It's a couple years old now but I just stumbled back over Ratatat's Remixes Vol 2. They took a bunch of pretty banging hip-hop, albeit well-known (i.e. Jay Z etc) major label stuff, and mixed various vocals over new music they produced. I might be alone on this one, but some of it is really sick, and without fail completely eclipses the original versions. And in this super clean driving atmosphere, gave me a new appreciation for the lyrical ability of some of these dudes.
This song in particular, a mash of Jay-Z's "Allure" and B.I.G's "Runnin", blows me away. True fucking poetry. Sorry for the long-ass post, but you gotta read these lyrics. Especially JayZ's bits on the ghetto's "mental telepathy" and a girl's anguish after "learning [she's] the mistress." Modern day Shakespeare shit, I kid you not. I read this somewhere: "Black America's influence on popular music cannot be measured." Fuck, no joke.
The allure of breakin the law, Is always too much for me to ever ignore, I gotta thing for them big body Benzes, it dulls my senses, In love with a V-Dub engine, Man I'm high off life, fuck it I'm wasted, Bey Venay kicks, or them Marvin Kaye wrists
My women friend get tennis bracelets, Trips to Venice, get their winters replaced with, The sun, it ain't even fun no more I'm jaded, Man, it's just a game, I just play it to play it, I put my feet in the footprints left to me, Without sayin a word, the ghetto's got a mental telepathy, Man my brother hustled so naturally, Up next is me, but what perplexes me, Shit I know how this movie ends, still I play, The starrin role in "Hovito's Way"
It's just life, I solemnly swear, To change my approach, stop shavin coke, Stay away from hoes, put down the toast, Cause I be doin the most.. oh no! But every time I felt that was that, it called me right back, It called me right back, man it called me right back - oh no!
I'm like a Russian mobster, drinkin distilled vodka, 'Til I'm under the field with Hoffa, it's real, Peal the top up like a toupee, Mix the water, with the soda, Turn the pot up make a souflee, All of y'all can get it like group page in your 2-way, I'm livin proof that crime do pay, Say hooray to the bad guy, and all the broads, Puttin cars in they name for the stars of the game, Puttin 'caine in they bras and they're tomorrow on the train, All in the name of love, Just to see that love locked in chains and the family came, Over the house to take back, everything that they claimed, Or even the worst pain is the distress, Learnin you're the mistress only after that love gets slain, And the anger and the sorrow mixed up leads to mistrust, Now it gets tough to ever love again, But the allure of the game, keeps callin your name, To all the Lauras of the world, I feel your pain, To all the Christies in every cities and Tiffany Lanes, We all hustlers, in love with the same thang
Check it, I grew up a fuckin screwup, Got introduced to the game, got a ounce and fuckin blew up, Choppin rocks overnight
The nigga Biggie Smalls tryin ta turn into the black Frank White, We had to grow dreads to change our description, Two cops on the milk box missin, Show they toes you know they got stepped on, A fist full of bullets a chest full of Teflon, Run from the *police* picture that, nigga I'm too fat, I fuck around and catch a asthma attack (heavy breathing), That's why I bust back, it don't phase me, When he drop, take his glock, and I'm Swayze, Summer break, my escape, sold the glock, bought some weight
Laid back, I got some money to make