Jay z and Wayne never wrote lyrics and they wrap up circles on circles around Joe Budden. Foh
Decline in rap quality is correlated to literacy. These rappers now don't read books,don't write, illiterate. No longer intense path b/w poetry to rap
- Thread starter DraymondT
- Start date
spliz
SplizThaDon
Wayne can't rap circles around Budden. And Jay writes he just writes in his head. It's way different than what these cats try to do. Even Jay himself said u have to master writing before u can start claiming u don't write ur shyt. Wayne even regrets pushing that shyt.
Wayne raps circles around Joe, rapping ain’t just about multis and metaphors. Joe can’t do what Wayne does. Wayne can do what Joe does
the jay point
Rap had a good run.
It's on the downslide. That's okay. Happens to all music.
I don’t get what y’all are doing? Run dmc is not the same prodct as Lil Uzi
I'm not sure autographs are a fair indication, my dad reads ~100 books a year and his autograph is basically a morph of his initials and a straight line scribble. Just look at how doctors write their prescriptions lol. Plenty of intelligent people are very lazy with what they consider menial tasks.
Not to say your comment about young athletes isn't fair though, way too many of them are scary uneducated.
spliz
SplizThaDon
Who had the better verse on 6 Minutes Of Hell? Wayne has a better rap voice. That's about it. And yes. The Jay point stands. shyt. Ive even done it. Wrote verses in my head. It's different than what these nikkas do. They go in the studio. And waste the engineers time cause they have to edit the fukk out of their verses cause they punch in like every 2 or 4 bars. shyt is goofy. And this is something I know for a FACT from EXPERIENCE on both sides of it. The artist side and the engineer side.Wayne raps circles around Joe, rapping ain’t just about multis and metaphors. Joe can’t do what Wayne does. Wayne can do what Joe does
the jay point
Spike Lee is from Atlanta. So I guess he is illiterate too right?
Your whole post is ignorant. And maybe this why Hip Hop went to crap because wanna be gate keepers who lacked intelligence themselves tried to dictate what was hot all while lacking knowledge on the very thing they were trying so hard to dictate.
Separate the weak from the obse...lete
It's all about the audience. People gravitate towards and in turn reward ignorant shyt. There are rappers that read. They aren't getting a big push though. Just look at Kendrick. Dude's weakest, most juvenile song in the back and forth with Drake won him the battle and was the song of the year. All because the beat knocked and "a minooooooooooooooooooooooooooooor" and giving nikkas something to chant at the end. Dude might have legit lost if he had just put out Euphoria despite it being a perfectly crafted diss.
This 100%. Meet the Grahams is one of the most psychological diss tracks I've ever heard, to the point that even an uninvolved third party can get shook just listening to it regarding how personal and dark he went. Not Like Us was clever and well-crafted but didn't come even close on a lyrical level, yet was way more popular cause it bopped.
I can't count how many times I've seen someone post an absolute shyt song on here and half the responses are, "The beat goes hard though!"
Remember, this song launched the career of a nobody weirdo who has now sold 80 million records with 9 diamond-certified songs.
