Heavy D - "Don't Curse"

[One of the greatest (and most retarded) posse cuts of all time, "Don't Curse" is an uncharacteristically uptempo Pete Rock production... A loop from Booker T. & The MG's "Hip-Hug Her" serves as the hook (coupled with vocal samples from Lowell Fulson's "Tramp"), an all-star cast of early 90's MCs take turns rocking the mic (sans profanity), and the party gets jumping.]

[Heavy D]
This one definitely goes out on a consorship tip
So everybody sit back, relax and have a champagne sip
We gonna teach these people out there who are against saying what we want to say
The right way
Y'know what I'm saying, so what we're gonna do is kick back,
Swing a little funky beat by my man DJ Pete Rock, producer extraordinaire
Yo, Pete Rock, make it clear!

[Heavy D]
I can flex, bend, lend a pen to a friend
Keep a party pimping from now 'til then
I don't have to swear, curse or juggle
Lyrics in a verse to make a party bubble
So mister censorship, tell me, what's your problem
There's girlies on the corner, and Phifey can't solve 'em
How did she say it, I'm curious G?
Does she say honey love me, or baby baby, funny
Anyway, we say what we wanna say
Play how we wanna play, feels good that way
So G Rap, huh, it's time to kick a verse
Do your man a favor and don't curse

[Kool G. Rap]
You're telling me don't curse on a verse, they did it worse
First I put a curse on every verse
I kind of got outrageous
Check it, even made a record on how I'm doing on the B-I-T-C-Hes
Drop some verses for the bust
Every word that you heard is cause I didn't give a f..., aw shucks
Hey yo, I almost forgot
The curse is a plot, but it's getting kinda hot
So I'm a let profanity retire, hey
But if worse comes to worse, I'll curse you out like Richard Pryor
So Grand Puba, kick a verse
But do your man a favor and don't curse

[Grand Puba]
Don't curse, bust it
I won't curse, I'll take a famous curse word and just say "kcuf"
Kcuf flipped around the other way means- ha
Boy when I do, I see, I can't get stuck
Jump on the mic then I earn a quick buck
Buck meaning loot, then I grab some boots
And set wit' my troops
For those who can't follow and got stuck
Kcuf flipped the other way means (AHEM, hem hem)
It's just a curse, I freaked a nurse in a hearse
But I made sure I had my hat first
CL Smooth, it's time to kick a verse
God cypher the rhyme, you can't curse

(GO, CL! GO CL!)

[CL Smooth]
Go ahead ask me, when I kick a curse in a verse, I say nope
Grab you by your hand, wash your mouth out with soap
Thinking to be the last one wit the bad lingo
Scooping on the skins in the church from your bingo
Sounds of the Mecca, dark fresh from the tailor
Because they made a movie when he cuss like a sailor
Better yet, dialect dirty like a subway
Freaking for your loot, here to make it go the other way
In a vocabulary scrimmage
But cursing in my village ain't good for my image
So Big Daddy, you know it's time to kick a verse
But do your man a favor, don't curse

(Go Daddy! Go Daddy!)

[Big Daddy Kane]
Unh, the smooth rap inventor to enter
Parental discretion's not advised so there's no need to censor
Kiss one an' peep it, but you want to beep it, what?
I feel like slapping a sticker on ya (chill chill, see) but
Too magical rhymes are too tragical
For any source to stop Kane from getting capital
If I thought sticking me was dissing me
Man, don't you know that this would be
Worse than Stephen King's Misery
So clean all profanity, stealing ya all the man to be
Rocking any microphone you're handing me
So Heavy D, I'm about to disperse
So kick another verse and don't forget not to curse

[Heavy D.]
Ayyo, Big Daddy, check this out
I'm about to do some ol' sly slick smoove on the trick tip stuff
I'm a bring my little cousin, the producer of this joint
His name is DJ Pete Rock
Definitely parta tha, one of the family, y'knowwhatI'msayin', jay?
He about to flex on this here mic like his big cousin, y'knowwhatI'msayin', check it
Big Rock, take your verse but don't curse

