I'm not crazy, right? This has to be one of the best rap albums in about a decade. Even with the drop off, I'm surprised there's no mention here.

It's genre-bending and just an incredible ensemble of layers and clear descriptive, visual snippets. A pure disregard for adhering to any expectations a listener might have. I am blown away.

_________________

Have/going to listen to it a lot more.

https://pitchfork.com/features/how-billy-woods-created-his-latest-masterpiece-golliwog/

The New York rapper spoke with Pitchfork about his new album, MF Doom, a long-in-the-works book, and more.

By Paul A. Thompson
May 13, 2025

Scattered across GOLLIWOG, the ominous new album by billy woods, are images of death in slow motion. On its opening song, he sees “morose villagers queue in the sun” for vaccines; later, a still-living fly stares out of the upturned pint glass in which he’s been imprisoned. A drone flies “real low/no rush/real slow.” A man prays to every god he can remember as the fuselage of his plane shakes; CIA handlers crowd around Frantz Fanon’s hospital bed. Doctors stare at X-ray transparencies and frown, just a little.

GOLLIWOG follows 2023’s Maps, which detailed woods’ travels as an increasingly in-demand musician. Here, he returns to a story he wrote as a child about an evil version of the titular doll. (He quips that his mother, a professor of literature, at the time called it “derivative.”) The series of parables and contained narratives are also dotted with evidence of time travel. The terror weaves across decades and across the globe, but the threads themselves loop back on themselves over and over again.

I spoke with woods over the phone shortly after he’d returned to his Brooklyn, New York, base from London. As always, he was juggling multiple projects: In addition to the GOLLIWOG press campaign, he was continuing to promote new releases—like PremRock’s Did You Enjoy Your Time Here...?—from his Backwoodz Studioz label, slowly getting to his next collaboration with Elucid as Armand Hammer, and finishing a long-delayed book.

You and I have talked before about how, with every new album, you give yourself different constraints.

In this one, I decided each song was going to be self-contained. I was thinking about when I was a kid, reading Ray Bradbury or other science fiction writers, or Stephen King’s horror collections, or watching Creepshow—which is not my favorite—or Cat’s Eye, which was. Things where these different stories are tied together by this thread. And so I really tried to make the stories self-contained but fit into the same universe. They resolve themselves internally, as opposed to something like Maps, where you’re just trying to create an atmosphere.

If I wasn’t familiar with your work, and I got the press email about this record, I would assume it would almost be a Deltron 3030 thing: a grand, unified epic of a narrative.

There was initially the idea that the doll would fit into more of the songs, sort of like the cat in Cat’s Eye. But some of the songs just didn’t make it. The golliwog itself only shows up in a couple places. I was going for an overall idea here, but it’s more like a book of short stories than a novel. Maps is more like a novel, or a travelogue, you’re going directly from one place to another.

Which gives this record an interesting relationship to something like Hiding Places, where you were playing in the world of fairy tales and folk tales. This is different, but you always write into your verses odd, amusing phrases or jargon you hear; here you weave in things that could come from a children’s story book.

Well, one interesting thing that I thought about after I finished the record was that you could go through and pick out songs like “Bedtime,” on Hiding Places, or “Christine,” on Aethiopes, or “Hangman,” on Maps, and those are songs that could have fit onto this record. I think that’s an element that often is there in my work, but this record it was all that, you know what I mean?

Did you work on this one mostly in New York, as opposed to Maps? And how long did it take you to write?

My initial thought was that I was going to work on this album pretty slowly, and I knew that I wanted to do something with multiple producers. I had a couple other things going on creatively, so I was going to take my time with it. Elucid and I were working on something. I had this book. I was like, ‘I’m just going to slow-walk this and try to work on one song a month,’ or something like that. That’s kind of how it started out. It was my first multiple-producer record in a long time, so I knew I wanted to cast a wider net for production, just because it would be fun.

