Joell Ortiz – Hip Hop

Joell Ortiz – Hip Hop

[doptoggle title=”Yo do me a favor.. Accidently step on your white sunglasses.
We don’t wear those over here, this is Hip Hop.
This is Carhart jackets, Timberland boots unlaced.
This is Champion hoodies, chicken wings and frensh fries.
RIP pieces on the handball court, this is us still fighting police brutality.
This is Hip Hop!” icon=5 activeicon=6]
I ain’t tryin’ to bring New York back
I’m just a breath of fresh air, that good old New York rap
Slick talk to the track, come on who brought that to the game
Grafitti all on the train, get up your name I don’t feel how I used to feel
I’m in my 20’s so a new Nas joint used to give me the chills
In the barber shop tryin’ to cop a new hot tape
Them Rob lowes is crazy the doo wop’s greatest hip hop(hip hop)
And yes I’m a fan first if you from the south, finger snap till your hands hurt
If you from the west W’s in the air, if you from the east coast act like you from here
The good old two step, the classic head nod
The thirsty iced grill, who wants to get robbed?
That was the energy in the club, on the real
That was the energy that I love, aww man

This is hip hop, hands up if you forever a fan of hip hop
I wake up hip hop, go to sleep hip hop
Dream about hip hop, ’cause I am hip hop, aww man
This is hip hop, hands up if you forever a fan of hip hop
I wake up hip hop, go to sleep hip hop
Dream about hip hop, ’cause I am hip hop

I ain’t tryin’ make you dance I just rip beats but the
Soul in my voice, give you quick feet
I don’t know what it’s like to not dig deep
When I’m holding this mic I don’t just speak, pipsqueak
The tides come in and the earth shakes
200 hundred mile an hour winds I’m your worst fate, birthdate
July 6th 1980 how can your age even matter when you rhyme this crazy, aww man
I gotta thank the lord ’cause with this pen in my hand
I don’t think that hard it just happens
Wrist action classic in the makin’
I kick back and just laugh I’m happy I’m amazing
Look at me gaze into my eyes, see the poverty?
Now understand why me and this music just gotta be?
It’s something that’s inside of me and I can’t shake it
So I embrace it, and let y’all taste it, aww man

This is hip hop, hands up if you forever a fan of hip hop
I wake up hip hop, go to sleep hip hop
Dream about hip hop, ’cause I am hip hop, aww man
This is hip hop, hands up if you forever a fan of hip hop
I wake up hip hop, go to sleep hip hop
Dream about hip hop, ’cause I am hip hop

Somethin’ happen to may body when that track smokin’
Y’all swim more wilder than me, I be backstrokin’
I’m the best and my fans’ll second that notion
I’ll be the last man standing with my back broken
Crack open a couple of fortys Celebrate Mijo
My competition, man they squared in the H3
I run cricles around them like a skate key
And turn your little buzz into “Yo, whatever happened..?
So don’t play B I ain’t talking shit
I just got a awful gift, that’ll make your office doors just stiff
They won’t open so no braggin’ and no boastin’ while I’m hungry
Matter fact, don’t do that when I got a lot of money
Yup, I’m feelin’ myself, that sound right
You gotta step in that ring like, listen I’ll pound Mike
You gotta step on that court like, I could hold down Mike
The way I step on that stage and have the whole crowd like, aww man

This is hip hop, hands up if you forever a fan of hip hop
I wake up hip hop, go to sleep hip hop
Dream about hip hop, ’cause I am hip hop, aww man
This is hip hop, hands up if you forever a fan of hip hop
I wake up hip hop, go to sleep hip hop
Dream about hip hop, ’cause I am hip hop
[/doptoggle]

If there is a perfect way to start off this track, Joell Ortiz has definitely found it. This track is off his first street album The Brick: Bodega Chronicles (2007) and is produced by Hecks.

Somehow, this track still gives me the chills, every single time I hear it. There are a lot of tracks dedicated to Hip Hop, but this is probably one of my personal favorites.

Joell Ortiz, born in 1980 in Brooklyn, New York, has been on his way to the top since 2004. That year he was mentioned in the Source magazine as well as XXL Magazine. Yet, his discography only starts in 2007 but he hasn’t stopped since. As a solo artist, Joell has worked with many established names in the Hip Hop industry, such as Big Daddy Kane, M.O.P., Immortal Technique, Ras Kass and others.