[Pete Rock]
God Bless but I can't mess around wit the curses
So I'm a kick verses or a verse
Soul brother #1 here to kick facts
Smoke the microphone and produce crazy tracks
You're my bad bro, let's start the flow
I'm a kick rhymes 'til it's time for me to go
I can't curse cause Heavy D said so
Now I'm a get back to the subject
Get wreck, if you think I'm bluffing, just check
With the crew, Pete Rock and CL Smooth very down to earth
And we didn't have to curse

[Q-Tip]
Yea, yea the Abstract poet Q-tip of A Tribe Called Quest
Here to wreck, yaknowhatI'msayin'
Got my man Pete Rock and my man Heavy D in the house
And we're definitely chilling on the lifted tip
So bust the spit out, aheh

Flim flam flim, lick my big black stuff
Plus I kick a curse to be rough enuff
You can put the sticker where the sun don't shine
So back off and let me get mine
Visions in my head when it's dealing wit' hits
If I had 4 girls then I lick 8 tits
Wait, don't wanna hear no drama
Cause the bum diddley Heav is a fave of my mama's
So I blew out, get mad lifted
Don't have to say up the show that I'm gifted
God bless me 'cause I reach my 21st
Heavy D, don't drop a curse

[Heavy D]
Peace, peace, peace to the preacher
I'm talking about a verse without a curse that's how I reach ya
I can rock a party without a swear or a harsh verb
Backwards, no curse words, Heavy D prefers
So swing, swing to the soul requiem rhythm
Before I say goodbye, let me tell ya how I hit 'em
CL, Pete Rock, G Rap, Maxwell
Big Daddy, Q-Tip and ah, me as well
Time to say peace, thank Pete for the beats
This funky beat was made for the street
Notice how clean that we kept every verse
But if worst came to worst we'd have all said a curse

(Free Slick Rick... Free Slick Rick... Free Slick Rick...

Grand Puba - "360 Degrees (What Goes Around)"

[It's incredibly simple... A snapping beat (built around a Lowell Fulson sample), some vocal stabs and pieces of Gladys Knight And The Pips' "Down Burn Down The Bridge" being scratched in, and Grand Puba, newly departed from Brand Nubian, taking the mic to proclaim his superiority as both a rapper and a ladies' man. That's it. That's the whole song. Nothing more. No clutter, no confusion, nothing superfluous. A beat, a bassline, a couple well-placed samples, and an MC that could make the phonebook sound funky.]

Here comes the Puba and you know I won't fake it
Usually bust records on gettin' butt naked
Made for the Benzi, drive a nigga skins
He pump the tape, grab your dick, get with the Puba frenzy
C'mon honey sing, don't you try to eject
Slow down's what you say, once my joint gets erect
Some try to copy but they just can't sketch it
Some try to follow but they just can't catch it
With the boom boom tap, yeah, all a that
Huh, I'm livin' fat, me fall off? There'll be none of that
See who's the one to flip it?
Quick to tell a nigga to zip it
Stud drink the 40 'cause we ain't got time to sip it
Grand Puba got body
Kick some of them, some of those, and some yadi
As dope as they come, suckers sing or hum
Don't try to step to this, you know your shit is slum
First batter up, well here's the pitch, it's a curve
Second batter up because the first got served
The one who arouse, as I browse for a blouse
Kick styles by the piles, as I leave a trail for miles
Skins when I please, hit from here to Tel Aviv
I'm gettin G's, no more time for the line of free cheese
Here's the 4-1-1 hon, the one who gets the job done
I know you know the flavor of the Puba