Saucin', saucin', I'm saucin' on you
I'm swaggin', I'm swaggin', I'm swaggin', oh-ooh (swaggin')
I'm ballin', I'm ballin', Iverson on you (swish, ooh, ayy)
Watch out, watch out, watch out, yeah
That's my shot, that's my shot, that's my shot, yeah
Spendin', I'm spendin' all my fukkin' pay
I got me some braids and I got me some hoes
Started rockin' the sleeve, I can't ball with no Joes
You know how I do it, Concords on my toes
(This shyt is hard) Ooh
I ain't rich yet, but you know I ain't broke, I
So if I see it, I like it, buy that from the store, I
I'm with some white girls and they lovin' the coca
Like they OT
Double OT like I'm KD, smokin' OG
And you know me, in my 2-3s and my gold teeth
bytch, I'm smilin', bet you see me from the nosebleeds
I'm the new three and I change out to my new 3s
White Iverson
When I started ballin' I was young
You gon' think about me when I'm gone
I need that money like the ring I never won, I won
Saucin', saucin', I'm saucin' on you
I'm swaggin', I'm swaggin', I'm swaggin', oh-ooh
I'm ballin', I'm ballin', Iverson on you
Watch out, watch out, watch out, yeah
That's my shot, that's my shot, that's my shot, yeah
Spendin', I'm spendin' all my fukkin' pay
Ooh, Stoney
Cigarettes and a headband
Commas, commas in my head, man
Slumped over like a dead man
Red and black, 'bout my bread, man
I'm the answer, never question
Lace up, learn a lesson
bytch, I'm saucin', I do this often, don't do no talkin'
My options right when I walk in, jump all them Jordans
I'm ballin', money jumpin'
Like I'm Davis from New Orleans
Or bytch I'm Harden, I don't miss nothin'
fukk practice, this shyt just happens, know y'all can't stand it
I have it, I never pass it, I work my magic
High average, ball on these b*stards, it makes me happy
It's tragic, I make it happen, and all y'all Shaqtin'
White Iverson
When I started ballin' I was young
You gon' think about me when I'm gone
I need that money like the ring I never won, I won
Saucin', saucin', I'm saucin' on you
I'm swaggin', I'm swaggin', I'm swaggin', oh-ooh
I'm ballin', I'm ballin', Iverson on you
Watch out, watch out, watch out, yeah
That's my shot, that's my shot, that's my shot, yeah
Spendin', I'm spendin' all my fukkin' pay
Ths is something that the worst first version of ChatGPT would have written if you told it, "Write a bad hip hop song with a lot of dumb tropes."
she's not lying about them not being literate 
Compare how unreadable that shyt was with this, a good TWENTY YEARS earlier in rap development:
I rap for listeners, blunt heads, fly ladies and prisoners
Hennessy-holders and old-school nikkas, then I be dissin' a
Unofficial that smoke Woolie Thai
I dropped out of Cooley High, gassed up by a cokehead cutie pie
Jungle survivor, fukk who's the live-r
My man put the battery in my back, a difference from Energizer
Sentence begins indented with formality
My duration's infinite, money-wise or physiology
Poetry, that's a part of me, retardedly bop
I drop the ancient manifested hip-hop straight off the block
I reminisce on park jams, my man was shot for his sheep coat
Choco blunts'll make me see him drop in my weed smoke
It's real, grew up a trife life, the times of white lines, the high pipes
Murderous night times and knife fights invite crimes
Chill on the block with Cognac, cold strap
With my peeps that's into drug money market interact
No sign of the beast in the blue Chrysler, I guess that means peace
For nikkas, no sheisty vice to just snipe ya
Start off the dice-rollin' mats for craps to cee-lo
With side-bets, I roll a deuce, nothin' below
(Peace God!) Peace God – now the shyt is explained
I'm takin' nikkas on a trip straight through memory lane
It's like that, y'all
"Now let me take a trip down memory lane"
"Comin' outta Queensbridge"
"Now let me take a trip down memory lane"
"Comin' outta Queensbridge"
"Now let me take a trip down memory lane"
"Comin' outta Queensbridge"
"Now let me take a trip down memory lane"
"Comin' outta Queensbridge"
One for the money
Two for p*ssy and foreign cars
Three for Alizé, nikkas deceased or behind bars
I rap divine, God, check the prognosis: Is it real or showbiz?