With Maps, the main thing was that I was totally focused on that. It’s tough, because I was also touring and traveling, but I was recording a lot with Kenny or while I was on the road: I would record there, or write when I would come home, whichever situations would lend themselves to that. was all at home. Elucid got pretty deep into REVELATOR and was like, ‘I need to focus on this and come back to the Armand Hammer record later.’ We had a couple songs done, but he was locked into REVELATOR. So I was like, ‘Well, I should do something. And I have this idea, so I’ll start doing that.’ I think one of the first songs I recorded was one that didn’t make REVELATOR, and then another, both on Messiah Musik beats. It was still kind of a slow-walk thing, but not as slow as it would have been under the original plan.

What’s your earliest memory of the golliwog itself?

Sometimes I just jot an idea down. The same thing happened with Aethiopes: I had that word written down for a while, just like, ‘Oh, that’s interesting, there’s something I could do there.’ At some point I was at home and I saw an old story that I had written when I was a child. My mom keeps them all, and is like, ‘You should redo this story from when you were 12!’

Have you ever done that?

No; in the book there is something I wrote when I was a teenager, but no. My mother is like: ‘These are good! I don’t know what you’re doing now’ . But anyway, the thing with words is finding good words. Sometimes you just need to find a good word, a good phrase that sticks with you. We Buy Diabetic Test Strips—I was seeing it and I wrote it down, I just had it.

I’ve been revisiting the really early records, Camouflage and The Chalice, and, while there are definitely common threads, you’ve become much less conventional as a rapper. I think about the beginning of Maps’ “Baby Steps,” where you use these rhythms and cadences that sound like speech but get nimble and technical and fall into a pocket. You’re doing that more on GOLLIWOG, too.

It’s just about getting better, man. I’m always trying to improve, to push myself. I collaborate with some of the best artists in the genre: Elucid, obviously, Quelle , Cavalier, Curly Castro, PremRock, Open Mike Eagle. You’re trying to push yourself to get further. The flows, the styles are evolved and are doper to me than some of the old things, but old things have their own energies.

There’s also this collision on the album between that very chatty, conversational delivery and lines that feel very written, very literary: on “BLK XMAS,” which is delivered in this very off-the-cuff way, you, at one point, say, “A light drizzle drove me back inside the house.” There’s this sense of oral traditions bumping against written ones, a sense of history.

I’m happy to hear that. I’m always hoping that that’s in there. I think that that’s facts, you know? When I’m working and when I’m doing things I’m always like, ‘How can I move forward and push it to somewhere else?’ Also, when you’re doing a multiple-producer project where you can really be like, ‘OK, this is the thing that’s appealing to me today.’ As opposed to a single-producer project, where it’s like, ‘OK, this is what needs to get done.’ Which has its own benefits—I made a bunch of great records with a single producer. Sometimes having to force yourself to conform to what you got is good. There’s always new little things you pick up. Little skills. When you go back to do the next thing you’re like, oh, I can attack that this way, which I might not have done two years ago.

“Jumpscare” is one of the most arresting intros you’ve ever made.

That’s one that I didn’t really have any idea how it would be received. But that was one I worked really closely with Steel Tipped Dove on getting it right. First, I was listening to stuff he’d sent me and was like these two sound like they work together. The opening sounds like what it’s supposed to sound like, you know?

Like a music box.

Or the beginning of—what was that show? It used to scare the shit out of me, man. Tales From the Darkside? The music from that used to scare me. It just had that vibe, the beginning of something creepy. I talked to Dove about how to put the beats together, and we worked from there. I wrote and recorded it as one piece; later on, there was stuff with how it was mixed and the samples that are in it, but I wrote and recorded it as one piece. It wasn’t pored over. I really feel that how you start and end an album is big. To me, if it wasn’t the first song, it wasn’t on the album. I think part of it was that that song has almost all the things that are in the album, in it. The horror, the doll, the feeling of menace and strangeness.

