Lyrics Of The Week: April 19-25

There's quite a bit of repetition in the game these days, and specific lyrics tend to get overlooked. This is an opportunity to take a closer listen and really consider what these artists have to say. We encourage your opinions. 

Keep in mind, these are the most noteworthy lyrics of the week, not necessarily the best. Also, it's hard to get everything right - if you notice any errors, don't hesitate to let us know in the comments section. Lines we're not quite sure about will be bolded. 

This series is brought to you by our collaborators at gotbars.com, currently one of the most efficient providers of the latest hip-hop and R&B lyrics. Get familiar and create an account with them to continue the discussion directly:

As far as numbers go, Rozay took the cake by a damn landslide this week. "The Trillest" was featured on Funk Master Flex's Who You Mad At? Me Or Yourself? double-mixtape, which was released in the wake of multiple Ross-related controversies. There's nothing particularly remarkable about these words, although the first line of the verse below is thought provoking.

Either way, Ross' fan base is clearly still intact. Thoughts? 

[Verse 2]
I'm lookin' in your eyes, and it's all fake
Niggas in the prison, killin' over corn flakes
Time to get a new Benz, but I'm gon' wait
'Til the Feds give my dawg his new release date
Young mogul, but a nigga came from the mud
Say a prayer, pray my son will never be a thug
Came up with a plan, nigga, I'm a mastermind
Richest nigga in the 'hood, I ain't hard to find
Swear to God, on 'em all, a nigga self-made
And I've got a lot of bitches 'cause I'm well paid
Lord take it, I'm sure to show my war wounds
Gave a million to my dawgs like it's dog food
Real niggas known to do the real thing
Standing on 15th, 'bout 15
AR-15, come and get me
And I know my real niggas gon' miss me

[Hook]
You niggas gon' feel this
La, la, la, la, la, la
You niggas gon' feel this
La, la, la, la, la, la
You fuckin with the trillest
La, la, la, la, la, la
You niggas gon' feel this
La, la, la, la, la, la

"It's closed curtains for you worthless earthlings / Hurtin' 'cause I rise like mercury in the burning heat."

Mac Miller both produced and contributed a verse to this hookless Ab-Soul single, and the minimalist, piano-driven instrumental perfectly compliments Soulo's eerie take on braggadocio rap. His enunciation and worldplay is unreal, whether comparing himself to mercury rising or manipulating the words "leader" and "liter" while describing himself as a weed-smoking king. The black-lipped bastard is without a doubt one of the most creative lyricists working in the game today. 

Mac holds his own as well - hate it or love it, his lyricism has transitioned from stories of high school life to something far more surreal. 

What do you think? 

[Verse 1: Ab-Soul]
Yo, check - my flow is unknown to man yet
Damnit - keep runnin' 'round like an annual banquet
Made a withdrawal with your broad, she left the bank wet
Rub her like a condom, contemplating dangerous sex
I'm unimpressed with your talent, skills still appeal 
A maestro on the mic, though, I'm almost as ill as Camille, for real
Ain't never runnin' from nothin', I'm fit to tread mills 
Name another movement making time stand still...
HiiiPoWeR to the third degree
Murder, we emerged, and it was an emergency 
It's closed curtains for you worthless earthlings
Hurtin' 'cause I rise like mercury in the burning heat 
Word on the streets, Soulo done done it again
Look at me, I used to match a dub sack with my friends
Now we smokin' by the O, like the letters P and N
Ain't have to start watching CNN for you to see an end
It's coming quicker than you think, don't mean to rub it in
Like Lubriderm
But you should learn that you could never fuck with him
Abs gettin' bigger, but I ain't do no sit-ups
Got the hiccups, 'cause I keep puffin' 'Ports without the filter
Feel the vibe switch in every single room that I enter
Told my bitch to make room for a tomb for her placenta, nigga 
I'll fuck her 'til she have a seizure in my leisure time
She know I love her, also know I don't need her
'Cause I'm a king, and I smoke a lot of weed
That makes sense, it's about 33 ounces in a liter
In layman's terms, you lames had better pay respect
Or you'll be sleepin', they'll be at your wake, payin' their respects

Something of an anti-hallelujah, "Holla Loo Yuh" is the latest single from R.A. The Rugged Man's imminent Legends Never Die album. The lyricism here is just mind-boggling - R.A. delivers a brutally unforgiving verse, which is complemented by another from fellow veteran emcee Tech N9ne, who adds his unique brand of darkness to the record. Krizz Kaliko holds it all together with an appropriately enraptured hook.

