Daily rap quotes about life, love and wisdom.
The way mothers feel for they sons, how fathers feel for they daughters;
When he date, he straight, chip off his own papa.
When she date, we wait behind the door with the sawed off,
Cause we think no one is good enough for our daughters.
I was a dreamer, life was a gamble;
Born in a casino, but God never give burdens you can’t handle.
Music is my ammo…I’m ready for battle.
My style is strong like hard lumber;
Cute chicks get the dick,
Ugly bitches get the wrong number.
Don’t mourn me when I’m gone, celebrate my travels;
Whenever you need me, just take a plane to the astral zones.
I never gave a rat’s ass or a flyin’ fuck…
Drivin’ drunk in a fire truck with the siren stuck,
Slammin’ the brakes, skiddin’ out cause the tires suck.
Went to pull you off my dick and got the pliers stuck.
You better run, cause I’m probably the only one
Crazy enough to shoot your ass with a knife and stab you with a gun.
You tried keeping it real, but you should try keeping it right.
I give you life decoded,
Nicely quoted.
A simple right or left
Can mean life or death.
Epic fail, or nice success,
Days of pleasure…nights of stress.
A friend with weed is a friend indeed,
Word to the stem, word to the seed.
Fuck the world, don’t ask me for shit,
Everything you get you gotta work hard for it.
Honeys shake your hips, you don’t stop,
And niggas pack the clips, keep on…
Now Joe wanna be like Bob,
Bob got it goin’ on with no job.
And everything Rob got he got from Robin,
And everything she got, she got ho-hoppin’.
My girl Jilly wanna be like Jackie,
Fat rope chains and I think that’s wick-wacky.
Tom and Dick wanna be like Harry,
Little do they know he’s bitin’ on Barry…
They say signs of the end is near;
I wonder…can I walk a righteous path holding a beer?
There’s four developing stages in the art of hip-hop,
And most of them developed from the snap, crackle and pop.
The first was the usage of an actual band,
The second was a drum machine made by a man,
The third was the human beatbox and percussion,
The fourth in line was samplin’ and the book of rhyme bustin’.
I mastered The Art of War before a nigga read Sun Tzu,
Third degree black-belt, master of Gun-Fu.
Pop pills, smoke weed, even get drunk too;
And you do what you can, and I do what I want to.
Been tested, ain’t fail: I’m tried and true.
When it’s all falling apart, my pride’s the glue.
I felt at times worthless…
Pulled shifts with shifty crime merchants,
Stained hearts, brainwashed by mind serpents.
The fact I’m still here, it’s clear it’s divine purpose.
Attention! Follow directions real close:
Keep out of reach of children, beware of overdose.
Too many milligram, but what made a iller jam?
My rhyme is the rhythm of thoughts that kill a man.
Ideas for the ear to fear, might split ‘em;
He’ll never forget ’em…he’ll rest in peace wit ’em.
At least when he left he’ll know what hit ’em:
The last breath of the words of death was ‘The Rhythm.’
I ain’t the captain of the yacht, but I’m on the boat;
I ain’t acting what I’m not, knowing that I don’t.
You niggaz acting like you will, but I know you won’t.
Man, I read between the lines of the eyes of your brows,
Your handshake ain’t matchin your smile…
I keep the ugly rhymes in the cellar of my cranium,
Where no one can see them or hear cries for freedom.
Chopped up raw thoughts the only thing I feed ‘em,
Release the beats from the cellar when I need ‘em.
I do my thing like B.B. King, my microphone is named Lucille.
Hey kid, walk straight, master your high.
I guess it’s true what they say:
When you’re too far gone, ain’t no turning back.
And coming from the Compton, mack, that’s a fuckin’ fact.
I never understood Planned Parenthood,
Cause I never met nobody planned to be a parent in the hood.
Want to know my occupation, home location, and means of transportation?
The correct combination unlocked your placenta…
I got a cellular phone with a rubber antenna,
And a 3-story house, drive a 4-door Ac.
Favorite song of all time? Mobb Deep’s ‘Hit It From the Back’
You can see the weakness of a man right through his iris.
God works in different ways and it shows,
And everybody knows: love comes and goes.
Now it’s my turn, and I am concerned
About idiots posing as kings.
