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Oh, what a fun question! I'll get to revisit some of my favorite rappers I haven't heard in a while.Which rappers have the best complex rhymes, and what is unique about them? Well that can’t simply be put into words, you’ll have to experience them yourself. And once you take a real look into hip-hop, there are very many amazing artists.I’ll share a little info about, and some rhymes from, elite rappers—master craftsmen—and you can check them out thoroughly and analyze what’s unique about them.We’ll vaguely go in alphabetical order as I’m gonna take a stroll through my library.Warning: This answer will be very long. I won’t be able to remember everyone but this will be a pretty extensive list.First up,Andre 3000 of Outkast (Andre and Big Boi) from AtlantaMany people only know of Outkast from their radio hits Ms. Jackson and Hey Ya. But their earlier work doesn’t have that sound at all. If you haven’t listened to Outkast’s second album ATLiens, you need to do that. You really do…You should probably go do that before continuing this answer, just so you don’t forget. Yes, the album is that good.Track: Aquemini (not from ATLiens, but Andre really shines on this track)Twice upon a time there was a boy who diedAnd lived happily ever after but that's another chapterLive from home of the brave with dirty dollarsAnd beauty parlors & baby bottles and bowling ball ImpalasAnd street scholars that's majoring in culinary artsYou know how to work bread cheese and doughFrom scratch but see the catch is you can get caughtKnow what ya sellin' what ya bought so cut that big talkLet's walk to the bridge now meet me halfwayNow you may see some children dead off in the pathwayIt's them poor babies walkin' slowly to the candy ladyIt's lookin' bad need some hopeLike the words maybe, if, or probably more than a hobbyWhen my turntables get wobbly they don't fallI'm sorry y'all I often drift I'm talkin' giftSo when it comes you never look the horse inside it's grillOf course you know I feel like the bearer of bad newsDon't want to be it but it's needed so what have youNow question is every nigga with dreads for the cause?Is every nigga with golds for the fall? NawSo don't get caught in appearanceIt's Outkast Aquemini, another Black experienceEven the sun goes down heroes eventually dieHoroscopes often lie and sometimes "why"Nothin' is for sure nothin' is for certain nothin' lasts foreverBut until they close the curtainIt's him and I Aquemini…My mind warps and bends floats the wind count to tenMeet the twin Andre Ben. welcome to the lion's denOriginal skin many men comprehendI extend myself so you go out and tell a friendSin all depends on what you believin inFaith is what you make it that's the hardest shit since MC RenAlien can blend right on in wit' yo' kinLook again 'cause I swear I spot one every now and thenIt's happenin' again wish I could tell you whenAndre this is Andre y'all just gon' have to make amendsSecond up, Big Daddy Kane. He’s just about as dope as dope can get; his sounds will really take you back to the old school.Track: Ain’t No Half Steppin’Rappers stepping to me they want to get someBut I'm the Kane, so yo, you know the outcomeAnother victoryThey can't get with meSo pick a BC date cause you're historyI'm the authentic poet to get lyricalFor you to beat me, it's gonna take a miracleAnd, stepping to me, yo that's the wrong moveSo what you on, hops, dope or dog food?Competition I just devourLike a pitbull against a ChihuahuaCause when it comes to being dope, hot damnI got it good, now let me tell you who I amThe B-I-G D-A-double D-Y K-A-N-EDramatic, Asiatic, not like manyI'm different, so don't compare me to anotherCause they can't hang, word to the motherAt least not with the principal in this pedigreeSo when I roll on you rappers, you better beReady to die because you're pettyYou're just a butter knife, I'm a macheteThat's made by Ginzu, wait until when youTry to front, so I can chop intoYour body, just because you try to be basingFriday the 13th, I'mma play JasonNo type of joke, gag, game, puzzle or riddleThe name is Big Daddy, yes Big not littleSo define itHere's your walking papers, sign itAnd take a walkAs the Kane start to talk, 'causeAin't no half-steppin'I'm the Big Daddy KaneAin't no half-steppin'I'm the Big Daddy KaneAin't no half-steppin'I'm the Big Daddy KaneMy rhymes are so dope andThe rappers be hopingTo sound like me, so soon I'll have to openA school of MCing, for those who want to be inMy field in courtThen again on second thoughtTo have MC's coming out sounding so similarIt's quite confusing for you to rememberThe originator, and boy do I hate aPerpetrator, but I'm much greaterThe best oh yes I guess suggest the rest should fessDon't mess or test your highnessUnless you just address with best finesseAnd bless the paragraph I manifestRap prime minister, some say sinisterNon-stopping the groove, until when it's theClimax, and I max, relax and chillHave a break from a take of me acting illBrain cells are lit, ideas start to hitNext the formation of words that fitAt the table I sit, making it legitAnd when my pen hits the paper, ahh shit!I stop and stand strong over MC'sAnd devour with the power of HerculesOr Samson, but I go further the lengthCause you could scalp my cameo and I'll still have strengthAnd no, that's not a myth, and if you try to riffOr get with, the man with the given gift of gabYour vocab, I'll only ignoreBe sleeping on your rhymes till I start to snoreYou can't awake me, or even make meFear you, son, cause you can't do me noneSo, think about it if you're trying to goWhen you want to step to me, I think you should know thatI appear right here and scare and dareA mere musketeer that would dare to comparePut him in the rear, back there where he can't see clearGet a beer, idea or near stare, yeahSo on to be want to be competitionTrying to step to me--must be on a missionUp on the stage is where I'mma get you atYou think I'm losing?Psst, picture that...Ain't no half-steppin'Ain't no half-steppin'Ain't no half-steppin'Mister Cee, step to me...The name is Big Daddy, you know, as in your fatherSo when you hear a def rhyme, believe that I'm the authorI grab the mic and make MC's evaporateThe party people say, damn...that rapper's greatThe creator conductor of poetryEt cetera, et cetera, it ain't easy being meI speak clearly so you can understandPut words together like letter, manNow that's dictation, proceeding to my innovationNot like the other MC's, who are an imitationOr an animation, a cartoon to meBut when I'm finished, I'm sure that you are soon to seeReality, my secret techniqueBecause I always speak with mentalityI put my title in your face, dare you to baseAnd if you try and come get it, yo I'mma show you who's with itSo if you know like I know, instead of messing aroundPlay like Roy Rogers and slooow doownJust give yourself a break, or someone else will takeYour title, namely me, cause I'm homicidalThat means murder, cause I'm about to hurt a-Nother MC, that try to get with meI'll just break him and bake him and rake himand take him and mold him and make himHold up the peace sign...Assalam Walaikum!Next up, we have Big L and Big Pun. They are two of the most skilled, and many people (including me) consider them to have rhymes on par or even better than the universally-loved Biggie and Tupac.Of course Tupac and Biggie are great artists, but with such a huge legacy, many people come to know only those two and forget about the others. Big L died in 1999 and Big Pun died in 2000; like Tupac and Biggie, they were amazing talent that was lost so young. Big L was shot, Big Pun died from health complications (after he became really obese).Big L from Harlem, NY. Member of the Legendary D.I.T.C Crew (Diggin’ In Tha Crates).Rest in Peace Lamont ColemanTrack: ’98 Freestyle (this part of the track isn’t actually a freestyle)Yo, fuck all the glamours and glitz, I plan to get richI'm from New York and never was a fan of the KnicksAnd I'm all about expandin my chipsYou mad cause I was in the van with your bitchWith both hands on her titsCorleone hold the throne, that you know in your heartI got style, plus the way that I be flowin' is sharpA while back I used to hustle, sellin blow in the parkCountin' G stacks and rockin' ice that glow in the darkForever, hottie huntin, trigger temper I'm quick to body somethin'You lookin' at me like I'm probably frontin'I fuck around and throw, three in your chest and flee to my restI'm, older and smarter this is me at my bestI stopped hangin around y'all, cause niggaz like youBe prayin' on my downfall, hopin' I flopHopin' I stop, you probably even hope I get lockedOr be on the street corner with a pipe, smokin' the rockI got more riches than you, fuck more bitches than youOnly thing I haven't got is more, stitches than youFuckin' punk, you ain't a leader what? Nobody followed youYou was never shit, your mother shoulda swallowed youYou on some tag a long flunkie yes man shitDo me a favor, please get off the next man dickAnd if you think I can't fuck with whoever, put your money upPut your jewels up, no fuck it put your honey upPut your raggedy house up nigga, or shut your mouth upBefore I buck lead, and make a lot of blood shedTurn your tux red, I'm far from broke, got enough breadAnd mad hoes, ask Beavis I get nuttin' Butt-headMy game is, vicious and coolFuckin' chicks is a ruleIf my girl think I'm loyal then that bitch is a foolHow come, you can listen to my first albumand tell where a lot of niggaz got they whole style from?