Transcribing R.A.'s verse was tough, though - it's so rapid-fire and detailed that we had trouble keeping up. Although we definitely got the gist of it, we're pretty sure the words aren't perfect. If you notice any mistakes, let us know in the comments section. The lines we're not sure about have been bolded. 

Any serious hip hop heads should check out Legends Never Die when it hits shelves on the 30th. 

[Verse 2: R.A. The Rugged Man]

Yo, it's a brutal system, assume position 
Assume position, a Jew or Christian 
This fool religion is a cruel depiction 
They can blind your hearing, they can mute your vision 
When the dirt burns, slithering earth worm
Leave you like MJ with a hit and a burnt perm 
Soon to be unity, murder, what could you do to me? 
This is foolery, I'm a hooligan...
Even when I'm beating you brutally 
Slappin' your bitch and takin' your jewelry 
Your mama crying when she reading your eulogy 
Let me slow down, put your dough down
I've got enough flow for it to go around
This is profound, you a broke clown
With a coke frown and an old sound 
I'm like "sell 'em the heroin and givin' 'em the needle"
I'm in it cerebral, this wigger is evil 
Limit the people, piss in a cathedral
Aborting your postion like a position that's fetal
My impolite stares give 'em nightmares
Burn 'em like the bush, give 'em white hairs
Ripping and shucking your ass, sufferin' succotash 
I fuck with the gutter trash, don't fuck with the upper class
Sons and buyers, political liars 
The drug suppliers, the fake messiahs
Is it negative energy hiding your identity? 
Every enemy wishing they were shooting me like a Kennedy 
I spit at Satan and I kick his face in 
Make him lick the pavement for misbehaving 
Got a vendetta, better be ready to forget it 
Bulletins headed to your head and embedded, the slug met it
I be tripping on my ego like I'm Walter... 
Makin' dollars like I'm Parish and Erick
I'm back, bitch! 

"Paid for my house but this show is not me."

Childish Gambino hasn't been too active lately, so this track came as somewhat of a surprise, buried in Funk Master Flex's Who You Mad At? Me Or Yourself? double-mixtape. There's no sign of rust here, though - the single, epic verse proves his lyrical sword is still sharp. Gambino stays confidant and even switches his flow up while touching on sickness in his family, relationships, his role on Community, industry expectations, prescription drug use and racism, among other things. No bullshit here. 

[Excerpt]
Dear Mom, you sound sick every time I call
Dad's lying to me, I can hear it in his tone
I don't want nobody help, leave me the fuck alone
Brother holding my head in the shower, don't know what I'm on
Rivers running through my nappy afro
Feeling guilty, won the raffle
But the lotto ain't my motto at my core
I'm just an apple and they want me PC
Paid for my house but this show is not me
More than the music, we going for that mastery overload
Da Vinci Code comatose to sport a beard like I'm OVO
Got that cream, I'm an Oreo
You know how the story goes
DatPiff, fourth page, 'cause you suck something glory hole
It's that Fresh Prince, royalty means you deserve it
We were best friends, they talking 'bout him and I
They loving this silly guy, I'm popping Abilify
Niggas was wildin' out cause they want me so civilized
They say anytime that you getting cheese you in a rat race
An the movies that they offer me is black face
It's so post racial, so I can't prove it
We the same thing, we in the same movement

Click the badge below to read the rest of the verse: 

"My credit card like Silkk The Shocker / black card with no limit." -Juicy J 

In this remix of Juicy J's "Show Out" single, Big Sean's verse is replaced by new ones from him and T.I., as well as an archival verse from the late Pimp C of UGK. With Jeezy still holding down the hook, the new lineup is more noteworthy than the original. As far as the lyrical content goes, this is pimp rap, plain and simple. 

What're your thoughts on the remix? Is it an improvement? 

