Mention the phrase “Greatest Rapper Ever” and witness the intensity with which people will voice their opinions. Music touches the lives of listeners on a level that is immeasurable. Growing up in the 80’s, I can’t remember a Michael Jackson concert that didn’t involve fans fainting. I even have pictures of myself in a red, leather M.J. jacket. (No, pictures will not be posted on Facebook. At least not today!)
I am the first to jump in and voice my opinion on the matter. There have been many heated arguments over who is the best of all-time. And I mean heated, bad heat, Miami Heat! You would think the winner was debating with the hopes of taking home some unbelievable grand prize. In fact, if I didn’t know my friends well enough, I would have feared for my safety. (By the way, there is no other way to argue about who is the greatest rapper of all-time. You just can’t have a civil discussion on the matter. Also, there should always be liquor involved!!!) The reason people argue with such fervor, is based on the passion that music produces. Rap fans support their favorite artists with the same zeal as the crazed followers of European soccer clubs. (Well, except for all the violence!)
My favorite story concerning this topic happened in Miami. I was visiting my cousin Emanuel, whose favorite rapper will be purposely omitted from this post. This may come as a surprise, but we were sitting at an outdoor bar along with his friend “St. Francis of Assisi.” St. Francis, as he likes to be called, innocently asked Ema, “Who are your top five rappers of all-time?” The response was a list of five usual suspects, Keyser Soze, and the gang. (If you haven’t watched the movie, where did you grow up?)
St. Francis didn’t hesitate to jump into his top five:
“Number one is Jay-Z.”
“Number two is Biggie.”
“Then, Dylan Dylan Dylan!!! That boy spits hot fire!!!” *Dylan fake accent*
That Saint Francis is a funny guy. Great trip! Although, we did end up eating at the worst Hooters in the world. This is an argument that cannot be challenged. I am ready to state a fact: “The Hooters in Coconut Grove, FL is the worst in the world; it is the quintessence of suck!” In the Greek sense, here is my Apology. (I would explain for those who don’t understand, but I’d much rather you take the initiative and educate yourselves!)
1) There were males on the wait staff. I could understand if these men were surgically enhanced transsexuals, hired to confuse young college students, but they were guys. And they had orange Hooters t-shirts on. What the Fuck!!! [Let me take this time to state another fact: I am not into transsexuals. I said “I could understand;” they have Hooters! It makes sense.] (A guy working as a waiter at Hooters is the very antithesis of what the food chain is all about.) We walked in. “What’s going on fellas!” Nothings fucking going on! This is fucking Hooters and you’re a fucking guy!! What the fuck do you think is fucking going on!!!
2) Our waitress, a beautiful and top-heavy young damsel, seemed perfect for the position when we noticed her approaching from the other side of the restaurant…UNTIL! We saw her stomach; SHE WAS PREGNANT! What the fuck kind of Twilight Zone Hooter’s is this fucking place?
3) The second waitress, who brought over our drinks, was, how do I put this delicately? Of course! She was a few cups short of a beer pong game. And to top it off, she was old. “Is this a fucking TV show? Are we being Punk’d?
We were actually the first group of guys who went to Hooters for the wings!!!
[Please forgive the tangent!]
Obviously, the title of this post gives away the fact that I don’t believe Biggie, Pimp C, or Tupac can lay claim to the desired title. No, the title holder is not dead. (To be absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent clear, I mention Pimp C in jest!)
The arguments end today!!!
Who is the greatest rapper of all-time? 50 Cent? Bun B? Rick Ross? Jay-Z? Snoop? Lil’ Wayne? Kool G Rap? Big Daddy Kane? Scarface? Eightball? Soulja Boy Tell ‘Em? (C’mon son!!! We can all agree it’s not Soulja Boy. Although he does make hits; you can’t argue that fact.)
What every rap “connoisseur” is in fact wasting his or her time arguing, is not “who is the greatest rapper of all-time,” but “who is my favorite rapper of all time.”
There can be no greatest rapper of all-time. There is no criteria! What would you base the argument on?
Most records sold? NO!
Most metaphors per sixteen bars? No!
Most consecutive Rhymes? No!
Best free-stylist? NO!
Best battle rapper? No! (I could go on but that would just be ridiculous!)
You will be hard pressed to convince a young man from Oakland that E-40, or Too Short is not the greatest Rapper of all-time. Try persuading a fan from Long Beach that Snoop is not the best ever. You would be the greatest debater of all-time, if you could convince me that a member of the original Cash Money Records isn’t the greatest. (Any time I mention Cash Money, I am strictly speaking of the classic albums, not the Drakes and Nicky Minajs of the label. I’m not saying those artists aren’t talented; I just like what I like!)
No, LL Cool J, self proclaiming yourself the best ever by titling your album G.O.A.T. (Greatest Of All Time) doesn’t make it true. By the way, I believe Canibus out-battled you. His ‘2nd Round Knockout’ was better than your ‘Can-I-Bus.’ Any true rap fan understood that your label helped to promote your “victory” through bias articles in the major industry magazines. LL Cool J, the greatest of all time? C’mon! I mean some of the hits are good; I always enjoyed ‘Going Back To Cali,’ but Canibus was correct “ninety-nine percent of your fans wear high heals!” I’d much rather have unprotected sex with a lesion-covered prostitute, in a dirty motel, in a third world country, and ejaculate inside of her, then listen to Mr. Cool J’s songs all day. (I apologize for the graphic description, but I really want to make my preference clear.) In the words of, arguably, the greatest freestyle rapper of all-time, “Causing problems bringing drama regardless, I get my point across like a trapeze artist without falling” – Canibus.