(YEAH!) So what you actin for?You ain't half as raw, you need to practice moreSomebody tell this nigga sum'un, 'fore I crack his jawYou runnin' with boys, I'm runnin' with menI'ma be rippin'' the mics until I'm a hundred and tenHave y'all niggaz like, "Damnit this nigga done done it again"I throw slugs at idi-ots, no love for city copsI sport a pretty watch, eight-hundred and fifty rocksI'm makin wonderful figuresI don't fuck with none of you niggazI might pull out this gun on your niggazAnd rob every last one of you niggazBig Pun from the Bronx, NY.Rest in Peace Christopher RiosTrack: Twinz (Deep Cover 98) (feat Fat Joe, but we’re not talking about him)Ready for war Joe, how you wanna blow they spotI know these dirty cops that'll get us in if we murder some wopHop in your Hummer, the Punisher's readyMeet me at Vito's with Noodles, we'll do this dude while he's slurping spaghettiEverybody kiss the fucking floor, Joey CrackBuck em all if they move, Noodles shoot that fucking whoreDead in the middle of Little Italy little did we knowThat we riddled two middlemen who didn't do diddly…I rub your face off the earth and curse your family childrenLike amityville drill the nerves in your cavity fillinInsanity's building up pavillion in my civilianThe cannon be the anarchy that humanity's dealingA villain without remorse, who's willing to out your bossForever and take all the cheddar like child support…Fuck peace, i run the streets deep with no compassion, puerto ricansKnown for slashin catchin niggaz while they sleepin, no relaxinKeep your eyes open, sharp reflexesThree techses in the jeep lexus just in case police ask usStreet professors, terror squad, ghetto scholarsFill the clips off, inflicts the fear of god when the metal hollersBetter acknowledge or get knocked down until i'm locked and shot downHeather b couldn't make me put my glock downBiggie Smalls from Brooklyn, NY.Rest in Peace Christopher WallaceYou know him. Next.Bun B and Pimp C are the Port Arthur, Texas duo UGK (Underground Kingz).Rest in Peace Pimp CBun B may not consistently have super-complex rhyme schemes, but he has proven himself amazingly capable of it. He usually talks more about the streets and real life in his music than caring about showing off his rhyme skills. He is a powerful rapper, one of my favorites, and he certainly deserves mention on this list.Track: Diamonds & WoodI see these niggas and days go and comeAnd fo me just to wake, I'm know I'm blessedI grab my cess and I split my swisha with my thumbSome of my sweets be tight, now some of my sweets be fucked upBut all of my sweets gonna blow so killas smoke get sucked upI looked up today and didn't fall prey to none of that pistol playBut who is to say tomorrow they won't be blastin' this-a-wayI'm puffin' spliffs of hay, Still upset about the drama hereAt this time of year I'm wipin' away my dead homey momma's tears... shit..But naturally them fuckin' laws is always after meSo I have to be in that matter on that 5-0-3I'm livin' dastardlyMust be all about survival GThese niggas passin' me streets, keep on gettin' live with me.They say there has to be another way but I ain't feelin that.They try to steal the ‘lac, and my wig they want to peel it back.But still the fact remains. It's all about the game swang & bangPeace to E-S-G and all the victims of the gameCise Starr is one of two rappers in the amazing group CYNE (Cultivating Your New Experience) along with Akin and producers Speck and Epoch. CYNE is one of the most consistent rap groups I’ve ever heard, and I highly recommend every single album of theirs. CYNE reflects what hip-hop is really all about. Even if you think you hate hip-hop (I don’t think you’d be this far into this list if that were the case, but I digress…), check them out. It will change your life. Seriously.Track: CiseI am the hammerhead, sabrewolf tiger sitting in human formWriting cuneiform, my hieroglyphics are lyrics bornDavid Lynch mixed with Kubrick, my style PicassoMichelangelo-angles-formed apostleA man on fire, sipping on warm waterWith a gin chaser. Now it’s your turn, but yet you falterYes. I breathe on Mars and walk through walls, defyGravity’s laws when I float beyond, my niggaThe reason of us, the metal will rustGears break and bustNothing is forever but dust—it isLeave me alone. My anger is slowBurning like a smoldering flame, pain letting me know I’mCise…A devil dragon in this ice palaceI write malice, sipping out of a chaliceThe Hennessey, jazz, magic, loveHypnotic, erotic, a powerful drugCrip the wings with the beautiful slugFall to earth, powerThe last king with the heavy browMy radiance surround soundAmplify me ‘til I’m loud, scream“These are a few of my favorite thingsWatch your back when I gangsta leanGet on my level, niggaDark shadows on the rhyme battleI see you grip that ice cross when I bear them fangs at youA pied piper and a vampireA werewolf at full moon, turn it out by the bonfireSay it again: original sinNew rims on the ‘89 BenzThat shit is dope, boyCandy whips on Mandy’s lipsPut a diamond in a Hershey KissThat shit is dope, boyCise…No need for long,Cause sometimes I bleed in the song,Holy water poured on the Stigmata, I’m gone.Snake in the grassI see you, but I humbly laughYou try to bruise my heelBut I slap away with my staff, believeLiving life through a series of dreamsPoetic words bust reality seamsThat shit is dope, boyClose your eyes for the sweet releaseTake my hand, honeyJourney with me. Follow me back, nowSmoke and mirrors, voodoo and rhythmCome see where the sidewalk endsOpen your eyes, slowlyScorpions talk and owls they watchPush your man on the corner with loveGet on my level, niggaCommon hails from Chicago’s southside. That’s where I live. It is not pretty and it has not been for a long time. Since his earlier works, he has been cemented into hip-hop history. Maybe I’m biased being from Chicago, but Common is a legendary artist. Today he is also a social activist; we are very proud of our brother.Track: The Game (not an old, classic, track, but I love his masterful flow here over Kanye’s beat)Raised by gameWhere niggas ain't fazed by fameCome to the crib, get banged, they take your chainStay in your laneBrokeback ain't the way of the gameMy brainstorm is like I stay in the ringMy favorite was Kane, now I'm dope with weight in the gameYou was hot but can't stay in the flameGhetto pain and windows crackThe fist is like a symbol for blackCan tell the real by how the real interactIn the middle of wack my soul stick to a trackKickback records get kicked to the backI want big cribs and my man Ronnie to get hisChild in a good school and know what her gift isIt's global warming, the world is shiftingWatching Sweet Sixteen, Bitchin-ass rich kidsYou don't know in life you gotta go the distanceWhether yoga or doja, we all get lifted in the GameI never kissed that ass of the massesI'm the black molassesThick and I lastedPast these rat bastardsThey try to box me in like Cassius ClayHey I'm like Muhammad when he fastedOpposing the fascistMake cuts and got gashes, scratches over third eyelashesPunchlines are like jab hits to rappersWhose careers now ashesIt's too many slashes in their nameCame in the game, these gun-clappersFrom weak rhymes to clothing lines to an actressI seen them dashing smash hitsI yell run nigga runWhile I cook up classicsThe weak hearted, become Babylon puppetsMaking it hard for real hustlersTouch the sky now and then, with a lady friendGive thanks to the most that's how the day begins in the gameI just wanna be like Akeelah, an achieverFrom the streets of the Chi where some get high for leisureSelling weed out of cleanersFrom rocks to barber shops and beamersChicks with blond weaves and strong legs like SerenaThe demeanor of the Ghetto, to never stay settledAldermen and corrupt men play PharaohGood bring business to the hood like Harold’sFive year olds walking by themselves in the streetThe young die of cancerI stop eating meatGreet the gods on 87th street like peaceEven though it's war to G, got em facing the eastThe game ain't tasting as sweetCats flow is stale, and they’re complacent with beatsMy radio station is deep, so F emProgression, counting paper and blessings in the gameCormega is a very talented rapper from Queensbridge, NY. Unfortunately he is lesser known and somewhat in the shadow of other Queens legends Mobb Deep (Prodigy and Havoc) and Nas. Though he never really blew up, he is one of the artists who deserved it most but didn’t get quite it. His work is solid.Track: The SagaThe saga beginsI'm a reflection of the drama withinthe ghetto I live in, niggas Moms on crack, Pops just disappearedthe first time you get locked up who really cares?I see a little snotty nosed with his sneakers on backwardssleepin' on a mattress when I go to