Empty, useless, tempting, ruthless unless I’m on a marathon…(et tu Brutus?) Not, likely, but they’re so piping hot, why not get greedy for the barabonds? I’m playing cards, and I gotta pair of ones, but I don’t like carbs, they’re no fun. I overindulge in my love and she comes, to part where I play stud, but carbs don’t care, they play dumb, and practice warfare upon my tastebuds. I get fooled again and again by a fiend who pretends to be friends. My heart is with her, as well as my body, so my member loves me and our coitus leaves us throbbing, but I got carbs on me, and it may sound paranoid, but it feels like they’re watching, cause carbs ride like mother hens, and carbs lie like governments, promised one thing, get some other shit, straight hatin’ shit, like a bait-and-switch, like bacon strips with more bacon strips, mixing bacon grease up in the meat glue, then adding bacon strips and more bacon strips, maybe some Jack Daniels and Jim Beam too. Paradise! Am I right? Or am I dead wrong like a sweat shop? I’ll trade a pound of herb for a pound of this cellulite…(you’re disgusting) yeah, you’re right, but I feel like a man when I eat flesh, and if it’s not beer, I feel less, less piss, less buzz, less fizz, what had happened was that 6-pack moved in my gut, as if it made the cut. Ay! I wasn’t made to sit around, I was made to cut, so unless I take some runs or do 88 sit-ups, I make the love handles practical. Baby, saddle up! She hangs on tight by her ankles, and aligns her spine to find the right angles. I go further and farther than I’m able, and when she yells, I can tell she’s been doing cagles. She’s a thriller, like I was watching cable, and I just lucked into her, while I was flipping channels. When she gets hers, the outcome is fabled, my inner stallion hops the fence and exits the stable. Next morning, we’ll be eating bagles. DOH! You know that dough is stuffed with those f-ing a-holes, so’s tomatoes and potatoes, con queso and gelatos. How do I drop those and not feel so waist-full?

This just in, I haven’t used my MPC since well before 2010, (gasp), shame on me, or them? Since when has that MP3 static ever managed to become a friend? I’ll stick to tape hiss and record drops, I may dig the concept, but the process takes too long, like turning up that sample too hot, to give that beat box more snap, crackle… Pop-and-lock crates full of tapes that never made the cut, hating to wade the dust, cause my nasals can’t take the stuff. Hay fever sucks. I blame Monsanto, send letters and get paper cuts. Guess what? They’re not even worth the worry, inter- net trolls couldn’t seem to make it to Missouri. Good, I’d rather make friends with the Earth, hurry, it’s only so often you see your 10th anniversary. Hear ye, hear ye, FF is in effect, and if you step, I’ll refer you to the Matrix and a glitch. No shit, like sewing up your ass-lips, or bemoaning the fact that your man sucks a glass dick. Better than plastic, at least it’s not metallic, however you style it, it still spells out phallic. No Homo…phobia, it’s childish, better go back to your annalist for more analysis. Smoke some cannabis, if you can’t handle it, even my make believe doctor said, “that’s some natural shit.” Take a toke, chill out and get back to shit, if you’re into acid, it’ll land you from a bad trip. Rest in peace George Carlin and Bill Hicks, the only Zombies I’d ever dig to come back to this. Because they never lied to their management, unlike every other presidential candidate. So God bless our president and thank God for having him, we got a new commandment, Thou shalt not let FOX attempt to slander or dismantle him. Turn it off until Rupert Murdoch is handed in, and throw in Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity, Glenn Beck and Sara Palin, for the sin of vanity. Give the Nobel Peace Prize to Brad Manning, and a few Pulitzers to Julian Assange and them, WikiLeakers who brought the news back again. Who knew we’d get sick of too few facts within? Coming soon, USA outlaws war too, lobbyists, government pensions and fast food...

