Peace!
I decided to take it upon myself to start a little debate with my readers, my digital family and some of my secret shoppers, who consume the "A.H.L.O.T." brand. Shout out to all my supporters. It's a beautiful thing. I wanted to know which verse you thought was the "Best verse of 2007." I know its not fair because Rick Ross' album doesn't come out for a couple more weeks. I spoke with him yesterday and he said he has the best album of the year. I love the confidence. :0)
I know for sure, that Jay-Z deserves an honorable mention, for the countless verses on American Gangster, Phonte of Little Brother won't stop spittin' that "ill," Lupe went in, Naledge from the super slept on group, Kidz In The Hall, is also a beastly man. I also have to give two claps to Rhymefest for giving me that exclusive verse from his upcoming album, this summer while in NYC. I must mention Lil' Wayne for the BET Hip Hop Awards performance and I must give props to my boy Mr. West for the G.O.O.D. shit he dropped on Graduation.
Needless to say, the "Best verse of 2007," goes to...(drum rolls) ANDRE 3 STACKS AKA...ONE OTHER HALF OF THE AMAZING GROUP OUTKAST, for his verse on Da Art of Storytellin' Pt. 4. Shout out to DJ Drama. I made this decision based on his delivery, word play and his sick ass ability to actually paint a vivid picture in the minds of the flyest. It excites me that with the verse that I'm referring to, he delivered a message, in an industry full of "dope boyz" and "hustlas," that made me drop my gun (you know that AK 47, that I keep on my waist) :0). Just playing. But fa'real, I think Outkast deserves their props and quite frankly are the best Hip Hip duo of all time. I think Three Stacks, raises the bar with this one people- putting him in the "Dopest of the Dope" lane. This man is a beast! I want somebody to prove me wrong.
So, let me know your favorite verse of 2007. Don't just talk...prove it. PEACE!
A.H.L.O.T., continuing to "Alter Popular Perception."
Here's the verse:
So I’m watching her fine ass
walked to my bedroom
and thought to myself that’s the shape of things to come
she said ‘why in the club you don’t make it precipitate?
you know make it rain when you can make thunderstorm’
I’m like why? the world needs sun, the hood needs funds
there’s a war going on and half the battle is guns
how dare i throw it on the floor
when people are poor
so I write like Edgar Allen to restore
got a cord, umbilical
attached to a place that can’t afford
no landscaping
or window draping
this old lady told me if I ain’t got nothing good say naythin
that’s why I don’t talk much
I swear it don’t cost much
to pay attention to me
I tell it how it is then how it could be
the hood be
requesting my services
oh don’t get nervous it’s
step your game up time
these ain’t them same old rhymes
designed to have you dancing in some club
niggas rock to me
women be off in they tubs
exfoliating with they pom poms
yelling ‘go 3000′
I’m in my whatever bumping nwa 100 miles and
runnin’, runnin’, runnin’, runnin’
summon, woman, come in, sit down
heard you need some plumbing
done in, i’m in
a swell mood
a rather swoll mood
until she told me that she told dude
that she’d be back she’s going to the store
I didn’t know she had a boyfriend so the door
I pointed her to
I said call me when you break up
I don’t fuck nobody bitch who never owned a Jacob
know what time it is
nigga just tryin’ to live like a nigga supposed to live
if I still drank that malt liquor I’d pour the beer
on the ground for niggas not a around
I started off starvin’
now they got me out here Brett Favre’in
tryin’ see if I still got it
I guess it’s like a bike, think about it…