make a saleat times I wonder, are we goin' straight to Hell?or does God realize we're tryin' to make it as wellmy sleep is interrupted by food on the stovenot gun shots, we're immune to thosesome of my friends first bids are two to foursothers are on the run with huge rewardsMothers watch Son's walk through the doorfor the last time 'till they go view at the morguelife is deep, we all just tryin' to eatrap's a mental narcotic, I supply the streetsLook at my life, you see white coke and black rosesand tears shed for passed soldierswe all walkin' the path chosenfrom the cradle 'till the casket's loweredI still got the black ski mask to throw onbut I can get richer off the tracks I flow onI'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't hustlin' no morelook at my life..Life ain't fair, shorty pregnant with nowhere to livesleepin' in a crackhouse 'cause she don't got no relativesher friends want to drink brew and beef about who's sale it isnow she's gettin' hungry, she smells the marijuana scentI paint a picture vividlyas if Picasso's spirit entered mestarin' at the Heavens, secluded in a tinted jeepI'm sick of hearin' eulogiesI realize my nigga Blue is - a reminder of my past like Greek ruinsyet his seek keeps bloomin'uneffected by police intrusionsor street illusions we were consumed wit'I've even grown away from people I grew wit'I mean we cool, but I don't need to bullshitmy mood could switch easily from smooth to ruthlesswe ain't built the same so mind games are uselesstimes change, like the climate I changecheck the forecast, I reignLive niggas I rep for, deceased, I pour Moet forthose incarcerated, my heart is wit' y'allI know at times it gets hard behind penetentiary barsthen once free you realize you're mentally scarredif not physically, if subjected to correctional facilitiesprepare for your future to the best of your ability prosper, otherwiseyou've been conqueredblowin' up her mobile phone so she can send you a boxSon, I sit inside my residenceand thank God I'm blessed with this poetical gift evident in everyghetto like graffiti and crack salesand cabs that won't stop for Black Malesundercovers givin' younger Brothers bad staresFours clap, Dogs crap in the grass hereyou love to hear the story Son, the saga began hereMC are fictitious yet there's actual facts herelike the Bible said, Jesus had napped hairDel the Funky Homosapien from Oakland, California rather appropriately named himself. He might actually be too funky. One of my favorite underground master rhymers, he’s like a vicious secret weapon. He may or may not be from outerspace.Track: Madness (with his group Deltron 3030 with Dan the Automator and Kid Koala)In the year three thousand and thirty everybody wants to be an MCIn the year three thousand and thirty everybody want to be a DJIn the year three thousand and thirty everybody want to be a producerIn the year three thousand and thirtyEverybody want to tell ya the meaning of the musicI must appeal to you people with your facultiesCause everybody else is gonna laugh at mePeople try to get over and take a crack at meThe universe is one and I can see what rap can be gloriousPut in the Smithsonian my podiums for holy hymnsBut you see who's controlling themFuck myself off 'cause of the egotistical mode I'm inNo I can't slap you no fiveWhen you and your cutty is talkin' shit about me outsidePeople take pride in what they have no hand inSorta like a phantom holographic handsomeBut deep inside he wants to do what his man doneJust because his peers jeer and and clownWhen your six foot deep no one hears you nowThey say were not compatible like deers and cows and owlsSo many rules and regulations say you're not allowedIf I had to describe the way I survive its like vice squeezin'The reason I'm black and still breathinHeathens will breed heathens soEverybody's suspect I must check your IDCause you lookin sheisty you might be intelligenceSomeone that Del's againstOpposite or positiveWhen I drop the law against nature be faithfulWhy should I hate you we ain't that differentWe may act different in some waysBut we still grouped together like a fuckin' surveySufferin' and fuck 'em all's the mottoI'm trapped in a bottleMy music's gettin' hollowThat's what happens when humanity you followWhere every leak or info is hard to swallowSell your Marlboros and car insurancePut niggas on the moon and can't pay your burdensI smoke herb and rock a turbanMeditate on the world and what's occurrin'A lot of white boys like the style and copyDig in something deeper and you'll peep that were not freeIt's not about the separation its about the populationSimple minded people always point the fingerTo bring it to a close as if life is their role, their pathWhen all paths are intersectionsIt all depends on the persons perceptionWhen I'm mad as fuck you get shotAnd to some it's bad luckI believe you held something back for too longIt grew strongAnd energy got its own willAnd people think they make music stillBut music is there with out you or me we just manipulateFor better or worse so let it situateI get to make records and doughPaid out the ass holeAnd still seen as another face on the totem poleConquer, my sponsors are monstersAnd everybody thinks that I owe them oneI'm glad I love music and lifeCause it's easy to see the pain and strife and end it all tonightEminem… Yup. I don’t really wanna cover someone who’s already mentioned over and over on Quora. Amazing? Yes, absolutely. The absolute best ever, ever, forever…? well that’s up to you. Next.Ghostface Killah of the Wu-Tang Clan. I’d tell you more but unfortunately I don’t know anything about him. I don’t think anyone knows anything about him. Except that he’s a fucking ghost.Track: Mighty HealthyBoth hands clusty, chillin' wit my man Rusty low downBlew off the burner kinda dustyThe world can't touch Ghost, purple tape Rae co-hostMonty Hall expo, intellect ya red proSon trifling fuck, wildflower on the cyclingPick up the brew thought I was Michael an'Mics are writin' pool, now, I'm into Iron DuelsTurn-ons the Earth's whoopee, she out of law schoolIn hale break beats of hell A-Alikes propel parallelDuracell night, you flash a burnt cellSnap out of CandyLand, kids the old rumor isblacks become immune to shit, we never did likeeatin dead birds chose the pharmacy over herbsMen marrying men, ill they got the urge pulsarScissor hand wig vanished in the winterLivin' off land you god damn right I fuck fans king meCheck checkmate props like the micro chip founderNeck to neck stocks with Bill Gates nowWhen we hug these mics we get busyCome and have a good time with G-O-DMake you snap your fingers or wiggleScream, shout, laugh and just giggleShake that body, party that bodyDon't fuck with Ghost you'll feel sorryThat's word, I'm not the herbUnderstand what I'm sayin'Hit mics like Ted Koppel, rifle expertLet off the Eiffel, burn a flag in the grass it's spitefulRingleader set it off, rap Derek JeterCulprit, prince of the game wish you could see usWe lay low glitter wax full banglesPriceless rolls, lay around the God get tangledWoolly hair, eyes firey red, feet made of brassTwelve men, following me, it be the God staffMove, every script's like MiramaxSmash the big boy totalled it, will shot fear effectsSon beamin' wifee on the beach, sippin' ZimaWu 'binos, to latinos, we love SelenaOver night, God schedules, fed exPretty soloette velvet nice DNA scroll geneticsToo hot, to handle one thought scrambling the mandolinHundred game Wilt Chamberlain, smack em, say whenHe rolling up, face wrinkled up, hands is on his nutsYo kid stop frontin' on the ground before you get touchedIt's Canada Dry sess, obsessed with Allah's sunWe want rye, we want it so bad we might cryMC Gift of Gab and DJ/producer Chief Xcel are the duo Blackalicious from Sacramento, California. Gift of Gab is a master rhymer. Enough said.Track: Paragraph PresidentParagraph paralyzer rhythmic aristocratMister rap it's the gift of gab about to twist your capsSwift the fist so fast fury worry hit the switch ya assIts 'n bits 'n fragments so midget quit this diss ya assSit ya ass down while I rip the tracks and spit the factsHit the grass, green, brown, or purple I'm the diplomatRip your raps, really you don't get the mathJust to have, grief, only rhymer, I was meant to rap into thatFire breathing, rhyme heathen, kidnap your mental blackHijack your fly dap or con head your intellectMind state, arrow blast, center crack, mind gapsBlind from their eyes back, send ya back crying actUp pencil pad, my utinsil grab thine attentionGet hit so bad with two jitsu stabs I abid youAnd if you rap I'ma send you back rappin in a tavernIf you mad kid it's just too badTell 'em it's the..paragraph presidentHit you with the funk it's like, "who cut the provolone?"Government officials put taps on my mobile phonesNations overthrown hold my own on my zoneprone to leave your dome blown poem after poem homesJones for the tones rome with me turn your motor onOval office, war, just just got it goin onOvergrown child never growin old so when knows pokin notesTill the never nose ho overdoseOn my flows those flows goes deepHold your nose bros knows foes yo don't sleepslow your