[Verse 1: Pimp C]
Light green, northern lights, gettin' sucked into midnight 
Blue Jag, white rag, candy car, kryptonite 
I be pro and I keep these bitches hoeing 
Want a date? Straight-up pimp 
If you want some, you can find me in the H-Town
Bobby by the pound, Whitney by the key
And bitch, my dick was never free
Didn't know if I wanted to rap or sell coke 
'Cause niggas like me ain't never broke
I traded in my Pyrex for a shiny Rolex
The bitches want sex, but all I'm fuckin' with is checks
I'm smokin' out, pouring up, whippin' my DeVille 
Took out the air bag, put in a wood wheel

[Hook: Young Jeezy]
Everytime I go out, you know I gotta show out 

[Verse 2: Juicy J]
I've got rocks in my watch, I've got mud in my Sprite 
I'm ridin' low key, and I'm high as a kite
Juicy that nigga, you niggas gon' learn
This ice on my neck gave me freezer burn
I'm not goin' broke like MC Hammer
Still blowin' money like birthday candles
Your bitch in my whip and she's gone off the mollies
My eyes be Chinese and my doors know karate 
Bitch, I'm so rich and you know what I like
Some drugs, couple of bitches that dyke
One of them hoes that I'm fuckin' just might be your wife
Take her then give her this pipe
Rollin' papers, we blazin' up
Take a chick out shopping, she wanna fuck
Wanna speak to me? You don't make enough
Get your money right, stop saving these sluts
Get single in a world tour
Fuck you mean? Press more cream 
In a hotel, on the top floor 
Gettin' more head than Orshi
Nigga feelin' like Rambo - got a fully automatic in my Lambo' 
Rich nigga still country like a banjo
Shoot a nigga 'til i run out of ammo 
And I've got an R&B chick 'bout to get fucked silly
I'm trippy, she trippy, showtime, let's get it 
White girls with a fat ass like...
Group sex on tour, every night a new city
In the club with my Louis bag
You know that bitch got dope in it
My credit card like Silkk The Shocker
Black card with no limit 

No disrespect intended. 2 Chainz' brief verses on this track are just structured very simply. Cap 1's are a bit more in-depth, but not by much. The track was another inclusion on Funk Master Flex's Who You Mad At? Me Or Yourself? mixtape.

Thoughts? 

[Verse 2: 2 Chainz]

The bitch I'm with, looks just like she clueless
Work tape... she movin'
Daddy U-Haul, no RuPaul, that's no gay shit
No fake shit, I'm from the A, bitch
That gun talk, conversation
Fire!

[Hook: 2 Chainz]

Y'all ain't killin' shit
Yeah, y'all ain't killin' shit
I'm on my mean ass shit, 
My black leather and my yellow bitch
So tell your bitch, to go tell a bitch
I got a better bitch, ever since 
I've been boomin' nigga

[Verse 3: 2 Chainz]

Bitch I'm with look just like she Cuban
I met her in Miami by the pool and
My closet, so big we can play hoop in
Got your bitch in my living room and she droolin'

A standout track from King Los' highly-anticipated Becoming King mixtape, which dropped yesterday. Los, Pusha T and Yo Gotti all assert their dominace over a serious instrumental from Harry Fraud. Pusha's landed this spot before, and all three emcees seem to be on the same page, dropping unforgivingly arrogrant (but hard-earned) bars. This is kingpin music. 

[Verse 1: Los]
To celebrate my new haters
I just bring a new whip out
End up fuckin' your main girl
Then park this shit at your bitch house 
Paid 100K for my necklace
They wanna bring 100 Ks to my crib
Nigga, it's 100 ways to get got
They'll make you pay 100K for your kid
Have him at the crack house with the dope fiends
The dim lights and the smokescreens 
Let him smell the aroma from a coke coma
If you listen close, you'll hear souls scream
From the block, chillin' with the shooters
That was in a pot, tryna whip up future 
My dawgs scrape the walls of that Pyrex 
As I thank the Lord for my progress

[Hook: Los]
'Cause all my chains is gold
Man, my rings and Rollies is gold
All my dames is "go"
Ballin' like I'm slangin' that dope
I got that dope, got that, got that dope 
Got that, got that dope 
I got that dope, got that, got that dope
Got that, got that dope 
Screaming: "I can't fuck no broke bitch"
I smoke that West Coast shit
Rollin' with my top down
'Cause I be on that dope shit
I got that dope, got that, got that dope 
Got that, got that dope 
I got that dope, got that, got that dope
Got that, got that dope 

[Verse 2: Pusha T]
King Los with the kingpin
King Push, you'd better king him
King's ransom for a kilo
Took mine and built a kingdom
Open doors for overlords
Overdo it, overboard
This Coupe causin' you pain, nigga
Peel the top back like an open sore
My niggas is caged in, I tell 'em be patient
'Raris we racin' - nights at the Day's Inn
Paid off - they comin' home made men
New gods, in the new Auds, we lose y'all
You a Dodge, nigga, like the new charge
This dope money, we can prove ours 

"You niggas save the bullshit, I'm a matador / I'm gettin' swiss cheese overseas by the Matterhorn."

