Runaway love - Ludacris ft. Mary J. Blige
This is a great song… quality shittt
Is this the future of hip hop in the U.S.? I’m not talking about the Top 40s nonsense. I’m talking about what the kids on 206 and the rich cool-kids on Ludlow have playing on their iPods; what they have spinning at the Turntable Lab.
I’m not sure. This British lyricist is Akala. He’s the younger brother of Ms. Dynamite, and a well-known “grime” artist. Grime evolved out of the U.K. garage scene, and is defined by its fast, intricate 2-step breakbeats.
Anyway… This is definitely worth the listen, whether it’s the future or not.
I’m stoked that I found this by chance. thanks for sharing.
Sorry kids, let me apologise before I go further,
Unfortunately, I don’t rap about how many man I’ve murdered,
And you may find it boring, appauling, and I ain’t scoring,
Black’s from your little rap packs for just stating facts,
Like not ability to kill a man lyrically,
Just thought killing shouldn’t be glorified, silly me,
Apparently, murdering man has become an aspiration,
But what would happen if we reversed the situation?
If Black rappers claiming they clap a black in the face,
Talked about killing white people as much, would they still get embraced?
Or would you find the applauding would quickly turn to appauling,
You’ve got no career by the next morning,
I ain’t saying you should do that,
True that would be just as dumb,
Just point out how absurd that it has become,
If a Chinese rapper were to say “die chink, die…”
Everybody would be like… “what is wrong with this guy?”
But some of us have become so accustomed,
To just behave disgusting,
We think it’s just our behaviour, and it ain’t worth discussing,
Or worse yet; that it’s cultural expression,
But who owns Beretta? And who owns Smith And Wesson?
Who owns the car you’re driving that you thinks defining who you are,
Running from yourself you find there’s no hiding…
So, boast about your Prada and your Christian Dior,
Still security will follow you when you’re in the store,
You could boast about your platinum chains,
And your diamond rings,
Whilst kids in Sierra Leone keep on losing limbs…
Act like you’ve got no brain,
And you ain’t got no shame,
And say “so what, I’m getting dough” but you’re pawns in the game,
They’re laughing at the little coons,
Who really think they’re goons,
Real goons don’t wear platinum chains, they wear ties and suits,
They don’t live in the States and sell flake,
They invade with guns and tanks, and take your whole State, mate,
So pardon me if I don’t find it funny,
You boast about it, but do you even know what is money?
See it’s hard to act dumb when you have read a couple hundred books,
But still in anybody’s hood so tell me who is shook?
When you have been to Brazil and stood in Ferrella Streets,
Next to kids holding hand grenades and M-16’s…
When you come back to London it ain’t serious,
The ghetto’s in our head; we are delirious!
If you lived there in the real slum without food or running water,
Where police drive by and kill sons and daughters,
You would give your right arm for the chance to go to school,
Instead, what do we do? The killer, the trigger, to play the fool,
And I ain’t saying school is the answer; educate yourself,
See it’s not the money you make - you are the wealth,
I ain’t saying we ain’t got a struggle right here in Britain,
But you’re taught to act inferior and play position perfectly,
It’s disturbing me, the verbal murder be absurd to me,
I’ve heard of you, you have not heard of me,
It’s probably cause I don’t rap about Gucci or Booty,
Quite enough for the urban scene to fully salute me,
But I don’t really care, I’m too busy writing my master thesis,
It’s hard to play the stereotype when you study Egypt,
Plus “urban” seems racist to ourselves,
Elevating words of hate, we’re merely hating ourself,
And if you are musically bored to death, speak intelligent,
People look at you like who the hell d’you think you’re better than?
Better than no-one on this Earth; and I know I’m not,
But refuse to play small just to fit in your box,
And I don’t hate none of these other rappers, in fact it’s quite the other,
Look at me as your bigger, wiser, older brother,
And as a brother should I tell you you’re in trouble,
If they clap when you’re talking of killing; do they really love you?
If record label bosses kids were dying,
Would they sell us violence quickly as they’re ready to desensitize us?
They tell you to shit on the floor, holding all the scoops,
Throw you a bone like a dog jumping through a hoop,
Don’t take it as a compliment, cause it is not that,
But tell you that you’re African; you tell me it’s not that,
Humanity is African, even if it’s not black,
Truth can be painful, shh, better stop that,
It’s so inconvenient for those at the top that,
You talk too much truth, you might just get popped at,
If women are such hoes that we don’t wanna kiss ‘em,
What does it say about us that we still wanna put our dick in?
I’m done with the lies, third eye open wide,
The tougher that you act, the weaker you really feel inside,
So all the killers, the trigger and when we call ourself,
And what platinum chain is bigger than Jigga’s,
It’s just to run from the fact that, we feel insecure,
Get as many things as you want, but it can not restore,
The core of who you are truly, that’ll surpass beauty,
That comes from knowledge of yourself and a sense of duty,
That comes from knowledge of yourself and a sense of duty,
That comes from knowledge of yourself and a sense of duty,
So all my brothers that are claiming we are t’ugs (thugs),
No, if we’re honest we just wanna be loved,
But we feel that we’re not worthy, and that we’re not smart,
So we act aggressive to protect our fragile little hearts,
But we gotta deal with this pain, or it will consume,
That’s enough honesty… now lets resume,
Turn this off, go back to rappers that tell you kill,
But inside of yourself, you know that this is real…
Akala, here on SBTV,
Double Think coming soon, check the CD,
Akala, here on SBTV,
Double Think, May 3rd, check the CD…
If you want a little knowledge, bigger than college,
I promise you the metaphorics that’ll offer you solice,
Like the Great Pyramid alone, 2.3 million stones,
If you took ‘em apart, placed them in a row,
They would stretch 2 thirds of the way around the Earth,
That is more stone than there is in every single British church,
Each stone cut with a degree of accuracy,
Of one one thousandth of an inch, well what does that mean?
1978 the Japanese ran an experiment to rebuild them,
With modern technology, and failed terribly,