row, show my soul, total holdDomination don't ya knowUnder comet like Muhammad with the verbal robodomeIt's the..paragraph presidentI pledge allegiance to the pen and the padAnd the mic and (?) of AmericaAnd to the republic, kiss my assThugs fakin, actin hard to get this killer beef that was given to meI must bust for allLeave your city burnin like GameraStamina, blaze up your space, plus I got it on cameraAnd I'm a animal animator landin aBlow cleaning clocks nothing left for the janitorPunching through your granite a good will ambassadorFrom another planet I could kill and smash ya upAnd it won't stop and I can't stop (?)Can erupt and it does had enough amateur?A rammin ya feel the goats horns slammin yaHam it up every single time that I stand in aCrowd of emcees backin up when I'm actin upOn a frenzy after ya yellin, "that's enough!"And it tempts me, that it does, and I'm glad it doesWhen I flip see spatula style's stackin upMany big threes rappers on never catchin upPassin up, ride passenger, is it black enough?Spectacular! Now you know who's attackin yaCrackin up mashin ya top mind capturerI'm the..paragraph presidentGuru & DJ Premier are Gang Starr. Gang Starr is the golden duo. My favorite hip-hop act. DJ Premier is widely recognized as one of the best (my favorite, and the best according to many) hip-hop producers of all time, and Guru was absolutely devastating to a microphone. His name Guru stands for Gifted Unlimited Rhymes Universal. I remember first hearing Gang Starr when I was 12, when I mainly just listened to N.W.A. and Cypress Hill. Guru brought jewels of knowledge to my young mind. That’s hip-hop.We lost our brother to cancer in 2010.Rest in Peace Keith ElamTrack: Mass AppealNo way you'll never make itCome with the weak shit, I break kidsStep into my zone, mad rhymes will stifle yaLines like rifles go blast when I kick some assA lot of rappers be like one time wondersCouldn't say a fly rhyme if there was one right underTheir noses, I hate those motherfuckin posersBut I'm so real to them it's scaryAnd with my unique skills, nah you can't compare meAnd no we don't make wack tracksand all the suckers get pushed back when I'm kickin real factsI represent set up shit like a tent boyYou're paranoid cause you're my son like ElroyAnd you'd be happy as hell to get a record dealMaybe your soul you'd sell to have mass appealOh yes I'm greater than all MC's when I breeeze give me room pleaseI be like fascinatin when I be updatinCuttin off wack kids, pullin their trump cardsI thump hard, and mak eem say that I'm GodNiggaz be pretendin they hardcoreNever know the meaning of [real hardcore]But I get props like a slogan and no manCould ever try to diss when I kicks my jamLyrically def and connecting complete mic wreckingNo double checking vocals kill like weaponsBut if I have to I go all out with no micYeah that's right cause I survived mad fightsAnd for my peeps I truly careCause without some of them I wouldn't be hereAnd they all know how I feelCause suckers be like playin themselves to have mass appealI know I'm dope but don't wet thatI've suffered setbacks but now I'm makin greenbacksJust like baggy slacks I'm crazy hip-hopCheck one two and you don't stopYour head'll bop when I drop my cropof pure bomb, just like the seashore I'm calmBut wild, with my monotone styleBecause I don't need gimmicksGimme a fly beat and I'm all in itWord is bond I go on and onFor you it's tragic I got magic like wandsSo I'ma end this lecture and I betchaThose who kick dirt and do time I'm gonna get chaCause I be kickin the realWhile they be losin the race tryin to chase mass appealGZA the Genius of the Wu-Tang Clan. Child educator, plus head amputator. I think his brain is infected by devils.Track: Liquid SwordsFake niggas get flippedIn mic fights I swing swords and cut clownsShit is too swift to bite you record and write it downI flow like the blood on a murder scene, like a syringeOn some wild out shit, to insert a fiendBut it was your op the shop stolen artCatch a swollen heart from not rolling smartI put mad pressure, on phony wack rhymes that get hurtShit's played like zodiac signs on sweatshirtThat's minimum, and feminine like sandalsMy minimum table stacks a verse on a gambleEnergy is felt once the cards are dealtWith the impact of roundhouse kicks from black beltsThat attack, the mic-phones like cyclones or typhoonI represent from midnight to high noonI don't waste ink, nigga I thinkI drop megaton bombs more faster than you blinkCause rhyme thoughts travel at a tremendous speedThrough clouds of smoke, of natural blends of weedOnly under one circumstance that's if I'm bluntedTurn that shit up, my clan in the front want itWhen the MCs came to live out the name and to performSome had to snort cocaine to act insane before Pete rocked it onNow on with the mental plane to spark the brain with the building to be bornYo RZA flip the track with the what to cutI'm on a mission that niggas say is impossibleBut when I swing my swords they all choppableI be the body dropper, the heartbeat stopperChild educator, plus head amputatorCause niggas styles are old like Mark 5 sneakersLyrics are weak like clock radio speakersDon't even stop in my station and attackWhile your plan failed, get derailed like AmtrakWhat the fuck for? Down by law, I make lawI be justice, I sentence that ass two to fourRound the clock, that state pen time check itWith the pens I be sticking but you can't stick to crimeCame through with the Wu, slid off on the DLI'm low-key like seashells, I rock these bellsNow come aboard, it's Medina boundEnter the chamber, and it's a whole different soundIt's a wide entrance, small exit like a funnelSo deep it's picked up on radios in tunnelsNiggas are fascinated how the shit beginGet vaccinated, my logo is branded in your skinIce Cube, my man, few people get more respect than Ice Cube. To say he is a legend is a massive understatement. He was Fuck tha Police. He was also about knowledge of self. N.W.A. were my first favorite artists (thanks, pop) and while everyone was opposed to me listening to their music, I understood a lot about the world through it.Track: Hood MentalityFuck school, nigga, I'ma be a dope dealer,I'ma be a killer, yup a urban guerrilla,I'ma stack strilla, yeah, buy me a villa,Sell a five-oh to my Auntie Priscilla,I don't give a fuck that she look like thriller,Hit that shit, one more time and fuck around and kill her.Cause I got the heart of a Pittsburgh Steeler,Black nigga, draped in gold with a nine milla,Love money, love jail, love that penitentiary mail,Love the way these niggas smell, keep comin' back, can't you tell,Love to see my mama cry, love to see my babies struggle,Love to see my woman juggle nuts cause she got the hustle,I don't give a fuck, how my life go,Now I'ma slave man to this cave man, without GeicoEverybody wanna a car, Michael a psychoBut he ain't never came through the hood with a rifle,Gunnin' niggas down cause they don't got the right clothes,Hit the wrong person cause we shoot just like hoes,First I was blood thirsty, Mr. Mr. Controversy,Now I wanna beg for mercy, should of took my ass to firstIf you don't wanna shake that hood mentality,How the fuck we suppose to change our reality,If you don't wanna shake that hood mentality,How the fuck we suppose to change our reality,If you don't wanna shake that hood mentality,How the fuck we suppose to change our reality,If you don't wanna shake that hood mentality,How the fuck we suppose to change our reality,Fuck school, Nigga, if I grow a little taller,Everybody tell me I'ma gonna do it, I'm gonna be a baller,So fuck that thinkin', fuck that thinkin',Fuck them Lincolns, I want Franklin'sCome back through here with my crew, I'ma gonna have my own shoe,I'ma gonna be that little fool, coming in your living room,Startin' point guard, nigga, fresh outta middle school,Either is the NBA, or is the NFL,I dunno what else I can do, to keep my ass self outta jail,I wanna be like Tiger Woods, swing that club, make you sick,I wanna be like Pacman Jones, I wanna be like Michael Vick,I wanna be like Barry Bonds, I wanna be like OJ Simpson,Leader's feel, leader's prison, tell you motherfuckers where to kiss em,I wanna be all broke'd up, moving all old and slow,I wanna be a alcoholic, just like Barway Joe,I wanna be a side show, kinda like Iron Mike,Used to have a few Bentley, now I just ride a bike,If you don't wanna shake that hood mentality,How the fuck we suppose to change our reality,If you don't wanna shake that hood mentality,How the fuck we suppose to change our reality,If you don't wanna shake that hood mentality,How the fuck we suppose to change our reality,If you don't wanna shake that hood mentality,How the fuck we suppose to change our reality,Fuck school, nigga, they ain't tryin' to educate me,All they give a fuck is what I memorize lately,I'ma gonna have to teach myself,Clock that money, get that wealth,I wanna be like Santa Claus,I don't wanna be no fucking elf,No kid left behind, buddy get the run around,Can't you motherfuckers see that they tryin' to doom us down,Don't trust the government, president, is for sale,He don't give a fuck about a nigga, just a oil