Taking away the peace of a people, committing every act of violence, or consenting to such acts, especially when directed against the weakest and defenseless, is a profoundly grave sin against God.
Puttin rhymes into shape just like Jack LaLanne.
What's when you rap and don't appreciate the art? What's when you sell out just to get a start? What's when you make bullshit just for the charts? What's when you rap, but it's not from the heart? What's when you're hardcore, then you turn pop? When you steal ideas to get props? When you sell out to be on top? What's when you front like you're hard, but you're not? That's a gimmick.
I never fronted, you can get it if you want it. . . Won't say I'm the best, but I'm not that far from it.
I get attention like a Lexus, girls wanna sex this Play rappers like Tetris. . . eat em like breakfast.
Lyrical lecture, word architecture, Rap director, the best in my sector. Microphone cool chief, releasin the smooth speech. . . I get nasty with a pen and some loose leaf.
See, you're out your mind tryin' to face tha God. Your rhyme is like an empty prison. . . a waste of bars.
The first (barbers) that entered Italy came out of Sicily and it was in the 454 yeare after the foundation of Rome. Brought in they were by P. Ticinius Mena as Verra doth report for before that time they never cut their hair. The first that was shaven every day was Scipio Africanus, and after cometh Augustus the Emperor who evermore used the razor.
It is not the critic who counts
First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross carried letters from a girl named Martha, a junior at Mount Sebastian College in New Jersey. They were not love letters, but Lieutenant Cross was hoping, so he kept them folded in plastic at the bottom of his rusack. In the late afternoon, after a day's march, he would dig his foxhole, wash his hands under a canteen, unwrap the letters, hold them with the tips of his fingers, and spend the last hour of light pretending.
Retirement, it seems, is the final fling. The love boat, the trip-around-the-world.