My window faces shootouts, drug overdoses
Live amongst no roses, only the drama
For real, a nickel-plate is my fate, my medicine is the ganja
Here's my basis, my razor embraces many faces
You're telephone blown, black, stitches or fat shoelaces
Peoples are petro, dramatic automatic .44 I let blow
And back down po-po when I'm vexed, so
My pen taps the paper, then my brain's blank
I see dark streets, hustlin' brothers who keep the same rank
Pumpin' for somethin', some'll prosper, some fail
Judges hangin' nikkas, uncorrect bails for direct sales
My intellect prevails from a hangin' cross with nails
I reinforce the frail with lyrics that's real
Word to Christ, a disciple of streets, trifle on beats
I decipher prophecies through a mic and say "Peace"
I hung around the older crews while they sling smack to dingbats
They spoke of Fat Cat; that nikka's name made bell rings, black
Some fiends scream about Supreme Team, a Jamaica Queens thing
Uptown was Alpo, son, heard he was kingpin
Yo, fukk, rap is real! Watch the herbs stand still
Never talkin' to snakes, 'cause the words of man kill
True in the game, as long as blood is blue in my vein
I pour my Heineken brew to my deceased crew on memory lane
I rap for listeners, blunt heads, fly ladies and prisoners
Hennessy-holders and old-school nikkas, then I be dissin' a
Unofficial that smoke Woolie Thai
I dropped out of Cooley High, gassed up by a cokehead cutie pie
Jungle survivor, fukk who's the live-r
My man put the battery in my back, a difference from Energizer
Sentence begins indented with formality
My duration's infinite, money-wise or physiology
Poetry, that's a part of me, retardedly bop
I drop the ancient manifested hip-hop straight off the block
I reminisce on park jams, my man was shot for his sheep coat
Choco blunts'll make me see him drop in my weed smoke
It's real, grew up a trife life, the times of white lines, the high pipes
Murderous night times and knife fights invite crimes
Chill on the block with Cognac, cold strap
With my peeps that's into drug money market interact
No sign of the beast in the blue Chrysler, I guess that means peace
For nikkas, no sheisty vice to just snipe ya
Start off the dice-rollin' mats for craps to cee-lo
With side-bets, I roll a deuce, nothin' below
(Peace God!) Peace God – now the shyt is explained
I'm takin' nikkas on a trip straight through memory lane
It's like that, y'all
"Now let me take a trip down memory lane"
"Comin' outta Queensbridge"
"Now let me take a trip down memory lane"
"Comin' outta Queensbridge"
"Now let me take a trip down memory lane"
"Comin' outta Queensbridge"
"Now let me take a trip down memory lane"
"Comin' outta Queensbridge"
One for the money
Two for p*ssy and foreign cars
Three for Alizé, nikkas deceased or behind bars
I rap divine, God, check the prognosis: Is it real or showbiz?
My window faces shootouts, drug overdoses
Live amongst no roses, only the drama
For real, a nickel-plate is my fate, my medicine is the ganja
Here's my basis, my razor embraces many faces
You're telephone blown, black, stitches or fat shoelaces
Peoples are petro, dramatic automatic .44 I let blow
And back down po-po when I'm vexed, so
My pen taps the paper, then my brain's blank
I see dark streets, hustlin' brothers who keep the same rank
Pumpin' for somethin', some'll prosper, some fail
Judges hangin' nikkas, uncorrect bails for direct sales
My intellect prevails from a hangin' cross with nails
I reinforce the frail with lyrics that's real
Word to Christ, a disciple of streets, trifle on beats
I decipher prophecies through a mic and say "Peace"
I hung around the older crews while they sling smack to dingbats
They spoke of Fat Cat; that nikka's name made bell rings, black
Some fiends scream about Supreme Team, a Jamaica Queens thing
Uptown was Alpo, son, heard he was kingpin
Yo, fukk, rap is real! Watch the herbs stand still
Never talkin' to snakes, 'cause the words of man kill
True in the game, as long as blood is blue in my vein
I pour my Heineken brew to my deceased crew on memory lane
Yeah, but they were still clearly exposed to that vocabulary and trying even when they fukked it up sometimes. It's not like they were just letting computers or ghostwriters make up those lyrics, they had read those words in real life and remembered them.
Compare that to Jose Guapo who got mad at an interviewer for using big words like "simultaneously" and acted like he'd never even heard it before.
no one reads rap you goof
Plus Styles has Rapped about being in a Group Home/Sleeping in the Streets plus Losing his Brother despite having his Parents
The good writers do when they're writing their lyrics, and their writing process is what we're talking about in this thread.
You're a cult-level Drake stan though, so this conversation is likely confusing to you.