“The vaccinations was TB and whooping cough.”
The post-colonial ideas, the sort of Conrad–esque quiet horror of the colonial experiment and of the wilderness. The unknowability of the quote-unquote “native,” and then their own hidden knowledge of you. The time travel aspect; I talk about the Afrofuturist Acura Legend on cinder blocks. The little nod to anyone who’s ever had a trap in the car or whatever. Little allusions to all the things. And my relationship to the English language, the literature. The fact that I can only exist because of these historical things, the colonial project and its aftermath.

“The English language is violence/I hotwired it/I got a hold of the master’s tools and got dialed in.”
My actual favorite line in there is actually probably the Cecil Rhodes line. I used to have a picture, in college, a blown-up version of that famous illustration of him standing astride all of Africa with one foot in South Africa and one in, like, Egypt.

When you finished Maps, I remember we talked about how, if you had ended with “NYC Tapwater,” which is pretty sunny, it would feel too much like everything was all right. You had to add the darker note of “As the Crow Flies.” You recreate that two-part finale here with “Lead Paint Test” and “Dislocated.”

I think that might be an oversimplification. I wouldn’t say everything would be alright. But “NYC Tapwater” is the initial feeling of coming back home. And I wanted to get a little further: My mother would always say that the protagonist is changed by the journey. He comes home, and home isn’t the same place. But you are not the same. I get home and I have shit to do; I have to go pick up my kids, do the things. So having Elucid do all of that—it’s really a lucky thing that I have somebody who can deliver so spectacularly even if it’s in an understated way. As for “Dislocated,” again, I’m really glad that I work with—I think you could make the argument that he’s the best , definitely in competition. “Dislocated” is a song like “Stonefruit,” where a lot of things were set up and I just had to come through.

You’ve quoted MF Doom a number of times in your music; you’ve talked about him in interviews; you wrote a short thing about him from the Backwoodz email account when he died. But he seems to linger over this record in particular.

Great artist, great Zimbabwean Caribbean . I spoke to him only once. But he meant a lot. A lot of people when he passed made amazing songs—Mike Eagle, Aesop Rock. I just was like, I don’t have anything to add on that level. But I did want to make a tribute in certain ways. And so there are a couple aspects. One of them is the time travel—Viktor Vaughn, that being part of the idea. It’s a little bit of a quiet tribute, and depending on how much you’re into his music, then there are different layers to it.

Maps in some ways seems like your biggest record. It feels like you keep hitting new levels of notoriety. Have commercial concerns—commercial possibilities—started to intrude in your writing process?
Nobody’s going to put me in an Apple commercial . My thought process was really just… this is my first album in two years. How can I make it dope? What’s going to be interesting? Once you’re into it, you’re just navigating and discovering as you’re going along.

How’s the book coming?
It’s crazy when people ask… what are you gonna say? What do you say?

I say, “It’s coming.”
I have barely any time left. I’ve gotta do it.

Are you going to finish this year?
Sooner than this year, Paul.

https://daily.bandcamp.com/features/billy-woods-golliwog-interview

Tucked away in the bedside table in his childhood bedroom is a collection of billy woods’s early writings. “My mother keeps a bunch of stuff that I wrote when I was a young person in a drawer,” he says over Zoom, his camera off, deep baritone voice emanating from a square that simply reads “woods.” “If I’m staying there, sometimes I’ll stumble on them,” he says. During one such visit, he found a horror story he wrote when he was nine—a tale of an evil golliwog, a piece of racist iconography originating from The Two Dutch Dolls, an 1895 children’s book by British-American cartoonist Florence Kate Upton. Seeing the word “golliwog” sparked something in woods, so he jotted it down in his notes as a potential source of inspiration; when it came time to work on a new solo record, he looked back at that list to see if there was anything there that could jumpstart his process. His new album, GOLLIWOG, isn’t explicitly based on his childhood story, though it sprouted from the same seeds. “I always liked the way that word sounds and feels,” he says. “When I saw it in my notes, along with something about ‘horror,’ I thought, ‘This is the way to go.’”