well,Sell crack, go to jail, bust a rap, go to hell,Do I got to sell my soul, if I wanna go to Yale,Go kiss Oprah's ass, if you wanna be Gail,I rather have my ass kissed, up in Bloomingdale,You can go, be a pimp, you can go, be a hoe,But you only gonna get paid off, what you know,If you don't know shit, then you can't work for me,Cause you read your first book, in a penitentiaryInspectah Deck of the Wu-Tang Clan is like that dude that’ll sit back and watch you play yourself and all that, and see you sit there, and know you lying, and he’ll take you to court after that cause he’s the inspector. And also he’s the Rebel INS. He’s the rap equivalent of a nuclear warhead.Track: TriumphI bomb atomically, Socrates' philosophiesAnd hypotheses can't define how I be droppin' theseMockeries, lyrically perform armed robberyFlee with the lottery, possibly they spotted meBattle-scarred shogun, explosion when my pen hitsTremendous, ultra-violet shine blind forensicsI inspect view through the future see millenniumKilla Beez sold fifty gold sixty platinumShackling the masses with drastic rap tacticsGraphic displays melt the steel like blacksmithsBlack Wu jackets Queen Beez ease the guns inRumblin' patrolmen tear gas laced the functionHeads by the score take flight incite a warChicks hit the floor, die hard fans demand moreBehold the bold soldier, control the globe slowlyProceeds to blow swingin' swords like ShinobiStomp grounds I pound footprints in solid rockWu got it locked, performin' live on your hottest blockJay-Z is another artist on whom I won’t dwell as he’s very well known.Killah Priest of Wu-Tang. Not an official member, but he’s Wu-Tang crazy. The most spiritual hardcore rapper, his verses are often about God, the universe and the mind. Even though I’m not religious, Killah Priest’s supernatural rhymes leave me in awe of the universe around and within me. His words are almost forbidden knowledge.“God captured greatness, shaped it into a form of a brain; I was BORN TO BE KING!”Track: The 7 Crowns of GodEscorted to my torment, my pen opened up the coffinIt's horrid, its quiet awkward, let's walk wit WalterForward, see me tryin' on God's ornamentsThe hoody King gleam like porcelainY'all seen the portrait in portionsIt immolates greatness like 'The Offering'Prince of the presence the LegendTo befriend, to callin' 'em bredrinsBut that's dead when, you fill his ears wit poisonsWhat's this origin? You suppose to enjoy friendsBut instead you try to exploit themNow you tryna avoid themShape-shift your weed branches wit fireBlow out the negative gases, I rap wit passionNot for fashion, to provoke reactionYour chances are Slim for being ShadyI'll have all of EM (imen) Relapsen', I spit classicsOpen ya mind and ya mouth is where I fit the magicOpen the canvas of your thoughts is where I spit the graphicsA-alikes is like mineA-alikes is like mineDay & night I write rhymesDay & night I write rhymesI'm chasin' destiny, past my futureIt's therapy, telepathyLook at my face, see a rulerOne day ridin' my scooterThe wheels came off became horsesThe seat became a chariotMy yard into a fortressI'm sittin' off a cliffThe sky open, begin talkin'Tellin' me my fortunesSayin' I should be hit wit stonesThey should break my bonesLeave me on the ground and die all aloneBud out ya bones, I will stack it like LEGOSThe dirt I will stretch it out like Play-DohAnd form a body, then breathe the breath of lifeYou will be ressurected wit mics, then form a hex wit lightThere will be no copies, you are mineNow hold on let me explain, God captured GreatnessShaped into a form of a brain, I was born to be a King'The Offering' it was drawn into a frameBut this time adore me wit ringsNot gold rings but rings around SaturnCheck the pattern, off rhymes I wroteAnd that I mastered inOk he mix Greatness wit immortalityAnd added God moralityA throne spoke the name of PriestFrom a palace on the mountain right off the seaIt said the 'Psychic World of Walter Reed'I perform lyrical sorceryGod's tailors made my regaliaLightning from my fringesAnd thunder for embroideryMy hand that candles offers two CDsThe secret private life of plantsThe diligent and militantCommodity and colonies of antsThe spiritual and telekinetic mind of childrenAll rolled up in rhymes that are chillingBlack Lost Tribes of IsraelOfficial wit bars of truthChopped up in crystal, no fishscalesBaking powder of Satan power, devouredPots of boiling water of TorahTho the dragon wit his legions of demons screamin'In my coke kettles of slaughterPlace a capsule of your rap dudes to take back to schoolThis is something to relapse toKRS-ONE from South Bronx, South South Bronx. You better act like you know.Track: MCs Act Like They Don’t KnowIf you don't know me by now I doubt you'll ever know meI never won a Grammy, I won't win a TonyBut I'm not the only MC keepin' it realWhen I grab the mic to smash a rapper, girls go "illlll!"Check the time as I rhyme, it's 1995Whenever I arrive the party gets liverFlow with the master rhymer, as I leave behindThe video rapper, you know, the chart climberClapper, down goes another rapperOnto another matter, punch up the data, BlastmasterKnowledge Reigns Supreme Over Nearly EverybodyCall up KRS, I'm guaranteed to rip a partyFlat top, braids, bald heads or knotty dreadThere once was a story about a man named JedBut now Jed is dead, all his kids insteadWant to kick rhymes off the top of they headWord, what go around come around I figureNow we got white kids callin' themselves niggasThe tables turned as the crosses burnedRemember You Must LearnAbout the styles I flip and how wild I getI go on like a space age rocket shipYou could be a mack, a pimp, hustler or playerBut make sure live you is a dope rhyme sayerThis is what you waited all year forThe hardcore, that's what KRS is here forBig up Grand Wizard Theodore, gettin' illIf you see then ya saw I'm in your grill with mad skillMC's can only battle with rhymes that got punchlinesLet's battle to see who headlinesInstead of flow for flow let's go show for showToe for toe, yo, you better act like you knowToo many MC's take that word 'emcee' lightlyThey can't Move a Crowd, not even slightlyIt might be the fact that they express wacknessLet me show ya whose ass is the blackestI flip a script a little bit, you ride the tip and shitToo sick to get with it, admit you bit, your style is counterfeitNow tone it down a bitMy title you will never get, I'm too intelligentI'll send your family my sentiments, my style is toxicWhen I rock and shock and hip hop it unlock your head, I knock itIt split quick from the lyricDirect hit, perfect fit, you can't get with itSome MC's don't like the KRS but they must respect him'Cause they know this kid gets all up in they rectumSlappin' and selectin' em, checkin' em, disrespectin' emJust deckin' em, deckin' em, deck-in' emWho in their right mind can mimic a style like mine?I design rhyme and get mine all the timeMC's standin' on the sidelines, always dissin'When I roll up and rush their crew they start bitchin'I don't burn, I don't freeze, yet some MC'sBelieve they could tangle with the likes of theseCross your t's and dot your i's whenever I arriveWide, magnified, live like the ocean tideYou dope, you lied, I reside like artefactsOn the wrong side of the tracks, electrifiedComin' around the mountain, you run and hideHopin' your defence mechanism can divert my heat-seeking lyricismAs I spark mad iszmThe 1996 lyrical style's what I give 'emLauryn Hill is a very talented rapper in addition to a mesmerizing singer. She released only one real solo album, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill in 1998. One of my favorite albums, as my ma played that album since I can remember. Her performances on this album, which is mostly a singing album rather than rapping, puts most so-called rappers nowadays to shame. She’s more real than most of these goofy kids claim to be.Track: Final HourI treat this like my thesisWell-written topic, broken down into piecesI introduce then produceWords so profuse it's abuse how I juice up this beatLike I'm deuce, two people both equalLike I'm Gemini, rather SimeonIf I Jimmy on this lock I could pop itYou can't stop it, drop itYour whole crew's microscopicLike particles while I make international articlesAnd on the coverDon't discuss the baby mother businessI been in this third LP you can't tell me, I witnessFirst handed I'm candidYou can't stand it, respect demandedAnd get flown around the planetRock Hard like granite or steelPeople feel Lauryn Hill from New-Ark to IsraelAnd this is real, so I keep makin' the street's balladsWhile you lookin' for dressin' to go with your tossed saladYou can get the money!You can get the power!But keep your eyes on the Final Hour!You can get the money!You can get the power!But keep your eyes on the Final Hour!I'm about to change the focus from the richest to the brokestI wrote this opus, to reverse the hypnosisWhoever's closest to the line's gonna win itYou gonna fall trying to ballWhile my team win the pennantI'm about to begin itFor a minute, then run for senateMake a slum lord be the tenant give his money to kids to spend itAnd then amend it, every law that