Better Listen When The Pastor Say

When the pastor say something real good in church, the church says Amen. We won’t get into a historical or religious conversation though, this is a review of the single “Wool”; a flaming hot sermon for us, from Dr. Rev. Earl Sweatshirt, and Bishop Dr. Vince Staples, O.G.

MC’s take notes. You don’t need a hook!

When the pastor say you need to step your Written game up….

I won’t name this ‘source’ but, a while back one of my relatives shared a story with me. He knows a pretty well known rapper who’s done pretty well in the game over the past decade. I still remember this clear as day. My relative tells me, that, this rapper told him, all you need is a hook.  You can literally make a song about nothing, so long as it has a decent hook.

That bit of insight will help you understand where ‘hip hop’ is today. Although that is really a story for a different time. (Everything isn’t hip hop) – Let’s get back to these Lyrics.

“Better Listen when the Pastor Say”

Vince Staples features on this single from Earl Sweatshirt’s phenomenal album, I don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside. Two of the best from the West fully represent the culture in it’s purest form. On one hand, you’ve got a crip and on the other, you got a dude from the ‘black Beverly Hills’. If you’re not from L.A., let me just help you understand, that’s pretty much L.A. – you need to stay on your P’s, and watch that mouth. You never know who you might catch those hands from if you get out of line out West.  Everybody ain’t affiliated, but some cats are.  Listen, this communication matters.  They’re on this track preaching. They’re not worried about a ‘hook’, or making this into a catchy radio tune.

As ‘The Prophet’, Jeru The Damaja used to call it, this is Verbal Gymnastics.

Pick your pants up, boy, you dancing with a demon
On my momma I been limiting my features,
filling swishers up with reefer
Bitch, it’s difficult to beat him
like a soft dick
Golf clique deep and we don’t hit the streets passive
That nigga Sweaty got the gas and
Shreddy k brought the matches
Put your body down in water like a Lipton tea bag and then
Switch to different fucking whip to let them piggies speed past ’em
It’s the rats, try and get the cheese What it do?
Rap like I’m mincing meat
Call me Lou, if I’m on the track, these niggas skip to me
Niggas want to fade me, bitches feel some type of way for me
50’s in my pocket falling out like fucking baby teeth
Vince be with the rocket, he gone pop it when it’s danger round
Fingertips is tapered now,
salute us when you face us
Give a fuck about the moves all these loser niggas making now
– Earl Sweatshirt, Wool

That was just Earl’s verse. The track kicks off with Vince, delivering his sermon with pinpoint precision.

Truth is, we skipped to Earl’s part, like he said we would.

Special shout out’s to Skip To my Lou

(soundtrack to the video brought Legendary Status to us by “Homebwoi featuring Kadalack Boyz”).  Lots of people preaching about these streets. When are we going to address the issues that create the conditions in these streets? Too many of us can relate to these songs about struggling to make it out of the struggles.

For far too many, what people hear on the radio or played while Rafer Alston is crossing people up on a highlight reel, is real life. Rafer made it out. Unfortunately ‘the streets’ catch people like Ben Wilson (Benji).  These streets, really ain’t nothin to play around with. These are two of the West Coasts’ finest reporting on what goes on.

Meanwhile, the rest of us should be looking for ways to change what goes on. Let’s be more than seekers of entertainment.

Pain really shouldn’t be entertaining anyway …

“Momma should’ve told you it’d be days like this,
It’s just a tale from the crip
I’m on my séance shit,
I’m tryna’ make a million dollars
Keep it hood while crossing over on some A.I. shit
I need a foreign baby momma to match a nigga model whip
Ramona Park made me from scratch
A lot of lotto picks lost inside this game called rap
I be the underdog
Bullet hit his forehead, it exit out his under arm
Ain’t nobody bigger than my hood, my nigga, fuck a boss
Baby momma killer, you offended and I fuck her raw
Stretchy doin’ federal time for bustin’ at the law
And he gonna be a neighbor of mine, you play me for a pawn
Shorty I be swimmin’ with sharks, your posse full of prawns
Pistols rip his body apart, now he afraid of dark alleyways
Niggas better listen when the pastor say