Woods is no stranger to darkness; his records tackle heavy subjects, like the claustrophobia of trauma processing on Hiding Places, the climate change anxiety that colors Terror Management, or the ideas of who gets to decide and enforce identity on Aethiopes. GOLLIWOG is perhaps his bleakest and most severe work to date—a densely layered opus that uses horror and science fiction to examine ideas of the perils of religious zealotry; the hollowness of nationalism; the mix of grief and relief after someone’s death; and the scheduling nightmare of navigating a polycule. It’s sometimes harsh and brutal, filled with the sampled sounds of screaming and sobbing; it’s also wickedly funny, woods flexing his trademark gallows humor to temper (or bolster; after all, comedy and horror go hand-in-hand) some of the grimmer moments.

Despite the album’s intensity, woods describes the process of making GOLLIWOG as rewarding. It’s his first multi-producer solo album since 2019’s Terror Management, something he felt called to do after three albums of single-producer partnerships. Embracing that process led to some profound coincidences. Conductor Williams’s beat for “STAR87,” with its hair-raising strings and horror samples (a voice shouts “The call is coming from inside the house!” before it’s drowned out by the sound of someone being stabbed), arrived in woods’s inbox almost immediately after he’d decided on the album’s concept. Saint Abdullah’s somber, piano-driven beat for “Maquiladoras” came with a ghostly sound collage, including the harrowing sample of a pundit exclaiming “Make America Great Again!” to punctuate woods’s verse. Aside from appearances by the usual Backwoodz players—among them, Messiah Musik, Steel Tipped Dove, DJ Haram, and Willie Green—woods enlists El-P, Ant, and Human Error Club, as well as saxophonist Mette Rasmussen and flautist Shabaka Hutchings to contribute to the album’s vast sonic scope.

We caught up with woods in mid-April, a month or so after the album’s announcement and a year since he’d recorded the first song. Over the course of two free-flowing conversations, we probed its origins and layered meanings, and let its themes lead us into stranger, more existential discussions. “I’ve turned it over in my hands in every which way,” he says, a tinge of excitement in his voice. “I created it, then I lived with it as a finished project, and then I dropped off from examining it. I’m curious to see what other people think.” Thankfully for all of us, billy woods is always game to discover where a thought can lead; no idea is ever settled, it’s simply a portal to many others.

One of my favorite songs on We Buy Diabetic Test Strips is “Switchboard” because your verse feels like a bunch of miniature horror stories on top of each other. Did that verse predict or inform how you approached this record?

No, I don’t think so. I do love that song and that verse, but I think that things on GOLLIWOG veer from outright horror to speculative sci-fi to things that are just strange psychological digressions, and maybe ‘Switchboard’ would be closer to the latter. Shout out to Sebb Bash, the great producer who did that. In working on this one, one of the funny things was going through my catalog and seeing how there are so many songs that could have fit into this record. A song like ‘Christine’ on Aethiopes could easily belong on this record. Something like ‘Bedtime’ on Hiding Places, with the two ‘bedtime stories.’ ‘Dead Birds’ on Terror Management has this jaundiced-eyed look at the climate-meltdown world that we’re living in—or that’s rapidly approaching. ‘Hangman’ on Maps. You could lift out lots of those songs and put them in here, and they would have fit in well. So, the interesting thing was realizing that this is an area I mine, but it’s never been the binding idea of a work like it is on this one.

What appeals to you about horror or speculative sci-fi as a literary device?

When I was a kid, I read a lot. I read every type of everything, and I always thought that horror was a powerful and compelling medium to explore a range of stories. I suspect it always has been—old fairy tales or passed-down folk tales often having elements of speculative fiction or horror. I hold a pretty expansive view of what I consider to be horror. Even something like Heart of Darkness—there’s an aspect in which that’s a horror story. I also think it often revolves around—or at least works in communication with—politics and society. Often, that’s the axis on which a lot of horror turns beyond the obvious thing of monsters being scary. There’s usually something else to it, right?

You play a lot with time in your work, often flattening or expanding it. How does time work in this record?

