There is a long list of rapsters with immense talent and capability who will never receive the recognition and adulation they probably deserve, guys who will forever lose out to the latest trends and the wildest gimmicks.
It's not much of a stretch to say Sean Price is on that list. That's the way the world works. Even rap music, the holiest of holies, isn't fair. Who would've thought?
After the jump, the secret of Mona Lisa's smile will be revealed. Okay, that's a blatant lie. Post leap, Sean's lyrics, the song, and a few words about pesky Golden Age nostalgia.
P!
Botswana, Small time little league playa', Pop Warna'
Rock corners with hot blocks that's drug infested
Supply suppliers my money stay thug invested
No disrespect to Duck Down Records (Waddup)
After this go round a nigga lookin' for the exit, peace!
Sincerely Pirex Pot Sean, cook it, cut it and spit it on nahright.com
The Vet earner of stripes ta sket burna'
Tears in my eyes when thinkin' of Hex murder (what up Hex)
I don't parlay with the crew nigga
I don't Wale wit' tha new niggas
Hardcore rap and Mary J. Blige records
The god gone snap, I'm wavin' the 5 reckless
Sean Price the best rapper in Brownsville
Don't know me? By the time this song done you clowns will
(hurt sumpin, na' mean,
fuck outta here, grown man rap. I'll get my son to fuck one
of ya'll young rappers up, word to mother.)
Ah where was I, Oh yes
Sean Carter is nice but Sean Price is the best
Sean gone, no Chandon, Sean is a don, I dont wear Sean John
Army suit blackberry brandy is long johns
matchin' cheese tims, you seperate weed stems
Weed carry, bulletproof vest tester
glock'll spray ya just'a left of Rockaway and Chester
Too old to rap to young to whack, 10 finga's, 2 hands my nigga,
the guns clap
I don't like niggas no more
8 figure dreams nigga, but the figure is 4
These are words from a thousandaire
Sellin crack in the P's disquised in some housin' gear.
I fucked up somewhere down the line, but I got my shit in order
The crown is mine
P!
Botswana, Small time little league playa', Pop Warna'
Rock corners with hot blocks that's drug infested
Supply suppliers my money stay thug invested
No disrespect to Duck Down Records (Waddup)
After this go round a nigga lookin' for the exit, peace!
Sincerely Pirex Pot Sean, cook it, cut it and spit it on nahright.com
The Vet earner of stripes ta sket burna'
Tears in my eyes when thinkin' of Hex murder (what up Hex)
I don't parlay with the crew nigga
I don't Wale wit' tha new niggas
Hardcore rap and Mary J. Blige records
The god gone snap, I'm wavin' the 5 reckless
Sean Price the best rapper in Brownsville
Don't know me? By the time this song done you clowns will
(hurt sumpin, na' mean,
fuck outta here, grown man rap. I'll get my son to fuck one
of ya'll young rappers up, word to mother.)
Ah where was I, Oh yes
Sean Carter is nice but Sean Price is the best
Sean gone, no Chandon, Sean is a don, I dont wear Sean John
Army suit blackberry brandy is long johns
matchin' cheese tims, you seperate weed stems
Weed carry, bulletproof vest tester
glock'll spray ya just'a left of Rockaway and Chester
Too old to rap to young to whack, 10 finga's, 2 hands my nigga,
the guns clap
I don't like niggas no more
8 figure dreams nigga, but the figure is 4
These are words from a thousandaire
Sellin crack in the P's disquised in some housin' gear.
I fucked up somewhere down the line, but I got my shit in order
The crown is mine
P!
(starts at 0:05)
Spaceghostpurrp makes Triple Six tribute tapes, Rocky goes H.A.M like the birth certificate reads Houston, and grimy New York rappers make grimy New York rap like the 90s never ended. Genre lines, regional tastes, and the passing of time are ethereal concepts that hip-hoppers have no use for. That's a fantastic thing.
I didn't grow up listening to Golden Age rap. ODB wasn't my idol, and I didn't want to be lyrically Talib Kweli Rakim. Some guys sit around and pine for the good old days, but I'm not one of them.
Nostalgia isn't a bad thing, I'm not saying that. It's just, dudes could spend their time better. Instead of flooding Youtube comments with shit about how "Big L would slaughter such-and-such" and "fuck Bricksquad, Wu 4 lyfe!11", all you have to do is hit play. God praise the internet for bringing all the music of the world to our fingertips. It's as easy as hitting play on your favorite old jam. Hit play on Rakim's best lyrical performance, RZA's nicest beat or Biggie's nastiest freestyle. Or, you know, listen to Sean Price, or any other New York rapper who wishes the millennium had never come around.
It's as simple as that. That's the beauty of music. It's timeless. This track right here came out in 2010. This one came out in 2011. While modern rappers push us further and further into the world of synths and dubstep and techno, some dudes never forget. And that's a wonderful thing.
This song? Why is it dope?
Because of that nostalgia factor. Because of those 90s hallmarks that will never die. The boom-bap beat. Classic shit like "bulletproof vest tester" and "Cheese Timbs". The blanket diss of all new, soft-ass rappers. The vicious flow, the unbridled machismo (the guy threatens to punch a school bus), and even his nostalgia ("hardcore rap and Mary J. Blige records").
Instead of pining for the good old days, hit play. P!
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