Dear Family (Part 8)

 

   Sept 6, 2012

Fam,

I wanted to comment on some comments that I've seen pop up on Incandesio's blog.

     You guys seem to like the debate of who the best rappers is, and I've already wrote a letter about this. I told you I believed that I was, but I didn't make a case for myself, thus, this letter.

     Some people were using the words “best latino rapper”, but when it comes to the best, everyone applies. And when it's all said and done, there can only be one number one.

     With that said, nobody's writing multi-syllable rhymes at my level of dopeness or degree of difficulty. Just to give you an example of what multi-sylable rhyming is, I'll give you twelve lines from a Cold 40 (unreleased).

let my ink pen drain slow as it bleeds it's painful

but I do it to release, jus to sleep my eight yo

as I eat my tray mo fuckin Beans Alfredo,

and how ya'll gon serve some cold steamed potatoes?

I'm cheese 'n' bagels, fried green tomatoes

five seasoned brain pros, white skeet on they nose

I scream for great blows, Chinese and Anglos

fine freaks I date those, why read the lables

My freeworld day goes dime pieces nay clothes

slide grease on a-holes, eyes meet and they know

limes squeeze champaign po, nine g's was play dough

now dese hoes got me in a nice suite on K-row....

     On the first four lines I'm doing four syllable rhyme structures, with the 2nd syllable serving as a connector. On lines five through twelve, I add on extra syllable, which creates five syllable structures, making the third syllable the connector. I'll write out these structures:

(note: Connectors “C” don't necessarilly rhyme.)

     There's all kinds of rhyme structures, and as long as the connectors are in the same place,the rhymes are in the same place, and the syllable count is the same, you're on top of your game. (Of course, your words have to be dope, too.)

     I'll take eight lines from a Cold 40 (unreleased) I wrote a few weeks ago to show you another multi-syllable rhyme structure:

shippin bricks with border guys, this is skill that mortifies

in this field important, like, “Gimme fifty horny wives!”

chicks've written for advice, listen pricks'll shorten lives

why you think his story mimics Mista Clinton's morbid lies

sit up in the corner cry or split 'n' give divorce a try

yes it's gonna hurt if you keep kissin dickless porcupines

kill it if it's born to die, picture this with tortured eyes

misery is all the crazy shit you bitches normalize....

     These structures are seven syllables long, with syllables 1,3,5, and 7 rhyming, and 2,4, and 6 are connectors “C”. I'll write those out for you:

     If rap was a “quadathalon”, I'd say those would be the four areas of compitition:

1.) Rhyme Capacity- Degree of difficulty and quality of multi-syllable rhyming.

2.) Impact- Whether love, hate, anger, joy, comedy, war, peace, defeat, success; the ability to draw emotion.

3.) Word Play- The witty use of words, whether metaphors, similes or other unique and creative twists.

4.) Delivery- Energy, charisma, clarity, speed flow, weed flow, swag; the ability to capture the listener with control and confidence.

     Other catagories could be “Story-Telling”, “Street Authenticity”, “Music Production”. But not all rap artists tell stories, not all are from the streets, and most don't make their own beats. It's wildly coincidental that I excell in all these areas, but I'm trying to be fair here. Never-the-less, I'll talk about music production in a second. Right nw I want to go back to the “quadathalon.”

     There's many greats that are sick as fuck in a few, if not all, of these catagories. Some may even be stronger than me in certain areas. But when it comes to over-all strengths, only one man stands alone. Nobody can tell me there is a man, or was a man, who can wreck me on a microphone.

     I've spoke a little about Cold 40;s, but let's talk about actual songs. Have you noticed how the music's been around for years yet it remains addictive? Hillwood is almost two decades old and still sells like crack. Songs like “Comin Up Comin Down”, “Revenge”, “Children of the Ghetto” are just as sick today as they were in 1995. I made Hustle Town in 1996 and kids (who weren't even born yet) are jammin “Block of Rock”, “Run Away”, “Mary-Go-Round” as I speak. I know how people feel. I know why they say I'm the best. No one is more addicted than I am. If I had a choice between pussy, pizza or Revielle Park, I promise that Beach House would be jammin in my cell, right now.

     You mentioned a few greats in your comments; guys like Tupac, Biggy, Jay-Z, Eminem, Lil Wayne, Big Pun. This takes me to my next question: Who was, or is, making all their own beats? All you have to do is check the production credits and you'll see it wasn't them. I know Kanye produces music, and Eminem has delved into a few beats, but I literally blew up when my fingers touched a keyboard. The very first day Filero taught me how to use the ASR-88 I made a magical beat. Then I accidentally erased it. I went into the restroom and cried like a little bitch because I didn't think I would ever make a beat like that again. The next day I woke up and made what would eventually become “Wizard of Oz.”
Then I ran straight to the magic pen:

It was plain to see, from the age of three

one day dopefiends would be pagin me

I got crunk in the game, niggaz knew my name

Hillwood, the place, I gained my fame

Sixteen, in a Seven-Seven Seville

smoke-gray, gold trim, big daddy grill

back in '86 I was choppin bricks

to think a damn papermate got me rich

I got love for the homies in every hood

with hate in your heart it'll never be good.....