Okay okay okay, what more could I say?
Alamo get the boom and parlay parlay
I'm far from the average, civilize a savage
When I'm low on protein I'm with the bean soup and cabbage
Skins on the diet, kick the flavor, cause a riot
Do a show and get the dough and then I'm off to the Hyatt
So tie me on the spliff, ain't no ands or if
And if you really wanna riff you just might end up playin' stiff
Girbauds hangin' baggy, Hilfiger on the top
Knapsack on the back, that's just my flavor, hop
As my man gives a zigga zigga, watchin' three grow bigga bigga
To Pos K, that's my nigga
Here goes the wreck, whaddayou expect?
If you wanna see some wreck, send cash, not a check
Grand Puba, more than a public figure
Quick to kick the bone up the butt of a golddigger
Now Tic-Tac-Toe means I hit three in a row
If I do a show then you better have my dough
Low, low, well how low can you go?
Call on Grand Puba if you really need a pro
Cause my shit's more rugged than G.I. Joe
Don't front honey, act like you know
Now big up to my Brooklyn mob (Brooklyn! Brooklyn!)
Big up to my Uptown mob (Uptown! Uptown!)
Now brothers wanna diss me cause it's my turn to burn
My best advice for the brothers is to sit back and learn
I don't diss nobody to be somebody
I just like to kick the flavor to make the people party
See all I'm sayin, is respect due
Those who tried to follow, sorry I left you
Grand Puba, Stud Doogie and Alamo
So if you ever want the flavor you know where to go
Now how we go...

De La Soul - "Fanatic Of The B Word"

[Buried near the end of De La's criminally underrated second album, "Fanatic" is a killer little shuffle of a tune. Featuring assists from Mike Gee (of the JBeez) and Mista Lawnge and Dres (AKA Black Sheep), the Plugs rhyme cheerfully about, well... Not much, actually. Verses get traded off, riffing on baseball as metaphor for sex, getting high, looking out windows, watching girls, lack of proper eating utensils, and other important matters. General laid-back tomfoolery ensues.]

spoken intro:
( [Mike Gee] Haha! Awwwwwwww yeah! Got it going on like a big old fat high hard-on! Black Sheep in the house, sweet daddy Mr. Lawnge in the house, my man the Dres in the house, y'knowwhatI'msayin', Huey Love in the house, long Posdnuos, Dove, Prince Paul, the immigrant Lucien in the house. The house Dreddy Bear, haaaaah, Mike Gee!)


Come on everybody let's baseball (Got it goin' on. Swing it over here!)
Come on everybody do the baseball
Come on, come on, come on, come on
Come on everybody let's baseball (We gonna swing it over here, swing it over there.)
Come on everybody let's baseball
Come on everybody do the baseball (We gonna do the baseball.)
Everybody, everybody, everybody, everybody (Ha ha ha!)
Come on everybody let's baseball


[Posdnuos]
A Nubian sprocket is the one
Plug One, cut the cap
Forward is the marcher of the chant
To the clan, unless you slept
Willy to the Wonka of the feast
Smoke your blunt, but close your drapes
If we get fined by police,
Don't worry, yo, I got the papes
Toxic is the talk that I tell,
Tell the tales from the lady who's fat
Chris made the dope beat, but no Bo Peeps
(And you can't beat that with a baseball bat)

[Trugoy]
Swing is the iszm I step
Plug Two, groove a gut
On gets by, when it's kept
Three miles to my strut
Forgiveness to the foes is false
I cook goose, and serve a plate
Position is opposed to a loss
No cause, no relate
Brother got a badge of his own
Because the link of the life is slack
This licks 'em down to the Tootsie Pop
(And you can't beat that with a baseball bat)

[Dres]
Move over just a bit to the right of me
For I cannot see where the booty is
I sit, I'm looking out a foggy window
Crack it just a bit, yo, this is showbiz
It's as though a pound goes around and around
So I give a pound, then I do the step
Dres will be with boca on the side
Can I crack a smile, for those who slept
Phonetics and kinetics perservere therefore I kick it
I took the L.I.R.R., but I did not have a ticket
Had some Chinese food but I didn't have a spoon
I had a dope rhyme but I didn't have it soon
I'm looking out the window, day is filled with rain and gloom
Man oh man oh man I hope I find my spoon soon
Eating on some sushi 'cause I know it ain't cat
(And you can't beat that with a baseball bat)