[Abe tha Babe] Nope it’s Missouri, over here, considered part of the South by some over there, but I left the country, I’m over her. What? You ain’t know, or did you over hear? The value of my swag is so for sure, Even my Cali peeps agree, “oh, for sure!” I ain’t know the producer of this overture, but from where Rich Boi left off, I’ll go from there. We seent the shit you got over there, and we’re cool, that’s why we’re over here, the shit we got, is so manure, we fertilized what y’all growed for years, inspired that soul y’all sold for years, compiled that gold y’all stole from here, but that shit’s old and weird, earn your respect and then maybe we can go from there. I ain’t into your city, I’m over here. My face was too pretty, so I growed a beard. I moved to St. Lou, cause the toll is fair. The only Cardinal sin is a broken beer. Bring your solo cup and your smoking gear, cause where there’s music, there’s dope in there, just watch for the cop who’s postin’ there. He’ll take your pot and hand it over to the Overland mayor. Now that ain’t nowhere fair right? But that’s life over here. Keep your weed in a stash, if we meet, we can match, just don’t drive fast over here. [Mark Twang] Yes sir, just left yesterday, to head out yonder, west-a-ways, not as far as folk in west Texas stay, my nephew says St. Lo’s the bestest place, but Alabama’s my nesting place, I fought hard against racism and sexist claims, and since the KKK left the state, why should I leave, I ain’t Mexicain? Life’s good, but it’s just the same, it don’t change much when it’s left to change, it takes brains, and how many in-breds does it take to upset the game? All of ‘em, no more and no less of things, that’s how the Civil War came into play. If the people don’t know they made a mess of things, how would they know, change was necessary? They don’t. Until cannons pave the way, to death and destruction of their aged ways. They weren’t my favorite days, but something had to happen, and it made it great. Now all people can pray in a sacred space, schools are integrated and made the same, public leaders unite and engage in grace, we have no more problems and…hey, wait. A boy was dragged to his death today, cause he was black, was the press’ claim. Well, I guess it’s just the same, that’s why I left yesterday.

Attention, ladies and gentlemen…It’s officially the tenth anniversary, of the Frozen Food Section… but check it, It’s been short and sweet, I started with a mic stand stuck in collapsible seat, recorded St. Louis heat, including my own. First summer, had no A/C, I shoulda known, Wash U was running slum lord game, to justify the really low rent I had been paying (I grandfathered in) I would’ve stayed, but then it was raised every year after. I guess gentrification pays… speaking of which, I make beats. Somebody bring me in some money please… Kanye and Jeezy, Jay-Z and Weezy, can it be, they really make it this easy? Passive income’s a must, let’s win some, benefit quick and then it’s on to the next one. I had my MPC, and used it non-stop, but once I got ProTools…it was on dog. Helias gave me his SP-1200, then DJ Massive took it to the pawn shop the next summer. (bye-bye) There was Tucker, freestyling on the Loop til, he pissed off the staff of Vintage Vinyl and Blue Hill. Wow…such hostility. So he’d just pick up his tip cup and get krunk across the street, but what would you expect from a battle dude? Shit, that dude’ll rap for food, but some are just dumb, or too stuck up, and friends like Kerm just wanted him to shut the fuck up, or drive all the way to St. Peters to get some, oh well…on to the next one. Luckily, Jules stayed in U-City, the Shore was open 24/7, usually. Space was at the airport, O’Shea was further west, Black Patrick had it, but was difficult to connect with. Attention St. Louis, the Cooler is moving from the heart of the Loop to Brentwood Missouri… well, there’s mostly white people here, but don’t worry, just stay off Manchester and Brentwood Ave, and don’t even ride over here ‘til you get your tags. Driving dirty gets you pulled over in a hurry. Mike at the Overland Midas’ll get it fix’d early. The first court case I caught here was a damn lie. They said I was disturbing the peace with my half pipe. The prosecuting attorney lived down the street. The judge said, “move that shit, or I’ll pronounce a fee.” So it was on to the next one. Jabari took my baby, now it’s his step son. All it needed was a new layer of masonite, four years later, it’s still got the same old plys… but that’s the St. Louis life, shit doesn’t change here, but like maybe twice, that’s when you meet the city for the first time, the second happens when you’re recognized. Remember when Nelly dropped “Country Grammar” in ’99? I was at the bar with a friend of mine…

