Your Favorite Rap Album And Lyrics?

What is your favorite or one of your favorite rap albums?and your best verses in that album.

Mine:

This album i love,so underrated and the lyrics and flows are insane.

Favorite lyrics from the 4.

Royce:You’re dealin with a fo'-headed monster
Y'all are John McCain, you can’t lift your arms up
These po-ranhas, live by a certain code of conduct
Fuck fly hoes and blow ganja
He a prophet, predict shit
The year 2029 is gon' be the apocalypse caused by the Apophis — ME
I got it lock and key
Tell the labels we ‘bout to go on a shoppin spree
And if y'all don’t wanna sign us, you corny
Tell your hoes swallow two of these nuts and call us in the mornin
We the answer, to the dance floor please
You gotta fuck us all bitch, you can’t Ortiz
Budden, Crooked, Nickel, damn Royce please
We up in this bitch like trans or T
We the Voltron crew, it’s whatever your folks wan’ do
We turn this bitch into SOCOM 2
I’m the best rapper alive, Lil Wayne’s migraine
Jay-Z’s headache, touchin what the lead ain't
Motherfuck your feelings, you don’t know with what you’re dealin
Tryin to “ketchup”, you mustard spillin
I’m amongst hustlers killin
Money stacks touch the ceilin, what a fuckin feelin
You will never feel, you will never sell
You can’t see me, feel me, they should use my knuckles instead of Braille
I walk with the toast — feelin like
How the fuck is talk is cheap? Talk is what’s gon' cost you the most
I’m the one really yo
I’m the gun (Spark) like Omilio, you a J-Hood done video
That ain’t a diss so please don’t diss me
The mag' barrel longer than the cheese on 50
I tell a bitch click your heels twice and ease on with me
This is the life… we gone! (Onslaught)

Crooked I:I’m comin with flash just to blast your facemask
Bullets flyin faster than the NASA spacecraft
Get half your face smashed by the click-clack
The impact’s a passion of massive plane crash
The mic minister write literature, rhyme sinister
might injure, your nine endin your life when it’s the
prime miniature time witness the prime
Innocent lives kissin goodbye, picture the I, givin a FUCK!
The truth (walkin) just walked in the booth (talkin)
Too (often) I put a hot beat in a new (coffin)
For instrumentals I dig a grave
Then drop so many bars around you when you listen feel like you in a cage
Niggaz styles is sour, you makin lemonade
Take a thousand hours to write, our rhymes (Minute Made)
Me, Joey and Joell leave you crippled
Mother-FUCK five cents, but we’ll kill you over Nickel
We some killas! (killaz)

Joell Ortiz:I’m still waiting on my did to get back
He went to the store in 84 and I ain’t seen him after that
Another single mom public assisted the rent wasn’t consistent
So they had us back and forth to court in the months of the blizzard (Freezing)
My sneakers leaned the rubber was missing
No one on ones they always jumped me no brothers and sisters to hold me down
Along with headphones plugged into a cheap Walkman that ate tapes
Gun shots and me sleep walking I hate weights
A whole lot of crying police chalking that fate tape
Ambulance never on time they like a day late
My cousin ain’t had to vacate my best friend since age eight
Sometimes I can’t hold them I kid you not
Eyes get swollen holding on that tissue box
Somebody get a mop
I’ll probably be in heaven when the pain stops
Til then all I’m hearing is wind and raindrops. (Rain Drops)

Joe Budden:Niggaz know I get it in on that microphone
Y'all don’t know where to begin on that microphone
I don’t see how y'all could win on that microphone
A pioneer, I set trends on that microphone
Decide who you wan' be on that microphone
I see a bunch of lil' me’s, micro clones
Too many 20 milligram Vic’s I’m on
Killed the web, it don’t matter what site you on
Save his mouth ‘fore he’s runnin off
I tell 'em bridge or a tunnel, give a FLUCK how I come across
All these wanna be tough guys, son is soft
Gun go off, havin like a good show, just spun 'em off
Treat old-timers like fags who drop the soap
They mic got Alzheimer’s, forgot that they was dope
Too many dogs, not enough barkin yet
Too many blueprints, not enough architects
Rhyme ain’t started yet, still every bar’s a mess
FUCK record sales or who the machine markets best
I’m the last muh'fucker that y'all should test
I’m the sharp shooter, you the nigga I target next
Too many frontin like y'all that fly
REACH it, cause we set the bar that high (FOOL) (Microphone)