(spoken outros:
[Posdnuos] Yo this is Plug One and I'm saying peace to Lorraine in Holland, thanks for not having my baby, peace.
[Dres] This is Dres. Danica, Boston, my first tight cushion, love you.
[Mista Lawnge] Yo this is the Sugar Dick Daddy, I'd like to say peace to my father, Bombed Out Brother.
[Maseo] This is Baby Huey Plug Three, and I'd like to say peace to that mother (ahem) who stole my Pathfinder in front of the studio, peace!
[Prince Paul] Yo what's up, this is Prince Paul, I'd like to say what's up to all the doo doo eaters and all the Kelvin Mercer look-alikes, and I'm out...)

EPMD - "Crossover"

[A vocoded-out Roger Troutman sample lays the foundation for EPMD's biggest hit, a fierce challenge to rappers that water down their sound in pursuit of pop success. With their Hit Squad cronies shouting out call-and-response throughout, a huge rolling bassline and thundering beats, Erick and Parrish deliver irrefutable evidence that you don't have to pander to the mainstream to rock the crowd...]

Let's get up, let's get down
Roll with the hardcore funk, the hardcore sound
Let's get with this mackadocious funk material
So simple when I rock with the instrumental
Who am I? (E-D, the Green Eyed Bandit)
Control my career so I can never get stranded
But the rest are gettin' Brand Nubian
Changed up they style from jeans to suits and
Thinkin' about a pop record, somethin' made for the station
For a whole new relation-ship of a new type of scene
To go platinum and clock mad green
AKA, a sellout, the rap definition
Get off that boy, change your mission
Come back around the block
Pump Color Me Badd to the ah, tick tock
Let them know your logo, not a black thing
My background sing, my background sing for the crossover

The rap era's outta control, brothers sellin' their soul
To go gold, going, going, gone, another rapper sold
To pop and R&B, not the MD
I'm strictly hip-hop, I'll stick to Kid Capri
Funk mode, yea, kid, that's how The Squad rolls
I know your head is bobbin' 'cause the neck knows
(Like other rappers)
Frontin' on they fans, the ill
Trying to chill, saying "damn, it be great to sell a mill"
Thats when the mind switch to the pop tip
(Kid, you're gonna be large!)
Yeah right, that's what the company kicks
Forget the black crowds, you're wack now
In a zoot suit, frontin' black, lookin' mad foul
I speak for the hardcore
(Rough, rugged and raw)
I'm outta here, catch me chillin' on my next tour
From the US to The White Cliffs Of Dover
Strictly underground funk, keep the crossover

(So what'cha sayin')
You wanna go pop goes the weasel
You know you should be rocking the fans with something diesel
But you insist to piss me off, black
So I flex the biceps so I can push 'em back
So real hardcore hip-hop continue, wreck it
And all sucker MC's duck down, and get the message
So ban the crossover, yo, who's wit' me
(Hit Squad!)
Yeah, P, hit me
Another megablast, funky dope style from cross yonder
(So help me Rhonda, help, help me Rhonda)
(Yo, from what?)
The crossover, yeah, crossing you over
Outta here, go on, peace, nice to know ya
What a way to go out, no clout is what the fans will shout
'Cause you got gassed and took the wrong route
Came on the scene, chillin', freakin' a funky dope line
But when they finish with you (BEEP!) flatline
Some say there's no business like show business
But if this the truth, please explain why is this
Rappers been around long, makin' mad noise you see
Still I haven't seen one rapper livin' comfortably
No time to pick and wish on a four leaf clover
I stick to underground, keep the crossover...