ever preventedOur survival since our arrivalDocumented in The Bible, like Moses and AaronThings gon' change, it's apparentAnd all the transparent gonnaBe seen through, let God redeem youKeep your deen trueYou can get the green tooWatch out what you cling toObserve how a queen doAnd I remain calm reading the 73 Psalm'Cause with all this going on I got the world in my palmNow I be breaking bread sippingManichevitz winePay no mind party like it's 1999But when it comes down to ground beef like PalestineSay your rhymes, let's see if that get you out your bindNow I'm a get the mozzarella like a RockerfellerStill be in the church of Lalibela, singing hymns a cappellaWhether posed in Maribella in CoutureOr collecting residuals from off The ScoreI'm making sure I'm with the 144I've been here before this ain't a battle, this is warWord to BoonieI makes a lot like a SunniGet diplomatic immunity in every ghetto communityHad opportunity went from Hoodshock to Hood-chicBut it ain't what you cop, it's about what you keepAnd even if there are leaks, you can't capsize this shipCause I baptize my lips every time I take a sip(Every time i take sips!)Masta Ace is a true Masta of his craft, refined and precise. He’s a gemstone of hip-hop. Just peep him.Track: Good Ol’ Love (This 9th Wonder beat is amazing too.)Hey yo, the world gon' show me some love, listenAnd I'm not talkin' 'bout the fakes hugs and kissin'Fifteen years, a lot of love is missin'I done already showed I'm not above the dissin'I'ma take what I'm owed, won' wait 'til I'm oldThe game got rules and y'all breakin' the codeY'all don't really think I can be hot in the clubY'all think I'm washed up like I got in the tub butI'm keepin' it poppin', the streets watchin'I'm keepin' 'em locked and the beat knockin'Hear me comin' with this song that I brung inDaddy-O told me this when I was a young'un"Ain't nothin' like hip hop musicThat's why we choose it and the world just can't refuse it"This shit is underground like a gopherShow a little love 'fore it's overLet me put y'all on like a bulb in the socketIn the club niggaz knock it wit' a dub in the pocketThey walk in the store, I love when they cop itMake you other rappers struggle to top itBut this man flow with the greatest easeNever did care about the haters, pleaseHe done paid his dues, paid his feesHe done stayed overseas, made his G'sBut now I got a wife and she bad as HalleHer moms is a militant, dad is rowdyThe fans kind of act like they glad I'm outtieBut they prolly sittin' at home sad and poutyYou show me some love, I'ma show it right backI know a tight track so I throw it like thatMy limo driver's white, my attorney black"Show me some love" like I'm Bernie MacThis is for my Shaolin shooters and my Brooklyn teensUptown Bronx and them crooks in QueensI work like a maid when she cooks and cleans'Cause it's about to be a wrap from the looks of thingsThe game is changed, the game is strangeThe game is lame and it ain't the sameBut that's how it is, you can ask GizYou can ask Biz, we did it for the kidsListen here, this is different hereIf you got an eye for detail and efficient earI won't disappear, I'ma keep on givin'I'ma keep on livin', I'ma keep bein' drivenI'm down to earth and I'm close to groundAnd spit shit better than most aroundThis how hip hop is supposed to soundTear them other cats' posters down nowMethod Man of Wu-Tang Clan. He might be the most recognizable in his clan. He’s a super mean rhymer and he’s a really funny and humorous guy. My first favorite Wu-Tang member. Hear him battle his clansman Raekwon:Track: Meth vs. ChefWho lit that shit it was I the chinky-eyeCheeba-hawk from New York, Tical Staten Isleniggaz thought, that they could walk a dog but they caughta bad situation, cause I'm a sandwich shortof a picnic, cause you ain't equipped with the sickeningstyle, blowing up the spot like ballisticmissiles, I be comin through like the four-nine-three-eleventearing up the power-u, Me-TicalA bad motherfucking buddah monk, what the fuckhit your chest, like cardiac arrest, blow the frontout the frame, hit the pussycat for the painof the dog shit, nobody move run your garmentsA rugged vet, terrible like a Champion sweatWrap a power in a tec, to weta nigga up, with all the dangerous diseasesSniffling sneezing coughing aching stuffy head feverFucker, I think it's bout time that you sufferBobbin on my nob like an all day suckerMF DOOM the elephant in the room. DOOM is an anomaly. This guy is on New Game++.A bit of advice for you later…Step One is to admit that you have a DOOM problem.Track: Figaro (produced by the equally anomalous wizard Madlib)The rest is empty with no brain but the clever nerdThe best emcee with no chain ya ever heardTake it from the Tec-9 holderThey've bit but don't know their neck shine from ShinolaEverything that glitters ain't fishscaleLemme think, don't let her faint get IshmaelA shot of Jack got her back it's not an act stackForgot about the cackalack, holla back, clack clack blockaVillainy, feel him in ya heart chakra chart toppaStart shit stoppa be a smart shoppaShot a cop day around the way 'bout to stayBut who'd a know there's two mo' that wonder where the shooter go'Bout to jet, get him, not a bet, dead 'emLet 'em spit the venom said 'em got a lot of shit with 'emLet the rhythm hit 'em, it's stronger in the other voiceWe makes the joints that make 'em spread 'em butta moistMan, please, the stage is made of pantiesFrom the age of baby hoochies on to the granniesBan me the dough rake, daddyThe flow make her fatty shake, patty cake, patty cakeFor fake, if he was Anita Baker's manHe'd take her for her masters, hit it once an' shake her handOn some ol' thank ya ma'am an' ghost herShe could mind the toaster if she sign the posterA whole host of roller coaster ridersNot enough tracks (is it?)Hot enuff black (for ya)It's too hot to handle, you got blue sandalsWho shot ya? Ooh got you new spots to vandal?Do not stand still, both show skillsClose but no krills, toast for po' nils, post no billsCoast to coast Joe Shmoe's flows ill, go chillNot supposed to overdose No-Doz pillsOff pride tykes talk wide through scar meatOff sides like how Worf rides with StarfleetTold ya, on some get-rich shitAs he get older he gets colder than a witch titThis is it, make no mistakesWhere my nigga go?Figaro, FigaroO's beats and my rhymes attackA scary actAll black like Ms. Mary MackWait 'til you see 'em live on the pianoDOOM sings soprano like "una duociano"My momma told meBlast him and pass her her glass of Ol' ENot to be troublesomeBut I could sure use a quick shot of double rumNo stick of bubble gumI like ice creamWe could skip the weddin'Have a nice dreamShe only let him stick the head inNAS the King of the Streets is indeed a legend. As he’s known, too, I’ll leave him be. Pretty much his whole body of work is a display of rhyming perfection. Next.One Be Lo is one of my personal favorites. Back in 2000 he and Senim Silla (as Binary Star) had one release: Masters of the Universe , a classic (to me). Lo’s work after that have all been dope solo projects. He has one of the sharpest tongues ever put on a piece of plastic.Track: UnparalleledWe hard to the apple core, raps galore at your doorPull crowds like a magic sword, exca-li-borTravel north on a saddled horse, on a battle courseRap in codes, tap in morse, Lo never lack the forceYou need to practice more, you ain't in my cat-e-gorI rap for sport, Trackezoids got my back supportSo pass the torch, and of course, I can rattle yours, ask for moreThe more the Marry get your raps divorcedSlice like a razor blade, mix tape brigadeRaps erase ya data- base, snatch your flavor, call you Gator-radeTrying to get major paid, like the upper class?You can't escape from the wrath, sufferin succatashBust your ass, with a duffle bag, full of mustard gasFingertips equiped, with a touch of classWe touchin' fans, we trust no man, here comes the planAll we need is just a chance, we must advanceI'm just, clowing you circus acts, and nervous catsWith gerber raps, I murder wax, similar to Roberta FlackKilling you softly, with every word, no time for stressPetty herbs get addressed like the gettysburgA hundred miles and racing, with a wild imaginationEven if I get the job half-done it's half-amazingOnly obligation, Trackezoid collaborationsGo together like masturbation and ejaculationComing with accurate calculations, configurationsLike the pyramids, lyrically, there's no equivalentMichigan citizens, should've been sittin' in SwitzerlandListen to lyrics I roll, like a michelinTired of rappers, smoking philliesNot really sayin' nothin', like Milli Vanilli, my style? Don't be sillyDon't need a filthy record deal, people still feel meBig willies, hillbillies, I rhyme without achillesProdigy of Mobb Deep with Havoc. These two are another golden duo. Just hip-hop legends. I’d rather not list both of them but Havoc has deadly rhymes as well.Track: Keep It ThoroAyo, I break bread, ribs, hundred dollar billsPeel on Ducatis and other four wheelsWrite a book full of medicine and generate millsTour the album, only for more salesWe used to catch those on the block with crillsNow it's paid shows, promoters post up