-Domo Genesis

Odd Future's Hodgy Beats and Domo Genesis are MellowHigh (with occasional guest appearances from Left Brain). This self-titled track was produced by Larry Fisherman, aka Mac Miller, and is included on his experimental Showtime mixtape hosted by Treejay & DJ Clockwork. Both Hodgy and Domo demolish Mac's intense Portishead-sampling instrumental with nonstop multisyllabic bars. This shit is hypnotic. 

[Verse 1: Hodgy Beats]
Sippin' beer and whiskey getting frisky, hopscotch
Words mistaken, this place escapin' my tongue like pop rocks
Went to a bar alone, in my lap the glock's cocked
Looking for a hot bop with a boyfriend that cock blocks
No service in this bitch, good thing I'm near a hot spot
Time is money, clocks flock, like a cherry, I'm on top
You askin' me rhetoricals, knowing where all my morals go
A stampede, bitch, you plant the seed, let the florals grow
She give me oral throat, good behavior, being cordial
Time is money, hundreds, twenties, back into my portal
Other words disturb and hurt me absurdly but I'm immortal
Thuggish, ruggish, smoke blunts 'til sluggish, I'm fuckin' durable
Adorable, the way these samples flip, thanks to Fishy, man
He don't give us spam, we the kitchen clan
River sand in my bib, I'm itchy man, finna' hit Amoeba 
And spend sixty on Lionel Richie
We all gon' die, I might just bring my baby mama with me 

"Einstein, my mind, just MC, move white squares with my relatives."

Jay-Z dropped a snippet from the upcoming Great Gatsby soundtrack this week (it drops May 10th). Even a snippet from Hov causes a stir, so we thought it right to mention this one. The line above has already been applauded in writing.

How do you think the full track will turn out? 

[Verse 2]
New heroines, New Marylands
Move coke through Maryland
Through Easton, oh you beasting?
Move fat packs, Jack Gleason
The honeymoon's over with the streets, yeah
'Least see my kids on the weekend
Carter, new Kennedy
No ordinary Joe you will remember me
No prohibition for my coalition
Colin Powell, general admission
You all welcome, new Malcolm of the talcum
By any means, AK lookin' out the window screen
Let's get it on, new Marvin
Who wanna become my 100th problem?
Semi-automatic or revolver, semi-automatic I'll solve em
Einstein, my mind, just MC move white squares with my relatives
That cheese made us constipated, couldn't tell us shit

While balling out of control in Paris this week, Chief Keef dropped a heavily-tagged track from his upcoming "Bang Pt. 2" mixtape, with Tadoe on the assist. We'll leave the commentary up to all of you.

Stay tuned for next Friday’s Lyrics of the Week, folks. Thanks for joining the discussion. 

[Hook]
We stay stuntin'
Spendin' all this guap, I've got a bankroll, fuck
Defer the bankrolls, they can't fold up
My nigga, hold up
If you ain't spendin' what you got, a bankroll, fuck 
Hold your bankroll up
Stunt the hardest, what you got? A bankroll, fuck
And you can't go wrong... 
Stuntin' all the time with the bankroll, fuck

[Verse 2]
I'm smokin' on this dope
I swear this shit's so loud it follow me everywhere I go...
And I keep gripping rolls
Try to rob me, nigga, I swear I'mma take your soul
(Bang! Bang!) I'm turned up to the max
And we got the hollows, bitch, get burnt up in your back
And all I sip is that... 
I just bought four pints and I'm gon' pour that shit up next (Sosa)
Lean... and all I smoke is earth (Sosa) 
I just bought two pounds and I'm gon' smoke it 'til it's dirt 
And I can't smoke no dirt - I be smoking doints...
Doints, doints... bitch, I'm that nigga