What are we here to rule?
I thought we were supposed to sing.
And if we oughta sing, then let us begin to teach.
Many of you are educated…open your mouth and speak!
They say it’s lonely at the top, in whatever you do,
You always gotta watch motherfuckers around you.
Nobody’s invincible, no plan is foolproof,
We all must meet our Moment of Truth.
Guru, “Moment of Truth,” from Gang Starr’s Moment of Truth, 1998
I don’t know why y’all so highly regarded;
You rhyme like you’re borderline mildly retarded.
Stop walking through life as if you were blind,
You should reach for your goal cause I’m reaching for mine.
More rhymes are funny now, happy and silly now.
Happy-go-lucky on the mic, and meanwhile,
You standin’ still, lookin out for a good rhyme,
Makin the wack junk, wastin’ my good time.
I hope you get a paper cut on your tongue
From a razor in a paper cup.
I hope every soda you drink’s already shaken up.
I hope your dreams dry like raisins in the baking sun.
I hope your titties’ all saggy in your early 20s.
I hope there’s always snow in your driveway.
I hope you never get off Fridays…
And you work at a Friday’s that’s always busy on Fridays.
I’m just a bastard with a bad habit,
Bad back, in a black Volkswagen Rabbit
…Shit, I gotta have it.
Black magic woman put a spell on me;
Fuck around and win a spelling bee.
I could walk under ladders, still win the lotto.
Ten minutes flat: built a boat in a bottle.
The scene of a crime every night at the show,
The fiend of a rhyme on the mic that you know.
It’s only one capable; breaks, the unbreakable.
Melodies, unmakable; pattern, unescapable.
This ain’t the world we thought it was when we as in pre-school.
Sometimes it’s hard to be cool, sometimes I feel like I’m see-through.
Sometimes I really wish…I wish that I could be you.
You a white boy in a fuckin’ droptop,
Bumpin’ 2Pac, actin’ like you hard? Stop.
Hip-hop music make the world go round,
But buying a record don’t put you down.
You listen to thugs, it don’t make you one;
Never met a Blood or Crip, but you act like one?
And even after all my logic and my theory, I add a ‘motherfucker’ so you ignorant niggas hear me.
You see y’all got it all wrong like women in tuxedos,
And comin’ up shorter than five Danny DeVitos.
I’m on a cool ranch…get laid more than Fritos,
With five strippers, four wives and three amigos.
I go scuba divin’ in Bays at Montego,
I find gold links and snatch ‘em like I’m Deebo.
But I’m the light-skindeded version of Mandingo,
I’ve seen more Beatles and Jagged Edges than Ringo,
I used to run numbers in line they called me ‘Bingo.’
I used to want a Beemer, I used to want a Benz.
One thing that I never wanted was fake friends in the end.
When I drink a brew for you, I pour some on the block, son.
You might be gone, but you damn sure ain’t forgotten.
Brothers on the butters can’t flip the Parkay.
Make peace not war, make babies some more, Keep a smile when you travel from shore to shore.
My peoples: if you with me where the fuck you at?
I’m a true master, you can check my credentials
Cause I choose to use my infinite potential.
I’ll never understand why a wack rapper tries and
Convinces himself that his image is so fly and
That’s the type of crap you know I’m not buying…
Chumps lack the beats and their rhymes don’t apply.
30 rack on a neck of a artist (Say what?)
About another 20K on his arm (Say what?)
This nigga flashin’ 50 grand,
Walk around here, lookin like food for the wolves.
Listen! Illuminati rap: we don’t ride to that,
Everybody poppin’ molly…look at how they act.
(Y’all sweatin’) The whole place emotional,
Wake up to find out some dude’s Frank Ocean’ed you.
Who gives a fuck about a goddamn Grammy?
It’s like every step bring me close to destiny,
And every breath I get closer to the death of me.
I’m just tryna carry out my own legacy,
But the place I call home ain’t lettin’ me.
Most people don’t make love no more,
They just fuck and they fight.
What happened to the stay-togethers?
I’m with you, and that means forever.
Fear is weakness, learn from what experience teaches.
Beware of leeches, the vampires, my secrets…
Never follow, cause most niggas is straight up cowards.