There’s a lot of examination of ideas of time travel and various conceptualizations of what that could mean in this album. If you look at a song like ‘Born Alone,’ there’s a point at which I’m talking to a younger version of myself. ‘Counterclockwise’ very blatantly addresses ideas of sleep and time travel. Even on the opener, ‘Jumpscare,’ there’s an image at the end of a Back to the Future-esque time machine—except it’s both a trap car and an Afrofuturist vehicle that’s up on cinder blocks.

Would you consider making music or music itself as a form of time travel?

No, but like anything, there is an aspect in which what you do is you create an artifact from a specific time and place, both in the objective world and in yourself and your life. That’s pretty impactful. If I go listen to Camouflage, it’s going to take me back to that time—to 9/11, to that apartment in Greenpoint where Bond and I were working on the stuff, to the studio in Yonkers where I was recording and sleeping on the couch, going up for the weekend and just writing and figuring out how to make the music. That political moment, that moment in my own life, how I had escaped certain things, and my thought processes at the time. So I don’t think that’s time travel, but it is a capsule of time and place on multiple levels.

I’ve followed your career for many years, so there are passages in some of these songs that I recognize from various interviews that you’ve given, especially concerning the death of your father, or the circumstances around your leaving D.C. for New York. I find it interesting that you keep your face hidden in photos and that you keep the stage dark when you perform, and yet it feels like you’ve been revealing more and more of yourself in the music over the years. There’s even that line on “Making a Mistake” when you say, “I’ve told a few lies in my life, but never once over a beat.” How do you calculate the equilibrium between what you keep private and what you’re willing to write about and share with us?

The funny thing, I think, is that people’s fixation on the face and all of that belies the fact that my music is, and has always been, very rich in details about my life—my thoughts, my feelings, my family, my connections, my loves and hates. From the beginning, from Camouflage, my music has been personal. If you really follow my music like that, you probably know more about me than you do about the vast majority of rappers that you listen to, where you know what their faces look like and you know their real names.

Sure, but perhaps those privacy ideas, when combined with the way that you write, where historical and literary references blend with personal details, make it easy for folks to project a kind of mythical character on you. And when we get something that feels especially personally revealing, like your mother telling you and your sibling not to trust anyone on “Waterproof Mascara,” it’s stark or jarring.

That’s an interesting idea. Not everything I’ve written is autobiographical, obviously, but I think that there are many rappers who I’ve listened to for a long time and who I’m a fan of, but I couldn’t tell you that much about their actual, real, private lives or history, outside of things I might know from an interview.

At the risk of employing that overused phrase, “their most personal record to date,” did you find yourself getting more personal here than before?

I don’t think so, and I always am surprised by the use of that phrase. I saw people saying Aethiopes was my most personal record, but I don’t see it that way. There’s so much personal stuff in every record, but not all of it is. Everything is written from a personal place, but it doesn’t have to be autobiographical. I’m not trying to escape from some idea that my lyrics are complicated, or that I express abstract ideas, because I am totally fine with those things. But it’s just funny, because I have some very, very direct and very personal songs. A song like ‘Pollo Rico’ is very personal, but there are songs I’ve made that are very straightforward, like ‘Asylum,’ which is a story about a child living next to an exiled military leader. There are so many: ‘Red Dust,’ ‘Big Fake Laugh,’ ‘A Day In A Week In A Year.’ Even things that are very allegorical, like the verse on ‘Stonefruit’—I didn’t write that coming from nowhere.

There’s a line on “Corinthians,” that goes, “If you never came back from the dead, can’t tell me shit.” Have you ever had a near-death experience?

Several.

What have you taken from those experiences?

That I didn’t want to die.

Did that surprise you?

No, but what is crazy is to feel the imminence, the power of mortality, and to experience this rush of feelings and images—the so-called ‘life flashing before your eyes’ type thing. In my experience, there has been some reality to that. I don’t know, everyone is different, but for me, it was a terrifying experience.

How did that change how you move through your day-to-day?