Da, da, da, da, day…Snoop Doggedly, interpolation by a Dr. Dre, so he didn’t have to pay, he played all the instruments himself, as to avoid the sample rate, not mention it was released well past the date slated for Doggystyle, but came eight years late, I guess fuck wit’ Andre is how they operate, but all I can say now is, hip hop hooray! Same year, different sandbox. El-P did the beat when he introduced Cannibal Ox, the first release from upstart Definitive Jux, the break up of Company Flow, had given him a push, and all it took, was watching Cat People, during the dream sequence, shit got mad real, funny thing is, he sampled what the record made, and I took loops straight off my VHS tapes. But that was ten years late, cause DJ Muggs, had been fucking with great breaks, ’91 was all about bud and phat beats, with Cypress Hill, Del, X-Clan and Black Sheep. Vanilla Ice even had some shine, but I thought if that’s his true skin color, then this can’t be mine, I started ghost-writing for B-Real and Sen Dog, but I didn’t have email, so I never pressed ‘send’ dog. Aw schucks, I missed my chance to suck, I didn’t embarrass myself, that’s what’s up, by the time I heard the Beat Nuts, I was done being just a fan, I wanted to man the drums, even tho I was a rapper first, freestyling since ’95 on the planet Earth, Hoth was my place of birth, but don’t bother looking thru star charts to place a search. NASA won’t have that, it’s classified like the sample of this damn track, I hit the lottery one day outside the record store, a guy was selling 45’s but Vintage wouldn’t get him more, so I did, and took his crate home to my crib, and found this single with a B-side that flipped my whig, I woulda served that shit up like a hungry kid, but I was a purist and BlahZay-BlahZay already did. And nothing’s better than hearing from that man we know, and that’s our man Primo, you know… DJ Premier never sold beats to me, but I wish he would’ve, instead of giving this to MOP, cause emcees who scream when they’re rapping, on every song? It’s just not gonna stay happening, no matter how many Gangstarr beats you can make happen, the MOPpets will not take Manhattan. Here’s the best freestyle beat you never blowed up, but then again, the average person never holds a Royal Flush, Queensbridge ’95 sewed the game up, with gangsta-ass beats, and rappers trying to play tough, west L.A. had that G-Funk money for three years running, leaving rappers in the east hungry, some felt like, “you took that shit from me,” and between Suge and P Diddy, the coasts had it coming. When ’96 came, they made some great shit, well, Nas, De La Soul and Ghostface did, The Roots made this… One piano note and Quest Love’s drums made us trip, I flowed over this beat, many-a-time, from battle drills to buggin’, there were plenty of rhymes, but that was before Def Jam “found them,” before OkayPlayer, before Jimmy Fallon. And when real emcees got to come up, like Pharoah Monche, we got the fuck up, no questions asked, hands shot up, but when he got sued for the sample, his finance got cut, the makers of Godzilla thought they lucked up, when an underground artist used their art to get the club krunk, they proved it in court with the dub cut, you can hear it, the defense couldn’t shut the truck up. God bless the Luniz for this cool breeze, when we heard it, we rolled a Swisher up tout suite, leeches finally had to pay for some good stink, and if you got 5 on it, you could catch a hook wink, that’s a puff-puff-pass on the west-side, these guys proved sometimes, even the best die, this shit was hot for like one quick summer, and just like Sour Diesel, they were a one-hit wonder. And I heard this groove a bit late, on one of DJ Crucial’s first mix tapes, ’98 I believe, if my shit’s straight, he came back from Carbondale with some terrific breaks, Jurrasic 5 was new at the time, but we didn’t call ‘em throwbacks then, just average rhymes, nothing wrong with that, they were just behind the times, I‘d already heard Grandmaster Flash and the Furious 5. But who knew a beat that good, could come from the projects of East Flatbush? First time I heard it, I was stuck like a statue, listening to the Beat Junkies volume one with Babu, man, you can’t tell me that koto’s not something, especially with those Al Green drums accompanying, another must-have for battle addicts, and it’s even equipped with tape hiss and vinyl static. Yeah but, this great takes the crab cake, best underground beat of the 90’s, damn straight, Mobb Deep, were probably in their late teens, when it managed to get air play well beyond the add-date, it sums up diggin’ in the crates, with bangin’ ass drums and bass that hit you in the face, I was a college DJ, when I was slipped the tape, so I freestyled to it live with Christian, Reggie and K, and history was made, I would’ve love to watch Kool Herc rock it back in the day, but until my flux capacitor is back in shape, I guess the present is where I’ll have to stay...