Today, Joell is signed by Shady Records not only as a solo artist, but with his Hip Hop group Slaughterhouse as well. Slaughterhouse consists of Crooked I, Joe Budden, Royce da 5’9” and of course Joell Ortiz.

Slaughterhouse formed late 2008 when all the members and Nino Bless appeared on the track ‘Slaughterhouse’ for Joe Budden’s album Halfway House. After doing that track they decided to form a group (without Nino Bless) and call it after that track. Their first album dropped August 2009.


And so, Slaughterhouse was born!

[doptoggle title=” I define gutter – every time I rhyme
I climb up another notch, hip-hop got my spine smothered
But I’ll be fine brother – my mind hovers
Above all you jive suckers wishing, that’s word to my mother
You throw a shot at me, I’m throwing a shot back
Yours is on a joint, mine’s whistling by your top hat
” icon=5 activeicon=6][Joell Ortiz]
Aiyyo Joey what you said, 24 right?
Aight cool, I got you

I define gutter – every time I rhyme
I climb up another notch, hip-hop got my spine smothered
But I’ll be fine brother – my mind hovers
Above all you jive suckers wishing, that’s word to my mother
You throw a shot at me, I’m throwing a shot back
Yours is on a joint, mine’s whistling by your top hat
Yeah I’m cool but you violate and I’ll cock back
Open the mac’s mouth and black out like I do not rap
I’m sick and tired of niggas lying
They fifth is lying in the second drawer next door to some bullshit they iron
Y’all be making up stories the little kids is buyin
I do everything my +Penn State+ like a Nittany Lion
I ain’t gotta mention the streets on a song
To get in a nigga ass on these beats like a thong, pause
Veterans co-sign me, the up-and-comers scared
The pretty girls go “Papi, here’s my underwear!”
Never in a hundred years I thought I’d be a rapper
But in less than a hundred bars I knew I’d be a factor
I’m PS4 in HD and the screen is plasma
You’re Atari 2600 with a weak adapter
Between us the gap’s so crazy
I’m Gucci, Louis V; you’re Gap, Old Navy
I get coochie in the V, you attract no ladies
You’re suburb, I’m gutter where the gats go crazy!

[Nino Bless]
Look, you know, look
Fuck a lecture, ain’t trying to be Pun’s successor
That term’s done fucker, what up whatever
You birds is food, I’m about to pluck some feathers
I’m young and clever, plus clutch under pressure
Yup! Who does this better?
Walk around with metal all on me like the front of Shredder
I lust for cheddar you owe me
Leave holes in your vest that’ll open your chest like a sunken treasure
I’m something like a phenomenon
Dropping bombs for fun then dine in Hell during Ramadan
Whatever I’m rhyming on or whoever
I tear ’em apart; swear on my pops
No, fear in my heart, shit, been through it all
Done swam with the sharks, snapped fins with my jaws
I’m all that, and a bag of the baddest piff
Off of a brick of hash mixed with acid hits like sick cracker shit
Get back, dumb birds I ignore the hype
Click-clack, Yung Berged if you flossing ice
Dawg, cross me twice, can’t afford the price
It’ll cost you, I’ll off your life!
You soft, I told you I’m raw white when I’m on this mic
Still mourn at night, don’t wanna see morning light
And I feel like I’m forced to fight
When the +Chips+ are down like Ponch fallin off his bike (AHHH!)
Of course my metaphors are type awesome, right?
I got ’em in awe, my aura’s Jordan like
What’s really poppin? Who diddy-boppin?
You wasn’t really, now you all Common and really conscious
I ain’t with that silly nonsense, I really pop shit
My gun stay cocked like Biggie’s optics
I stay evolving but grown bitter
On your grave they’re carving “Fucked with the wrong nigga”

[Crooked I]
I don’t write I kill a pen, leak its blood on the page
I breathe bars like oxygen locked my lungs in a cage
Instrumentals get fucked on the stage
A pedophile unless I dig in the crates and fuck with somethin my age
Forever vow, to never smile when I’m at peace
Only when I’m eating the deceased like quiche
Only when my enemy’s internal organs are a smorgasbord in a feast
The Dahmer with melanin led ’em in the belly of the beast
You’ll be missing until fishermen see your corpse
I’ll be in Michigan sticking a chicken in my Michelin
Ready to pigeon pitch again from Switzerland to New York
I was whipping Bentleys before them pictures up in the Source
I’m a gorillas behind these bars, on some zoo shit
Shoot you while you’re talking on some news camera crew’s shit
Sicker than flying in past tense on some flu shit
Day-old asshole flow, I drop new shit!
Exclusive! You don’t want it in fact
I’ll have the doctors operatin on the front of your back
Tryin to keep your stomach intact
The spiritual you, leavin your body, he don’t wanna go back
That’s when the tunnel go black; I send your soul to the atmosphere
Fuck outta here, and your ringtone rap career!
It’s Crooked I, the face of Eastside Long Beach
Put your ear to the street so you can hear my heartbeat