Take care of my body’s the temple, my mind is the power.
I hate when my girl says “Give me some space”
On the telephone, and never to your face
I paid my dues, so lick the balls!
In the summer, in the winter, in the spring, and in the fall!
I didn’t get turned on, I just got turned.
I wasn’t as aroused as I was concerned.
…That’s when you start to stare at who’s in the mirror,
And see yourself as a kid again, and you get embarrassed.
And I got nothin’ to do but make you look stupid as parents,
You fuckin’ do-gooders; too bad you couldn’t do good at marriage!
Classical slap-stick rappers need Chapstick.
My first name must be “He Ain’t Shit”
Cause every time I’m in a car
Bitches be like, “He ain’t shit!”
I’ll ignore you sellin crack, killin people, and keepin it real,
But disrespect me and my adopted fam and die young like veal.
Now if I worry too much about all my have nots,
I might not recognize just what I’ve got…
Consequence is no coincidence.
Through every ghetto I carry the heavy metal,
Just in case a shovel is needed when arguments are settled.
“All I see is blinking lights, track boards and fat mics. 950s, SP-12s, MPC60s…”
– A.G., “Next Level,” from Show & A.G.’s Goodfellas, 1995. DJ Premier closes down the legendary D&D Studios (aka HeadQCourterz) today and migrates to Kaufman Astoria Studios in Queens. The recording den, where Rakim, KRS-One, Jay Z, Nas and Gang Starr made some of hip-hop’s most canonized songs, will come to a close in 2015 due to new building ownership.
You got a lot of money; OK, sure…
You can’t buy class, you’re a bum with a manicure.
Happiness is temporary, always has been.
I just lost one…but sometimes I win,
I always spread love…but sometimes I sin.
Wrote this lyric from in the bed wit’ a chick
She had the tightest grip around the head of my…
…Bic. Now, can I get my pen back?
How you looking like beef jerky, beefing in every verse,
But never beefing in person? Randy Savage.
You wouldn’t snap a Slim Jim,
You wouldn’t rip a wrapping on Christmas in Santa’s attic
With the hands of Eddie Scissors…ain’t you average?
I’m pain in the spoken form;
This new strain came from where hope is gone.
Before you act black,
Or try to dress black,
You better be born black,
Or I’ll call your shit wack.
They said he was dangerous, well, I’m concerned…
How could he be so dangerous with his back turned?
They said, “Freeze! Halt!” The brother stopped
Threw his hands in the air, yeah, and still he got shot.
They said he had a shiny object in his hand,
So they killed the man.
And is this justice? No way, José.
He didn’t get arrested, he was suspended with pay.
Talk about armed and dangerous, accounted…
How come I never heard nothin else about it?
I’m dead up, I’m goin head up, see, the buck stops
Here. I’m sick and tired of corrupt cops.
I gotta drop, cause I don’t think it will ever stop
My brain is a Tec-9 and it’s kept cocked.
And it’s got just a few more rounds to go,
They’re goin pound for pound, blow for blow.
You want peace? Let the unjust stuff cease:
If we don’t have justice, there’ll be no peace.
You were put here to protect us.
But who protects us from you?
Fuck the police, comin straight from the underground…
A young nigga got it bad cause I’m brown.
And not the other color so police think
They have the authority to kill a minority.
Word to Trayvon and Mike Brown,
Them pigs’ll gun you down and call it ‘standin’ they ground.’
The situation wack, we need a moment of silence,
Or violence…I’m only being honest.
Don’t condone it but fuck it, we ridin’,
Ain’t goin’ down without a fight.
Middle finger up if they ever try and read me my rights,
Hangin’ out the window screaming “F the police!”
Full moons, skunk weed all up in the room;
You got the munchies, baby? Ice cold milk and Lorna Doones.
I got Soul Power, never took a cold shower,
Never had a girlfriend the color of cooking flour.
I’m that neighborhood blizzard flooding these streets with snow.
I start thinking:
How many souls hip-hop has affected?
How many dead folks this art resurrected?
How many nations this culture connected?
Who am I to judge one’s perspective?
My duration’s infinite, money-wise or physiology.
I think back to when I was robbin’ my own kind,
The police didn’t pay it no mind…
But when I start robbin the white folks?