billsSign deals only if the math is realIf you can't match numbers then you can't have the Head Nigga In ChargeAnd shit, live nigga rhymes artistPardon, P dub shines regardlessRemorseless, haunt niggas like poltergeistsMy advice, 'fore you get like that, is think twice'fore you move on it, put jewels on it, who want itLoose niggas make the news when we start formin'Snatch stripes off a nigga's uniform oftenDoin it past yo' delf you way out your jurisdictionWhy niggas bullshit on the grillI don't fuck around dunny, this move's realI Keep It Thoro niggaYo let me back up for 'em, lemme back up, yo, yoWhile niggas bullshit on the grillI don't fuck around dunny, this move's realI gave birth to your whole style and feelHow do it feel, to hold my dick in publicCock blower, duplicate rap clonerIt's me and you do it live on stage for doloI smack niggas like you, smash niggas by the toolsGrab niggas by the throat, show 'em proofRhymes cocky, crazy ill, mad rowdyDid a buck off of my shit and wrapped your outtieTempermental, I snap quick, very touchyAyo my attitude is all fucked up and real shittyI rap like no one out there can fuck wit meYou feel different, niggas see meI throw a TV at you crazy, bitches say P you crazyA Pain in Da Ass, nah but Fuck you, Pay meI'm no shorty, nigga I stop your gloryI'm a thorough street nigga for real, you just applaud meAvoid P, man take your baby mom's adviceI'm nothing sweet, ill with the guns, you pay the priceWhen you see me in the streets soldier, salute meYou just a groupie, oh you gangsta, then shoot meWho gives a fuck really, I miss my nigga Twin, kill meSo I can join the rest of my falls, up in the heavensYou rap niggas make me laugh, y'all crazy assAnd I don't give a fuck what you sold, that shit is trashBang this, cuz I gurantee that you bought itHeavy airplay all day wit no chorusI Keep It Thoro nigga...Qwel of Typical Cats is from Chicago. Extremely skillful Chicago-style flow, you have to hear it to understand.Track: QweloquiallismsFor the hell of itYou spit irrelevantDelicate flowsSpeak childIntelligent, Mellow shit kills fellowships bellowing freestylesSmile. Punch lines can crush the spines of the skepticsPerfection stepped inThree guesses who the best isCheck it, Check itHello, HelloYo YoI am, I ams dumb, dumbCan, Can Qwel, Qwel rock, rock?Well, Well um, umFear, fear kids, kidsCans, cans spray paint now, nowLook out below, where's that flow you were shoutin' bout so loud?Crush flows in mudslidesI'm 'Ha-Ha'– that raw with punchlinesFunny like when a thug's son dies at moonriseI'm sunshineEchos in graveyards are speakin' of us(Echoed)Seekin to touch those rainbow demons breathin' beneath graffiti buffsFeed the needyFucking bleeding down the side of silver snakesHollering a hollow 'save godDollars in graveyards fill your gravesListen through submission and sadistic culturesAnd demon's guns surround our suns like Copernicus-tic vulturesSoldier's clothed in goldenSouls in carcass hearsesCurse in first-personAnd search for serpents in our versesYour crew bleeds too profuselyWho gave groupies looselyStanding over the remains of a slain fifth-grade class mateWho's got cootiesExcuse me, emceesPretending not to envy meBut readily sending me these seas of frenzied centipedesMotherfuckers lack intensityAnd can't rhyme eitherI see words, split 'em in twice with reverbsBecome a believerYou blow like you're Pop Rocks with 3 litersThe shit's onSnap your fat lackin' tracks in halfMine are big-bonedThese styles be freeQwel sees above weak emceesDecibel levelsAnd infinitesimalTesticle JokesInvestin'in broke for linesNot as dope as mineNeeds workRehearse your speech slursI won like three thirdsCensor the censusOn my five sensesAnd unisex the mutants'Till the glitches in my wrist digits salute the richest humansThe worst heard herbal verbalistMy thirst for herbs further disturbs this itchServin' kids, trackTourniquetsSmashin' furnishings after classWith the get in your ass pass, rappin backwardsAskin' for herbs and the last laugh, laughRaekwon the Chef of Wu-Tang Clan. Yes, Wu-Tang gets to have 5 members on this list. The Chef always has that stuff to get your mouth watering. Hear him and his clan members INS and Ghost rip the mic:Track: Guillotine (Swordz)Sit back relax, fake niggaz don't get turnsWatch me massage ya brain with slang that's kingProjects filled with young men cause threatsWho is that? Thousand dollar chains and techsFocus, the brokest niggaz of life shitThese mics is like cocaine Sun, check the suicidal hype shitExchange mad blunts taste the sweepstakesKeepin up on fakes outta state for cakesNo doubt, plus nobody amount, we making dough off ofPuttin fifty on the Land and Allah, it's like thatPull ya shoes up black, matta of fact just adaptTie up, ya black Nike's and tight hatsCorners, stay surrounded with foreignersWhattup dread? Feds caught you grudgin for his breadBut regardless, peace to jail niggaz with chargesUnify layin in the guard with LaMy Clan done ran from Japan to Atlanta, with staminaClingers and gamblers, and gram handlersTical like the Isle, so God, let's get steamedInfrared guard yo' Beem, so seek nuff respectRude bwoy you bet, keep it movin par shallahPro black like tarDesignin the fly shit and stay shinin andthe RZA pours more beats than Cristal's fine wineConcrete raps go to blackwith 50 other niggaz on the other side of the mapKnew it's all good and all done what, we want someMike Tyson of this rap shit, pullin out Macs for funRakim Allah the God MC. Rakim’s skills are untouchable. The most legendary rapper. If you haven’t heard Eric B. and Rakim’s Paid in Full you’re doing hip-hop all wrong.Track: The 18th Letter (Always and Forever)Just when things seemed the same, and the whole scene is lameI come and reign with the unexplained for the brains 'til things changeThey strain to sling slang, I'm trained to bring gameHistory that I arranged been regained by King JamesGo to practice, with tactics, when the track hits, theatricsWomen that look like actress the status of Cleopatra'sStacks of mathematics took the ?ego-a-geatics?As I find out, what the facts is, for geographicNo time to sip Mo's with hostess, never mind what the total gross isI rip shows, stay focused, and split cheese, with soldiersWhile you hit trees and coast I spit flows that be ferociousAnd with these explosives, I split seas for MosesShine permanently only my mind's concernin meFire burns in me eternally time's eternityFollowers turn on me they'll be in a mental infirmaryDeterminely advance technology better than GermanySince the first days you know of, till the last days is overI was always the flow-er, I made waves for NoahFrom a compound, to the anatomy, to the breakdown of a atomSome of my rap patterns, still surround SaturnFrom the ancient hieroglyphics, to graffiti painted picturesI study I know the scriptures but nowaday ain't it viciousDate back I go beyond, check the holy Qu'ranTo speeches at the autobahn, now we get our party onSo being benificent, I bless em with dialogueThey expectin the next testament, by the GodI roam through battlezones with chrome for chaperoneBlast beat with saxophones one of the baddest rappers knownEvery country city and borough, sidestreet and ghettoIsle and alley and meadow, theories thorough enough to echoWhen it was one mass of land, with one nash' of manAnd the whole mass was ran under one master planSince the world's metamorphis, and the plan is kept in orbitTurntables we spin awkward but needles never skip off itRhythms we expressin similar to our ancestorsIt'll answer your questions if you understand the messageFrom the days of the slave choppers, to the new age of prophetsAs heavy as hip-hop is I'm always ready to drop itFrom the mind which is one of Allah's best designsAnd mines'll stand the test of time, when I rhymeTalib Kweli from Brooklyn, NY. He’s a very conscious artist and a strong activist, and good friends with Mos Def (another great artist/activist).Track: Get ByWe sell, crack to our own out the back of our homesWe smell the musk at the dusk in the crack of the dawnWe go through "epidodes ii," like "attack of the clones"Work 'til we break our back and you hear the crack of the boneTo get by just to get byJust to get by, just to get byWe commute to computersSpirits stay mute while you eagles spread rumorsWe survivalists, turned to consumersTo get by just to get byJust to get by, just to get byAsk him why some people got to live in a trailer, cuss like a sailorI paint a picture with the pen like norman mailerMi abuela raised three daughters all by herself, with no helpI think about a struggle and I find the strength in myselfThese words, melt in my mouthThey hot, like the jail cell in the southBefore my nigga core bailed me outTo get by just to get byJust to get by, just to get byWe do or die like bed-stuy through the red skyWith the window of the red eyeLet the lead fly, some g. rap shit, "livin' to let die"This morning, I woke upFeeling brand new and I jumped upFeeling my highs, and my lowsIn my soul, and my goalsJust to stop smokin, and stop drinkinAnd I've been thinkin, I've got my reasonsJust to get (by), just to get (by)Just to get (by), just to get (by)Just