The same, I think, as any moment of mortality did for me. Ultimately, your day-to-day can only change so much. It’s human nature to eventually settle back into the norm. To walk around every minute thinking about your mortality would be crippling. In those moments, things get very slow, and many thoughts, feelings, and emotions run through your head simultaneously. I guess maybe the most lasting impact was trying to avoid the things that got me to those places—whether it was being a little kid who couldn’t swim jumping into a pool when nobody else was around, or looking down the barrel of a firearm that’s pointed at you by a person whose intentions you’re not sure of.

That specific verse in “Corinthians” feels like a bunch of near-death experiences back to back.

There are several things I was doing with that verse. The book of Corinthians in the Bible has the oft-cited passages about how one sees the world, and even oneself. So that was the departure point: Examining the idea of the spectacle that is modern existence, and living where, at times, you’re like a scarecrow that can see everything happening but feel no ability to affect the world around you. Beyond that, I was delving into all sorts of different forms of seeing. I came to a dystopian look at the world.

Some people define human nature as people being ultimately good or ultimately bad, and there seems to be no nuance in that. Do you have a steadfast idea of human nature?

It seems obvious to me that human beings are both good and bad. If there’s one idea that all religions embrace, it’s the idea of that duality. How they explain it away, and what their prescriptions are, may vary, but the idea that the human world is a balance of good and evil is pervasive for a reason.

Politics and examinations of geopolitical struggles frequently show up in your work, and this record, coming out in this particular time of fresh U.S. collapse, seems prescient. There’s that line in “Pitchforks and Halos,” “Their time is over, and they know it, that’s why they wildin,'” which feels like an evergreen statement about both revolutionaries and counter-revolutionaries. And there’s that very intense “Make America Great Again” sample in “Maquiladoras.” How does it feel to release an album with this subject matter, with this title, in this moment of the U.S.?

It would be a mistake for me to say that I knew all this would happen, but I definitely have strong feelings about the moment that we’re in. I think the United States is a huge domino in world order that has fallen. That affects a lot more people than when you see a coup sweep through the Sahel in North Africa, or the election of Javier Milei in Argentina. The United States is, for the rest of the world, like sleeping next to a giant; when the giant starts having a nightmare, you’re in trouble.

I think that the moment that the U.S. is in is part of a bigger moment globally. The collapse of a Neoliberal world order, and what increasingly appears to be its replacement by—we’ve yet to see how it’s going to shake out— a rise in authoritarian, right-wing, nativist movements, some of which deals with, at least in the West and in other parts of the world, issues of migration. Those things are not only from the so-called underdeveloped world to the developed world; you also see it within other state groupings. Something that would be close to me would be looking at South Africa and the rise of anti-immigration, and the nativist feelings that extended out into violence against Zimbabweans who were migrating there due to the collapse of the Zimbabwean state.

You’ve cited MF DOOM as one of the inspirations for this record. There are those repurposed lines from “Gas Drawls” in “Misery,” and then there’s that King Gheedorah sample at the end of “Born Alone.” I was trying to figure out some more below-the-surface ways he shows up here. There are so many questions on this record about identity—especially national identity—and I wonder if DOOM living in exile at the end of his life played into your thought process while you were conceptualizing the album.

Not directly. I definitely was thinking of tributes and homages to DOOM when I was working on it, and there are a few things in there, but I wasn’t necessarily thinking about his exile. More so, I was thinking about how much his work had stuck with me and inspired me, and the different points of intersection in our lives. When he was alive, we were only separated at times by a few degrees of people. He’s of Zimbabwean-Caribbean heritage, and his parents met in New York, which is the same story for me and my parents. Once I knew what I was doing and thought about it, I wanted to include some aspects of a tribute to him as one of the all-time greats. There’s an argument for him being the greatest. I think his best work is some of the best work that anyone has ever made in this genre.

Like his previous solo work and anything as one-half of Armand Hammer, I do need to be in the mood to listen to something this dense, layered, and different, but off a few listens it's trending as my favorite billy woods album.

