The sound right reasoning of Malachi York..

(the title of this post is an oxymoron, btw)

Installment duece in the obscure philly rapper of random flameage.

Rapper: Rockie Reyes

Song: "What's Really Good" from JMT's Visions of Ghandi

Substance: Whimsical reality rhymes over Stoupe's flyest salsa horns. A wonderfully unapologetic aesthetic nod to Jedi Mind Trick's North Philly Rican connection. They ain't did it before and they ain't did it since, and no matter since this jawn stands so strong alone.

Ayo these streets hate me, but it made me an animal
We little ghetto boys that was raised on the avenue
With drug dealers, stick-up kids, and what have you
In rap battles, where the audience'll clap at you
My block crazy, I never seen a cab pass through
On bright sunny days you can see my black shadow
Gats with barrels tucked under the apparel
And that's natural in a city of cracked statues
Please believe it, gunshots don't keep secrets
You keep sleeping, you're caught in your Jeep reaching
Always listen to an old man when he speaking
And learn how to keep at least a grand on the weekend
Learn how to analyze a man when he creeping
Learn not to never burn a bridge when you need kin
That's street knowledge, write it down and speak about it
Drug dealers use this rap as street outlet
I leave doubters in the back and move outwards
Watch for them niggas in Tims and loose outfits
Guns don't kill people, the bullets'll kill people
And bullets leave holes that people can just see through
It's all mathematics is what these streets equal
It breeds evil, city niggas with Desert Eagles
That won't hesitate to drive by in tinted Regals
And that's how it is in my life, that's how it is...

It's like he ain't even wanna end cause there ain't no end to the sin he's spittin.

Holla at Rockie Reyes

Brian "Saigon" Carenard is the best rapper of this generation.

As brothas in the Burgh say, "truuuuth!"

comparisons are simply laughable.

More evidence to come for the non-believes...

Cold juice like a frozen hug...

"When To Stand Up"

In eighth grade, a friend in my math class once inquired, "why do you only listen to that underground rap!?" Bemused and delighted for a chance to demonstrate my superior tastes, I hurriedly scooped the Soundbombing II cassette from a tattered cargo pocket and slammed it on our shared table. Pointing to Eminem, I stated with confidence, "because these guys are the best rappers."

My, my, my (copyright Johnny Gill) how time changes. Nowadays most of the underground/mixtape shit is as whack as the commercial shit, only with poorer mastering, worse skits, and even more myopic topics.

But this right chea is one of my favorites, a rare jewel from them days when Em really was one of the freshest and there was a reason to be a lyrical elitist.

The combination of Marshall with Illadelph arsonists Jazzy Jeff and Paul Yamz is strange indeed but wonderful. While Jeff and Em certainly need little introduction as to their talents, it is truly middle-aged Pauly Yams who steals the show. In Philly there are always those thural rappers who everyone knows will neeeeeeeeeever blow up or even flicker but every once in a while can come through with the type of diabolical heat only battle-tested skill, literal hunger, and the swagger of daily PA struggle concoct.

Behold the willful ignorance:

You rappers never learn, that's why I don't fuck wit y'all
Runnin round tellin niggas they could fuck wit Pauls
I bring it to ya highschool nigga, and smoke the prom
Put ya brother in a headlock and choke ya mom
Send you home like a playoff loss in game seven
Walking round gritting on niggas, madder than James Evans
My left hand sharp and move teeth
Styles ultra- slap my bitch like Kool Keith
Beat a nigga like he stole from me, and rule streets
I don't wanna hafta fuck you up, so cool cease
Paul Yamz be the chosen thug
What I spit be cold juice like a frozen hug
Run the streets while you stuck at home
My temper like Bushwick Bill nigga, leave me the fuck alone
I been dealing since niggas was windmilling
These cats just started to rhyme, I been spilling
Ya moms just loaned you the Ac, I been wheeling
Ya bul just stole you a got, I been steeling
I wet rappers cause it's me or them
I guess I just ain't giving a fuck, I'm like Eminem
Burglarize till they bust me a slug
Come in ya window like Bruthaman and bust in ya grub
What the fuck, I teach dumb bitches what to suck
And my young buls, when to stand up and when to duck

Offensive!? certainly. Tasteless? prolly. Indelibly thural? Fo sho.

If that ain't enough, Jeff's scratches are soemthin serious. Like DMC '88 serious.

And the shit is edited. Why even bother with these seismograms of ignorance? Because in the FCC handbook, possession (of so-called cusses) is 10/10 of the lyrical law.

Of course, all audio is for private preview purposes only so... stop drawin.

Holla at Paul Yamz

Yizzo...

I don't own an iPod, because i absolutely loathe technoindulgent tomfoolery.

But at the same time, ya boy stays posted on blogs and forums well into the early morn looking, listening, and absorbing. Consequently, I am also in need of a full-time job. Such an acquistion requires writing clear, coherant, and confident cover letters. Which I absolutely fell off like a hubcap in ability to spring forth. So for real for real, I've started this jawn to get back in the swing of penning for the peoples. Consider it a spontaneous and timely incarnation of my half-finished book, quarter written screen-play, and underexplored contributive potential.

Oh internet, from you so much I have taken. It hath come time to reciprocate.