Tag Archives: letter
Gunplay drops some rhymes over “Open Letter”.
Previously: Gunplay – Heaven Or Hell (Remix)
Mondre and Squadda drop off a new video for “Strawberry Letter”, produced by Tynethys, off their self-titled collaborative project.
New music from New York Knickerbocker Metta World Peace featuring Deacon and Vinita.
Danny Swain adds some energy to Jay’s “Open Letter”.
Hip-Hop legend Lauryn Hill is now serving a 36 month bid in prison after pleading guilty to three counts of failing to file tax returns on more than $ 1.8 million between 2005 and 2007. Today she released a letter to fans, giving an update of her situation and thoughts behind bars.
Her letter reads: “I have known since very young to look for the purpose and lesson in everything, including the trials. Although it has taken some adjustment, I cannot deny the favor I have encountered while in here, and general warm reception from a community of people who despite their circumstances, have found unique ways to make the best of them. Thank you for the letters of concern and well wishes that I receive in the mail every day. Although I may not be able to write everyone back, please know that they have been received, read, acknowledged, and appreciated. With love back, MLH.”
Fresh off his Magna Carta Holy Grail apperance. Frank Ocean pens a letter to his fans during his hiatus speaking on touring across the globe out of his own pocket. Hit the jump.
“i’ve been meaning to write you more. different hotels every night aren’t so bad really. in fact- all the moving house could inspire a photo series.. not for the gram, knowing me it’s probably only for whoever controls my estate in the future and enthusiastically develops all the rolls of film i forgot to. i’m in belgium, just 7 concerts into a tour with an ambiguous ending. i’d tour for a year if it didn’t interrupt my recording or my weekend driving. i really wanted to go to cairo in between europe and australia.. might let things settle some.. go to south africa instead and place some flowers on a gate for the president. for being epic and 94. i write on paper at night. my tour manager gave me a small powder blue book at the beginning of this run with gold embossed lettering on the cover that reads ‘one line a day’.. it’s easier than you’d think to narrow the entire cinema of your day into one sentence. i never read them back in the morning. whenever morning is.. even my macbook clock can’t keep up. all the travel isn’t in support of an album or anything like that really- past or ahead. there’s no label or touring firm dollars involved. all pennies from my pocket. in support of some odd daydream. ops to photograph crowds and clouds from planes. contrast all the quiet with some noise. new noise and old noise..sober crowd, faaded crowd. all welcome.“
After rejecting all interviews and press (except vine) Killa Cam decided to get a little personal with his fans by penning a letter about his new material, love life & everything in between. Ghetto Heaven is out July 4th. Same day as Manga Carta: Holy Grail . Should be interesting .. Hit The Jump.
“Dipset! ‘Fore I set it off, okay, first off, you a bitch nigga. Knock knock, who’s there? Killa Cam! Killa who? Killa Cam, hustler, grinder, gorilla, true! Ma, I been hugging the block. That’s right, hustling rocks. I’m from where Nicky Barnes got rich as fuck. Rich and A hit the kitchens, they were pitchin’ up. Rob Base, Ma$ e, Doug E. Fresh switched it up. I do both, who am I to fuck tradition up? With the goons I spar, stay in tune with ma. She like, ‘Damn, this the realest since Kumbaya!’ Bomaye, Killa Cam, my lord. Still the man with the plan, scrilla fan, oh boy. Bitches, they want to neuter me. Niggas, they wanna Judah me. The hooligan in Houlihan’s, maneuvering’s nothin’ new to me. Doggy, I’m from the land of the grind, where these kids need food. Niggas need guidance, and bitches need rules.
Listen—I been coppin’ them pieces. Maybe that’s part of the reason I feel like a boxer—bobbin’ and weavin’. But I’m gettin’ head—she’s bobbin’ and weavin’. Yes sir! I’m grabbin’ her neck to stop her from breathin’, I’ma wild out until I part with my breathin’. But when it came to dope, I always copped it in fingers. Money missin’, oh shit, I almost chopped some fingers. Slit some wrists, that’s when they said, ‘Oh shit, he’s not a singer.’ Fuck the rap, fuck movies, fuck Siskel and Ebert. The pistol I’ll squeeze it, missiles if needed. Killa! Shaking to bake, shaking the Jakes. Kill you, shoot the funeral up and Harlem Shake at your wake. Bird gangs, it was birds I flew. And word I blew, off herb I grew. I would swerve on stoops, now I swerve in coupes. I’m like a teacher, I need me a sabbatical. It’s not irrational—I grew up radical.
Look mami—I’m no good. I’m so hood. I run scandals with savages. All my niggas get together to gather loot. Bodyguard for what? Dog, I’d rather shoot. I go to war, old Timbs, battered boots, hand grenade, goggles and a parachute. I chop up the rocks, and I stock up the drop. Blocka blocka block! Hello mate. Yellow tape; helicopter your spot. What you wanted is not what you got, and I pop up them cops, cause dog, it ain’t about Cam. I got a son homeboy, it’s about Cam. It’s about being bout it, if you’re not, you’re ass backwards. My mathematics, ’cause cash matters. Little niggas need to sit up and read. If the town’s too hot, get up and leave. Niggas already got a trick up their sleeve. Nigga like me? I always got a brick up my sleeve.
And I got some girls, about five or six. And a five and six, about five or six. I surprise the chick, that’s when her eyes get lit, let her drive the whip, see if she ride a stick. Who as live as this? My pool size is sick, but swim in my pants and dive for dick. Lookin’ like I’m nicotine, but it’s all for the green like Listerine. Had to diss the queen, thinkin’ I’m gon’ get her jeans. I ain’t Ginuwine, ma, my mission is mean. All the niggas on my team fixin’ to get the cream. I sit in Bahamas, with Alyssa Milano. Got the Cris’ and the ganja and it’s gettin’ her calmer. Now she cryin’, she missin’ her mama, but she just a steppin’ stone for me, now I’m hittin’ Madonna. And she twistin’ the fauna as we sit in the sauna. Guess it’s just my persona, got her kissin’ my condom. Ay yo, I pull up to the hotel with my shit on blast. Tell the valet, ‘Motherfucker, don’t hit my Jag!’ Seen the bell boy, nigga he can kiss my ass. Just show me my room, and get my bags. Saw the girl, that’s my hon, almost dropped his glass. I guess he was really shocked when I touched her ass.
I’m on the westside of Chicago, lookin’ for a bust-down to make me put my two arms up. Touchdown! So come home with me, where the girls wanna come home with me. They say, ‘Cam, if you need dome, hit me!’ My dick hard as a motherfucker. You don’t what?! Tell that shit to another sucker. I ain’t no sucka, mama, come on, fuck the drama. And kiss it down, little pucker-rama. I’m so active, you being so drastic. Got something for your face, fuck Pro-Activ. Yo, I need a girl that can sing like Selena, ass like Trina, tits like Janet, get beat like Tina. Have you seen her?”
Mack Maines is back with a new freestyle over Hov’s “Open Letter” instrumental. Check it out after the jump.
Mysonne gives his freestyle over Jigga’s “Open Letter” a visual treatment.