 

     Mayne, hold up! Go listen to that beat. Listen to all of 'em. Block out the lyrics and concentrate on the music: Wizard of Oz., Mary-Go-Round, Deep Instrumental, Habitual Criminal, The Beach House, Woodson and Worthing, Red Beams and Rice, I Must Be High, Screwed Up Tape, Dope Game, Riddla on the Roof, Moham Mitchell, Stay On Your Grind, Mexican Radio, Streets On Beats, Filthy Rich, SPM Vs. Los, Iatola and on and on. Some albums I was lazy and paid for beats. I only made one beat on Time Is Money, “Medicine”, and that's the only song niggaz give a fuck about. But I made 90% of Hustle Town, Never Change and Reveille Park, and those albums are insanely revered.

 

     On When Devils Strike, I made “If I Die”, “Creep With Me”, “Garza West”, “Day of Unity”, “Blazin Janey”, “Something About Mary”, and I can't remember what else. (I know I made that intro song where Carolyn is singing, “Vaile asi, mamita, vaile asi!”)

 

     On The Last Chair Violinist, I made “The Ghost”, “Vogues”, “These Streets”, “In Hillwood”, “Gangsterous”, “Hoggin and Doggin”, and “The Last Chair Violinist.” All original beats, no samples.

 

     Some people say that numbers don't lie. What they're saying is that whoever sells the most number of albums is, in reality, the best. Please, homie. You telling me Vanilla Ice was the best rapper of his era? Not even he would say that. But he sold over ten million albums and turned the rap game upside-down. Nobody had ever seen rap sales like that before. Then MC Hammer comes along and sells over ten million albums. You gonna tell me he was the best? I don't mean to be rude, but it wasn't their lyrical skill that sold those albums.

 

     Numbers don't lie, you're right about that; but they also don't determine who the best is. But since we're on the subject of numbers, let me say this: No artist on earth, who gets the same minimal airplay as I do, sells as much as I do.

 

     Dudes like Kanye, Drake, Weezy, Eminem, Jay-Z get played on over 800 stations across America. And I'm talking heavy rotation, 50 to 70 spins a week, sometimes more.

 

     Take 50 spins and multiply that by 800 stations. That's 40,000 spins a week. I might have 7 or 8 stations that play me periodically.

 

     The Last Chair Violinist was the #5 rap album in the nation, and that was with (maybe) 40 spins a week.Can you imagine if I was getting 40,000? Shit, just imagine if I was getting 4,000 spins a week. But radio stations don't give us a fair shake. I guess they figure we're already invading the country, taking jobs and moving next door with our roosters and shit. Giving us more power is the last thing they wanna do.

 

     Even on my Cold 40's you'll see countless multi-syllable rhymes. Everything I write carries a high degree of dfficulty, even when the subject is silly or playful. Some of you may not notice, all you know is that it sounds good. As long as you like it, that's fine with me. But think about how people feel everytime a new 40 is posted. No music, no voice, just written words. What other rappers cause that kind of draw with sheer lyrics? Even in million dolla studios, niggaz can't fuck with a 28¢ pen.

 

     If for some reason that upsets you, I'm sorry. I didn't eat the right vegetables, or do the right exercises to develop anything special. All I did was smoke weed and fuck hoes all day. I might've given rap 3% of my time yet I still murdered mothafuckers. I made the 3rd Wish in less than two weeks and that album sold over 80,000 copies in Houston alone. (Those sales are all reported on Neilson Soundscan.) Now, I'm dedicating more to my craft so you know competition is fucked.

 

     Speaking of competition, or lack there of, guess who's back for round 2? Mothafuckin Miglo! Don't ask me why the boy likes getting ripped and shredded, but I'm making a display of it. You'll see.

 

     As far as the greatest rapper of all time, I've spoke my peace. The wetback from a jet-black set jack got the best rap so respect that or get slapped with a dead bat's left flap. (Fine! I faultered at the end!) If you're not convinced of my royalty, well, I wasn't trying to convince you. Like I wrote in my last letter, everyone has their own opinion based on personal reasons. But if I'm going to say I'm the best, it's only respectful to all the greats that I show why I feel that way, and that's what this letter was about.

 

     Alright, we move to “the battle.” For those who don't know, I've got a homeboy over here that keeps challenging me. He sends me his flow, and I respond by sending him a forty-line verse dedicated to destroying his ass. On my last “Family Letter”, I explained that Miglo doesn't understand the four-beats-per-bar you should structure your verses around. In other words, I'm pretty sure his flow would be impossible to perform on a beat, but let's not make fun of 'em. I'll start with Miglo and, please, feel free to skip over his shit if you'd like. lol!