Quarrelling vociferously over opinion can be fine, but people must be careful to understand what they are disputing. Stop attempting to figure out who is the best rapper of all-time and enjoy the music; that’s why the artists create hits. Isn’t it ironic that most of the arguments end the way they all should have started in the first place, “Well, to me ‘Johnnie Rapper’ is the best!”
For Pete’s sake, (FYI: I’m the Pete in that phrase!!!) the greatest rapper may as well be “god.” Not because he has the sickest verses in the bible, (which he does!) but simply for the fact that he too doesn’t exist!!!
That being said, Lil’ Wayne is the GREATEST OF ALL-TIME!!! Not only has he been making hits since 1995 on B.G.’s album ‘True Story,’ but he continues to dominate and produce classics!!!
I challenge anyone to find better lyrics then his verse on Tha Carter’s BM J.R.:
*****This has nothing to do with the topic, at all, but Real Time with Bill Maher is currently on television so I’ll share. When discussing Harry Potter’s last installment, he said, “I don’t believe this is the last book; we all know what’s coming next…’Harry Potter and the crippling student loan!’*****
You probably won’t do the song justice so play the actual track while reading!
[Verse 1 – Lil Wayne]
Murder capital, only key to survive is kill
If the elements don’t murder you the riders will fo real
And niggas know I goes hard to the fullest
Get involved and I got’ em’ playing dodge ball with bullets
I got the sawed off fully, in the sean john hoody
Get fucked ya play pussy
We hit em’ up when they ain’t looking and them body shots hurt
But the head shots took him
And if the red dot spot him then the hollow head got him
Knock his top to his bottom jack
You see me grind from the bottom just to make it to the bottom
At the very bottom of the map
Lil-weezy-ana piranhas everywhere you at
You gotta weigh an extra condom and an extra gat
You’re bitch could get it for acting like a man
and niggaz in Pakistan ain’t packin’ like ya man
I back his hand ya man on command
In front of niggaz he cool with the boys on fam
I’m on hot, I adjust in different climates, ducking the animal keep on running wit
You ain’t did it till you done it like in 5 states,
Weezy hustle no blubber I put on weight
And in a drought I go on I diet and stretch more
Loose all that weight, leave a nigga with stretch marks
You don’t even come up to a nigga chest, paws up,
Pa, what the fuck they play it in the club for ?
Real shit I’m ducking bombs from a drug war,
no religion but the cops swear that I’m a drug lord
Father forgive em’ for they no not who they pushing lord
Father forgive me if I have to send them to ya lord
I’m just trying to dodge the shots they send to the guard
They riding up highway to heaven boulevard
Damn, them niggaz pussy and jive, not even in an eye exam they ain’t looking for “I”
The A and the K will make ya face cook to the side
Now when you smiling everybody gotta look from the side
Cause when you wilding you ain’t looking, you just looking high
and when we hungry you look like pie
Sweet potato ass nigga, you lemon meringue, apple custard, cherry jelly
Don’t make me get the biscuit buster
What up gizzle you my distant brother
Real shit nigga same father different mother, yep
I skip the fronting and sticks to keeping it trill
You not know me for nothing other
I’m something other than people you feel,
I’m deeper for real
I’m deeper than skills, my speakers can kill
Rest in peace
[Verse 2 – Lil Wayne]
You sleep in a field for trying the dude
I bust ya head until the meat turns ya mind to food
Food for thought, think I ain’t lying to you
I lie his body in grease set fire to him
I tie his body in sheets, put the tires to him
Make him feel the escalade, put his feet in the blade
I’m near heating and blaze a nigga keep they ways when I’m in the streets with blades
Watch, my nigga hungry, he’ll eat the plate
And if I ask, the homeboy will eat’cha face
And though he got me, you can ask, I’m like a pool table
I keep the eight
My side pocket sideways when I pop it leave a nigga sideways for five days
Birdman talk to em’
[Verse 3 – Lil Wayne]
Check my swag, I travel like sound dog
You play hard in the gravel like ground dog
I’m underground call me groundhog
Lay down laws call me ground law
Don’t confuse me with the law, naw but just confuse me with my pa
Because I am the Birdman J-R
I ain’t tripping nigga, I play the corner like ripkin nigga
With the 40 cal ripkin nigga, rip a nigga
Flip ya vehicle, split ya windshield
Whack ya Baby momma but I let the kid live
And people say that I am a kid still, cause the lil nigga still rides on them big wheels
You feeling animal then come on and get killed
And sig pill bandannas like bananas
Say I’m slight bananas I blow a weekend in Havana
In my cabana with my bottom bitch from savanna
Man a train couldn’t stop ya man
I man up and you not a man
I stand up, say I got my land
I’m the man of my land
Call it lil-weezy-ana
Thats the new plan