[Royce Da 5’9″]
Nickel! Yeah
I hope niggas know I’ll show up to your show
I’ll show up where you go, show up to your do’, fo’s will explode
Shells ‘fore they hit the flo’, I know niggas know
I got a open window flow, I air shit OUT
In the D they used to call me Mayor Royce
Now they call me Clay Davis
Guess why? “Sheeeeeeeeeeee-it”
Cause when it come to them words you know I wear shit out
I write rhymes like, white lines on a nose tray
Ice cold Ice Cube flow like O’Shea
Ridin shotgun with Chris Martin my DJ
Not the white boy, but I’m down for the +Coldplay+
Forever stay violent, better stay silent
Hammers stay hummin like strummin the mandolin violin
Speakin of, I done played a tune of violence
More than my nigga Charles Hamilton played Sonic
I wrap niggas up, clap niggas up, scrap niggas up
Either that or we gon’ slap niggas up
Dump dirt on you right before I go
Into my Maino mode if I smell the scent of Yung Berg on ya
‘Til it ain’t no mo’, ain’t no dough
Get into his ass cause I ain’t opposed, I’m a livin anal probe
I’m a lame-ophobe, matter fact my nigga JumpOff
Can I keep goin? (Why the fuck not!)
When I was a teen, I used to pack a three-eighty
Now I’m spittin sittin between Shady and Jay (ohh!)
I pull the jeans down on my bitch and then wave
Cause the pussy Max B wavy when she ain’t shave
I leave the booth smellin like somebody ain’t sprayed
I would talk about Kimbo but I ain’t crazy
I’m like Marty McFly goin back in time
And dissin his momma nigga you can’t fade me

[Joe Budden]
They say he a bastard for real, then they see the ass on his girl
So they wonderin, why’s he so mad at the world?
I take it out on tracks, I R.I.P. it
So even to the producer it’s hard to I.D. it
Bars tremendous, it’s in your best interest
I insist your men just, do your best Bush rendish
Endless, move more than two inches
My blood’ll boil like I got a big skin cyst
So end this or see me mañana
Or see the speed of a llama, underground primadonna
That ain’t hard to find, pop a E in a Honda
With hands like E. Honda, he a monster!
I love war, it’s like my pet peeve kinda
But for us to even BEEF you should be honored!
My DICK gettin hard, I see vagina, pause
Nah, rewind each line each time
Speak mine and meet 9, mano-a-mano
When it rains it pours, grab a teflon poncho
You now fuckin with Mouse, the head honcho
Nigga I could fit yo’ house in my condo!
I walk around like ratchets been legalized
Just me and the desert eagle, and an eagle eye
Closed casket, now you havin a boxed wake
Zipper over your head, dudes callin you Crotchface!
So y’all could bump “Swag Like Us”
But the next time rap’s discussed, add this as a plus
Don’t nobody hit the pad like us
And would get up in that ass but the fag’s might bust (bust)
And since poppin tags is a must (what?)
I hit the bank all I do is withdraw
Chicks removin their drawers now, your crew is in awe
How you ball? Your jewels from a cubicle in the mall
You gon’ need another processor, to process it
I’ll set it, I said it!
So keep running around hot-headed, ’til you get hot leaded
‘Til everything but your torso on you is prosthetic
Digest it, niggas is pie-thetic
Rap what you can’t afford, y’all must got credit
All you gotta know is Crooked I, Royce, Bless and Joell
With Joe spell, NO L!
[/doptoggle]

AUTHOR

Sandra, a.k.a. Queen Kobra, was 12 years old when she fell in love with Hip Hop. Since that day, Hip Hop has never let her go. She's an outspoken girl who loves to share her view and opinion, in real life as well as through the written word. She's an open and positive person that tries to bring back the old school ethics into new school Hip Hop.