 

__________________________________________

 

"Largo"
 P.S. Don't make a "Freudian-slip"

"Los"
Don't make me turn into NASA and blast off/
cuz I'm burnin your asshole like colon cancer and hot sauce
But cuz it's you I'm droppin lines with no cost/
Just pay me my respect and tell me I'm da Boss/
and turn me into a saint I'll bring you closer to God/
you already got fucked with your freedom played and robbed
Just fuck with me and it's not nice
get your fat neck Columbian sliced &
Turn your small nutts into a bag of rice
Feed your shitty tripas to my pet mice
There first name is fuck and the last is You
Da Dope House niggaz singing the blues
and da song goes on I'll crack there heads too
with a South Park Bong, ring a ding, ding dong
But I ain't finished with you
shovel your brains give it to my Pitt as dog food
he'll lick the blood off your shoes turn them back to blue
O-My pitt barks it's Dalishess
I'm the reason ________ is sleeping with da fishes
Who's that screamin? Bang! Bang!
My bad killin is just a H-Town thang
It's cold but fuck you and them frost bites
turn your skin into a kite/fly your flesh on a rainy night
"Carlos" your sailing dreams I'm teaching metaphors
No! opportunities no! revolvin doors
melt your CD and hallucinate off the plastic
I'm surrounded by roaches but nigga your a magget
But I already turned you into a fly
Bizzzzzzz, Bizzzzzzzzzzzz, Bye! Bye! (Lossssss)

Ha! Ha!
Elixir "rap"
Miglo AKA Da Key

 

 

__________________________

 

 

Alright, Fam, (laughing)

 

     I spelled everything, and wrote everything, just as he did. I blanked out one word because it sounded like the name of a hood, or a click, he may have been at war with. Also, at the bottom of the page, he drew a little fly, flying around going, "Bizzzzzzzzzzzzzz Losssssssssssssssss, Bizzzzzzzzzz Lossssssss!" I think they may have dropped him on his head when he was a kid. Anyway, it's wreck-a-nigga time.

 

 

"The Sideshow"

 

(Another Cold 40)

 

 

Oh, Mister Miglo, time for ya facelift

 

you will call me "so mean", so I call you Tay Swift

 

Nikki in my spaceship, nigga let the paint drip

 

My pockets fat, yours are thinner than a snake lip

 

all you say is strange shit 'n' diddle with your adverbs

 

look up at the sky, see those six or seven black birds?

 

They will hear your last words, eatcha writing hand first

 

"It was just a wack verse! Come on, birds, that hurts!"

 

First steal a fan's purse, give it to my rap church

 

after that I order you to murder both your hamsters

 

I'm the only Pastor, you are just the plaster

 

I shape you, now look, you're a pony with no ass fur

 

also, where ya back curves, sits a very mad Smurf

 

with a leather whip, yelling, "Go, you fat bastard!"

 

kicking you with brass spurs, getting on your last nerve

 

took you to the rodeo 'n' made you wear my dad's shirt

 

All of it was captured, load it on ya I-phones

 

Everybody laugh at the pony wearing rhinestones

 

chills in ya spine bone, wishing you could drive home

 

took ya last piece of pride, crushed it like a pine cone

 

Have you, like, "Why Los? All I did was try, bro.

 

Are you really serious? Tell me these are typos!"

 

You have let the dice roll, gambled with ya life so

 

even if you hide where the mothafuckin mice go

 

Catch you with a rice bowl, put you in my bike spokes

 

turn the wheel, up until, Snap! "Hey, my thigh broke!"

 

now you walk the tight rope, Do the Cotton-Eye-Joe!

 

"How, man, can't you see I'm hoppin on my right toe?!!"

 

took your suicide note and mailed it to some blind folks

 

no one really gives a fuck, bud, you're the sideshow

 

all they want is my flow, Jump and try to fly hoe!

 

Matta fact, TALK like the lizard selling Geico!

 

(Yeah, it's da hydro, mind gone, I know)

 

But he drew first blood! Bitch, I'm John Rhymbo!

 

Psycho! Strike foes! Slice throats! Eyes Close!

 

Even Hulk Hogan has to talk to me in nice tones!

 

(Damn, Los, you ice cold) Bubblin like Sprite floats!

 

I would be the coldest even snugglin with five goats!

 

Killin rappers high hopes, fuck'em they can die slow!

 

Even make Miglo fuck around and braid a guy's fro!!! lol!

 

 

 

Oh, shit!

 

I killed this nigga!

 

 

P.S. Look, Meeg, either

leave this shit alone, or

you'll have to start braiding

hair. I will make you do it, my nigga. Haha!