to get (by), just to get (by)Just to get (by by by by by by)Just to get (by), just to get (by)Just to get (by by by by by by)We keeping it gangster say "fo shizzle", "fo sheezy" and "stayin crunk"Its easy to pull a breezy, smoke trees, and we stay drunkYo, I activism attackin the system, the blacks and latins in prisonNumbers of prison they victim black in the visionShit and all they got is rappin to listen toI let them know we missin you, the love is unconditionalEven when the condition is critical, when the livin is miserableYour position is pivotal, I ain't bullshittin youNow, why would I lie? just to get by?Just to get by, we get flyThe tv got us reachin for starsNot the ones between venus and mars, the ones that be readin for partsSome people get breast enhancements and penis enlargersSaturday sinners Sunday morning at the feet of the fatherThey need somethin to rely on, we get high on all types of drugWhen, all you really need is loveTo get by just to get byJust to get by, just to get byOur parents sing like john lennon, "imagine all the people watch"We rock like paul mccartney from now until the last beatle dropThis morning, I woke upFeeling brand new and I jumped upFeeling my high's, and my low'sIn my soul, and my goalsJust to stop smoking, and stop drinkingAnd I've been thinking, I've got my reasonsJust to get (by), just to get (by)Just to get (by), just to get (by)Some people cry, and some people tryJust to get by, for a piece of the pieYou love to eat and get highWe deceive when we lie, and we keepin' it flyWhen, the people decide, to keep a disguiseCan't see they eyes, see the evil insideBut there's people you findStrong or feeble in mind, I stay readin' the signsSome people cry, and some people tryJust to get by, for a piece of the pieYou love to eat and get highWe deceive when we lie, and we keepin' it flyVinnie Paz of Jedi Mind Tricks from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I have a lot of respect for Vinnie Paz, he started and now heads his own record label and supergroup AOTP (Army of The Pharaohs), which be built from the ground up. He deserves everything he’s worked for. Till this day he’s always pulling out a new trick to remind me that he’s not slowing down at all.Track: Death MessiahDid protons and electrons create the earth?Or did Allah meditate and create it's birth?Is everyday in this place a curse?Or should I pray on my knees and embrace it's dirt?I don't know if there's a reason I'm here,I feel the only thing that's driving me is reason and fear.And seeing death to me conceivably near,So I don't give a fuck what you think bout me reachin for beer.I don't worry anymore about what my friends do,I have a more urgent matter to attend to.Is there something there bigger when I die and vanish?That weaves everyone and everything into a canvas?I'm not smart enough to think I have a resolution,I'll never be a man with mediocre constitution.My father told me that blood and power intoxicate,And that tyranny is a product of his father's hate.I recognize the guilt and the sins of the father,And recognize what's built and what stems from the author.Understand man is not a machine,He need a surface and a purpose and a reason for being.Either way I'm going to stick with my fam',Regardless if that's a dream of a ridiculous man.And I'm becoming more indifferent every day,So naturally all the questions have faded away.Some of the things that I said I hated to say,But blame yourself mother fucker you made it this way.I don't think I would even if I was able to stay,I don't think you could I would sit to the angles and pray.But everybody got to deal with thyself,If they cut another throat for the material wealth.If it's a problem are you man enough to deal with the help?Or are you destined for the darkness of concealing yourself?I'm trying to deal with the thirty years I spent in prison,Not the physical, because of existentialism.Ive backed myself into a previously dead deposition,When all I ever had to do is just repent and listen.Why cant everybody leave me alone,I'm the only one who'd really need to see that Ive grown.You ain't smart enough to see what I know,Id like to stab myself and let me fuckin bleed til' I go.But I'm too scared what would happen on the other side,Trying to fight the good fight how many of us died?I don't know if I trust the people that hang with me.Is it God, or is it the big bang theory?I know some really good people and they slang near me,But I don't think that comically they should hang really.At thirty years old I don't have peace yet,And I ain't got out of the belly of the beast yet.Z-Ro the Crooked from Houston, Texas. He is one of my favorite rappers, very amazing skill. He is very underappreciated, maybe because his music is too real. Over the years he has adopted style focused more on bumping than incredible flowing. In his old days he reminds me a lot of Tupac.Track: Look What You Did to MeThey tell me put the dope down, and it won't hurt no moreBut the only thing I really seem to understand, is murda mo'They tell me keep my trigga finger easy, I'll open up your bodyToo many casualties around here, dead bodies around hereAnd I can't get caught up, preacher can you save me, save meThey said it was gonna get greater laterBut now I can't help to think that it ain'tBut a nigga was fed up with this life, thinking about running over to playCross my wrist, every last drop till I faintTaken out there, pulling smith for the thangs that I never didComing up as a a young kidTrying to get rid of all the animosity towards meThat was shown by the other kids, what do I doAnd why do everybody wanna see a nigga fallMama and daddy can't be foundSo when I'm stressed out, who the fuck can I callAll alone in my zone, with no friendsSo I chose to make friends with drugsCause everyday, everybody around meTrying to clown me, so I got afraid and I got buzzedOut of frustration came aggravationDepression coming down in my mindKept a nigga confused and straight cryingDying, from sweet sticks in lineThrowed off in my my mindTrying to wonder why do Jesus let this keep happeningTo a nigga that's steady being on his kneesAnd I'm begging you please, have mercy on meFind a nigga a better way, right about now I'm to the pointSomebody better take this infrared awayCause if it go too long, and I got a piece of chromeAnd I want to you to come and look and seeThe monster that you've created, look at what you did to meThey tell me how the liquor ain't good for meBut it drowns out the vision of my casketIt's either my life or your life, that's rightI'm gon let you haaave itEveryday haters, can't understandThe way I move my hands in ways, not known to manCause I can't get caught upPreacher can you save me, save meCould it be the invisible, individual niggaThat got to get more biggerBut big got a hand on one hitter, quarter I got biggerMotherfucking bombs mo' skits with a triggaShoots gun missiles, dropping a bombChucking hand grenades, C4's explodeWhen I be sleeping on the same bench, for nine daysLiving off of hot water and cheeriosHere it goes, my click back gotta rollNigga mom was thinking throwedA 24 fists apposed to thoseThey acting like nothing but bitches and hoesSuppose, all a nigga wanted was the good lifeLive in upper class, laying back on my assWith a maid and a butlerSipping on a ice cold glassGod damn it, I'ma do it but I had to start in the deuceTo em, nine plus one that's tenBetter think, many murders would of been avoidedI just wanted a friend, feel meBut they can't kill me, cause I don't give a fuckIf I bust with a gun, cause I don't give a damn no mo'You ain't dealing with the same motherfucker from three years agoWhen a nigga fight fair, knocking a patch out your hairBut it quickly, from a damn breaking, a nigga going crazyLook at what civilization done made meThis is my era of terror, I am the man with the gunThat admitted never to miss, would of ever missWhen it be busting, a lot of you gonna be rushingCause a nigga war like thisInnocent child with a smile with a dream of advancedTo the top, but I got a gun in your mouthYou want to respect me now, should ofRespected a nigga when you had a chanceHaters, been making me into a punk trying to figure me weakBetter get ready, fore' them put zip-locsAnd a whole of cops, and a whole lot of blood stainedSheets, drunk a lot of beers, shed a bunch of tearsWhen I reminisce on them years, when I see little boys and girlsLiving the life that I wanted to liveSince I really couldn't live with itIt's gonna be hard for the other motherfuckers to tryCause they dying, hey mamaI want my Tunker toys right nowDon't make me cry, I don't wanna have to kill againI kill em out, till the world is emptyLook at the the album coverThat's what you did to meSo, that is my list! I hope you readers have a great time of discovery with these artists and examples. If you found this answer helpful, please upvote to allow many others the opportunity to find out about these artists! I don’t normally ask for upvotes, I think it’s extremely tacky, but I spent several hours on this answer and, damnit, I want the world to see it!Thanks for reading! Spread the knowledge!Peace, Love, Unity