__
I don't like the beat anymore because its just a loop. ALC didn't FLIP IT ENOUGH!

Flip it enough? Flip these. Flip off. Go flip some f*cking burgers.(c)Kno

Allied State of the National Electric Beat Treaty Organization (NEBTO)

Dense listen indeed. As an old(er) head, listening to this, I wonder what is the line these days between spoken word and Hip Hop? Is there a line? Asking for a friend, as I try to digest this project…

Integrity is the Cornerstone of Artistry...

This is hip hop. There's been different flows/deliveries for decades.

In fact, woods himself has been making incredible hip hop for a long fucking time. Getting praised for it. By old heads too- like me.

If his delivery isn't for you...okay...fair enough...that doesn't make it not hip hop.

I honestly don't think you like hip hop the more I think about it. Over the years you've shit on the west, on the south, on anything that doesn't sound like a specific formula. I think you like 4-5 rappers and anyone who mimics them. **bonus points if they are white for some reason.

Just google "newest white rapper who sounds like Nas/Ghostface" and maybe you'll discover a new favorite of yours. Hell maybe there is a white dude out there biting J-Live....you'll be in heaven. Some new ish (that sounds exactly like the old ish)

Just because you don't like something- or because something doesn't sound like Marco Polo would have produced the shit in the late 90s- doesn't mean it isn't hip hop.

…it was just a question, and I like ALOT of Billy Woodz stuff. Spoken word poetry was differentiated, in times past. Really just curious concerning peoples thoughts…anyone who wants to have a conversation, I’m here…

Integrity is the Cornerstone of Artistry...

>
>This is hip hop. There's been different flows/deliveries for
>decades.
>
>In fact, woods himself has been making incredible hip hop for
>a long fucking time. Getting praised for it. By old heads
>too- like me.
>
>If his delivery isn't for you...okay...fair enough...that
>doesn't make it not hip hop.
>
>I honestly don't think you like hip hop the more I think about
>it. Over the years you've shit on the west, on the south, on
>anything that doesn't sound like a specific formula. I
>think you like 4-5 rappers and anyone who mimics them. **bonus
>points if they are white for some reason.
>
>Just google "newest white rapper who sounds like
>Nas/Ghostface" and maybe you'll discover a new favorite of
>yours. Hell maybe there is a white dude out there biting
>J-Live....you'll be in heaven. Some new ish (that sounds
>exactly like the old ish)
>
>Just because you don't like something- or because something
>doesn't sound like Marco Polo would have produced the shit in
>the late 90s- doesn't mean it isn't hip hop.
>
>
Damn dawg, put your shirt back on and put the knife away.

That escalated quickly.

Peace
Doitall76

-thebigfunk

~ i could still snort you under the table ~

...this brother could use some couneseling/meds...Milkbone forever son! Get off my ish...wooooohahaaaaa....

Integrity is the Cornerstone of Artistry...

definitely a period of peak discourse, lol

(If we were still popping though, I guarantee we would have had some good posts dissecting the influence of the diplomats on the griselda crew by now, lol -- I'd read that)

-thebigfunk

~ i could still snort you under the table ~

when I was reading the dumb shit Jim Jones was saying to Styles P.

Jim and Cam are both complete clowns, still. Jones talks like he’s 25 and in his prime, it’s amazing.

I had taken an OKP break, not for crazy long but long enough that I came back and felt like I was on another board completely, lol.

-thebigfunk

~ i could still snort you under the table ~

woods has an exceptional discography, but even within the context of that, this album feels special. From a lyrical perspective, I do not think there is anyone better right now (e.g., how he speaks on Fanon on "Maquiladoras" is beautiful), and his beat choices here are phenomenal. It's impressive how despite the fact that this is not produced by one person (like, for example, Hiding Places), it feels just as cohesive as those albums.

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https://93millionmilesabove.blogspot.com/
https://rateyourmusic.com/~Kosa12

thanks! I legit thought this place did not exist anymore until recently. Nice to see you as well.

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https://93millionmilesabove.blogspot.com/
https://rateyourmusic.com/~Kosa12