Now I’m in the Pen with the soap-on-a-rope.
I said it before and I’ll still taught it:
Every muthafucka with a color is Most Wanted.
I’mma tell you a little somethin about this chick around my way,
She was a dime with a brown skin complexion…
She looked so good you’d think you wouldn’t need protection,
Girlfriend was top choice selection, around in every section.
They got twisted, she said “No condom,” so he risked it,
Caught in the mix and now you sick kid.
Word is bond, I thought by now you learned your lesson:
Fucking around with no protection.
A thin line between the haters and the ones who love us.
A thinner line from the freedom and the foul judges,
In the streets where the snake niggas hold grudges.
Think you figured it out, but you don’t have a clue.
Think you on top of the world, but the world on top of you.
I think if Adam would have had another squeeze he might
Not have ate those fruits from the leaves of life.
Far as Eve…there couldn’t have been a more deceiving wife;
Seeing the nigga had a weak spot, and she was right.
It’s for real though, let’s connect, politic…ditto!
We could trade places, get lifted in the staircases,
Word up, peace, incarcerated scarfaces.
I love Dr. King, but violence might be necessary;
Cause when you live on MLK and it gets very scary,
You might have to pull your AK, send one to the cemetery.
Believers of Jesus be denouncing Satan on every level,
But every Halloween they’re dressin’ like devils.
Little brats yellin ‘Trick or Treat’ all through my screen door,
When y’all should be at home sleep,
Instead of at my front porch 15 deep.
The jack o’ lantern came in handy…
I can turn my porch light out like I ain’t got no candy.
But ain’t that somethin?
You buy a Halloween costume and a pumpkin,
Almost gave your children a heart attack.
It’s a tradition, but who the hell started that?
This year Halloween fell on a weekend
Me and Geto Boys are trick-or-treatin’
Robbin’ little kids for bags…
I knew this girl named Tropicana,
She’s always juicin’.
Producing cash for a sexual task.
She loves men that trick like Halloween and treat…
You ain’t paid? Then your grade is incomplete.
God really exists, I tell you like this:
It resides inside.
And anybody tell you different,
Just selling you religion,
Tryin’ to keep your ass in line.
Now when freaks get dressed to go out at night,
They like to wear leather jackets, chains and spikes.
They wear rips and zippers all in their shirts,
Real tight pants and fresh mini skirts.
All kinds of colors runnin’ through their hair,
And you could just about find a freak anywhere.
But then again, you could know someone all their life,
But might not know they’re a freak unless you see them at night.
My vocab is powerful, spit shit subliminal,
Slang therapist, my whole style is criminal.
Bugged like Bob Digital, fly visual,
Mind, body and soul, I’m a strong individual…
Come through in the final hour, with gun showers
Stand the fuck up like Flav to fight the power.
I’m an activist, socialist, deadly ass poetist
Supreme Clientele, I’m a goddamn vocalist!
It was Saturday night and I was feelin kinda funny,
Gold around my neck, pockets full of money.
Rap is not pop. If you call it that, then stop.
Rap is like a set-up…a lot of games,
A lot of suckers with colorful names.
‘I’m so-and-so,’ ‘I’m this, I’m that.’
But they all just wick-wick-wack.
Different day, same shit, same script, different plate
This the way of the world, and I’m just tryin’ ta fit in place.
They’d rather see me fail than succeed,
That’s why I’m alone on my own with no team.
Don’t need no green, though I got some to spend;
In the end…all I really need is a friend.
My mic is a Magnum.
See me and this chick, we go back like Cro-Magnon.
Man…we did it in the back of your Magnum;
I said, ‘Put them Lifestyles back, give me the Magnums.’
I never rapped on an R&B record, and I never will.
I got these phony muthafuckas talkin bout ‘Let’s keep it real.’
But they don’t know how to take they own advisement,
Going out, do it solo on an advertisement, commercializing.
Fuckin’ sell out, nigga…this is hip-hop, not fashion.
You need to git up, git out and git something…
How will you make it if you never even try?
Excuse us for the news,
You might not be amused;
But did you know White comes from Black?
No need to be confused.
Some people tell me that I need help.
…Some people can fuck off and go to hell.