe," seethes a pissed off Weezy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)