September 20th, 2013

He had to unscrew about fifteen screws
Before he could pull the panel off the back
To get in the fecking thing
But just as he did so, he said he saw something
That slipped inside behind the panel
Down the back of it
Must have been some leaflets or a bill maybe
I didn’t want to lose the bill in case it was a final warning
So we both tried to get the back off and work out
If there was any more screws to get out
Or if we left any in
And when he looked down the back of the TV his eyes just froze
Before he rammed his hand in, saying, “No shit!"
He’s looking at me absolutely speechless
He can’t quite believe what he’s trying to pull, out the slip
I get up wondering what he’s smiling about
He’s shaking his head at this point with the biggest of grins
I look down the back of the TV and that’s where it was
In all its glory: my thousand quid

September 20th, 2013

The Wu is too slammin' for these Cold Killin' labels
Some ain’t had hits since I seen Aunt Mabel
Be doing artists in like Cain did Abel
Now they money’s getting stuck to the gum under the table
That’s what you get when you misuse what I invent
Your empire falls and you lose every cent
For trying to blow up a scrub
Now that thought was just as bright as a 20-watt light bulb
Should’ve pumped it when I rocked it
Niggas so stingy they got short arms and deep pockets
This goes on in some companies
With majors, they’re scared to death to pump these
First of all, who’s your A&R?
A mountain climber who plays an electric guitar?
But he don’t know the meaning of dope
When he’s looking for a suit-and-tie rap that’s cleaner than a bar of soap
And I’m the dirtiest thing in sight
Matter of fact, bring out the girls and let’s have a mud fight
——GZA, Protect Ya Neck

It’s been twenty-two long hard years of still struggling
Survival got me bugging, but I’m alive on arrival
I peep at the shape of the streets
And stay awake to the ways of the world cause shit is deep
A man with a dream with plans to make cream
Which failed; I went to jail at the age of fifteen
A young buck selling drugs and such who never had much
Trying to get a clutch at what I could not touch
The court played me short, now I face incarceration
Pacin' — going upstate’s my destination
Handcuffed in back of a bus, forty of us
Life as a shorty shouldn’t be so rough
But as the world turns I learned life is hell
Living in the world no different from a cell
Everyday I escape from Jakes giving chase, selling base
Smoking bones in the staircase
Though I don’t know why I chose to smoke sess
I guess that’s the time when I’m not depressed
But I’m still depressed and I ask what’s it worth
Ready to give up so I seek the old Earth
Who explained working hard may help you maintain
To learn to overcome the heartaches and pain
We got stickup kids, corrupt cops, and crack rocks and
Stray shots, all on the block that stays hot
Leave it up to me while I be living proof
To kick the truth to the young Black youth
But shorty’s running wild, smoking sess, drinking beer
And ain’t trying to hear what I’m kicking in his ear
Neglected for now but yo, it gots to be accepted
That what, that life is hectic
——Inspectah Deck, CREAM

September 20th, 2013

Always I’m in some shit, my abdomen is the clip
The barrel is my dick, uncircumcised
Pull my skin back and cock me, I bust off when they unlock me
Results of what happens to niggaz shock me
I see niggaz bleedin runnin from me in fear, stunningly tears
fall down the eyes of these so-called tough guys, for years
I’ve been used in robberies, givin niggaz heart to follow me
Placin peoples in graves, funerals made cause I was sprayed
I was laid in a shelf, with a grenade
Met a wrecked-up tech with numbers on his chest that say
Five-two-oh-nine-three-eight-five and zero
Had a serial defaced, hopin one day, police would place
where he came from, a name or some sort of person to claim him
Tired of murderin, made him wanna be a plain gun
But yo I had some other plans, like the next time the beef is on
I make myself jam right in my owner’s hand

That’s my favorite verse on the album

September 20th, 2013
ROMANS116's photo

2,635

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jz2zMQsX8Uo (Favorite Verse)
Yeah I got a double consciousness, but I’m still in touch
Cops got my hands in the air, so I ain’t feeling much
Lookin for protection, all I can see is tyrants
I’m fighting them coons and thugs, some racists and Don Imus
That lady you call ho (yeah)
That’s my lover
That woman you call bitch (yeah)
That’s my mother
Them boys that you killed
Them my brothers
Send the ship to the island, we can rescue some others
Did they fight for civil rights so we could sit on gold?
I can’t walk in your shoes, you keep sellin your sole
No
Ain’t much Booker T when you look at me
But a whole lot of Dubois making noise
Until then

September 20th, 2013