100 Ways to Save Hip-Hop

Every year, critics get together and hold a premature funeral for hip-hop. Then, people like me are forced to write articles on why hip-hop is grossly misunderstood by mainstream America. Well, guess what? I’m tired of defending hip-hop. So, rather than defend it endlessly or declare it dead, I compiled a list of things you can do to help save the genre. These suggestions apply to artists, DJs, journalists, record labels, and fans. Pick the ones that apply to you and behave accordingly. Here are 100 things you can do to save hip-hop.

  • Stop playing the same 5 songs on the radio.
  • Stop listening to radio stations that play the same 5 songs.
  • Stop blaming Diddy.
  • Stop Diddy.
  • Stop dubbing every new jack “the next great” this and that.
  • Stop charging body parts for shows.
  • Stop fabricating feuds to sell records.
  • Stop putting Lil Wayne on every song.
  • Stop saying hip-hop is dead.
  • Stop hating Kanye for being weird.
  • More battles, less beef.
  • Stop biting Jay-Z’s flow.
  • Stop biting Biggie’s ad libs.
  • Stop putting weed carriers on your album.
  • Stop trying to please everyone.
  • Stop leaking entire albums song by song.
  • Stop making posthumous collaborations.
  • Stop getting arrested for dumb things.
  • Stop being homophobic.
  • Stop blaming record labels.
  • Stop whining about how much you miss the golden age of hip-hop.
  • Stop cluttering albums with corny skits, unless you’re Prince Paul.
  • Support creativity with your wallet.
  • Stop making 50-song albums with 90% filler.
  • Stop faking the funk.
  • Stop calling people who disagree with you “haters.”
  • Stop hating.
  • Stop kissing ass for favors.
  • Stop saying you miss “real” hip-hop.
  • Stop hating Jay-Z.
  • Stop saying you’re carrying ___ city on your back. That’s not even possible.
  • Stop acting too cool for school at concerts.
  • Stop rapping about the same three topics.
  • Stop rapping about UFOs.
  • Stop promoting sexual violence under the guise of hood reportage.
  • Stop defending misogyny.
  • Stop being a Twitter groupie.
  • Stop taking contrarian views for the sake of being different.
  • Stop hating people who disagree with you.
  • Stop dissing Soulja Boy.
  • Stop Soulja Boy.
  • Stop dissing people who make dance-tastic rap. It’s been around forever.
  • Support innovative DJs.
  • Actually make the effort to move the crowd.
  • Stop radio payola.
  • Stop blog payola.
  • Push the envelope.
  • Stop biting.
  • Stop yelling on mixtapes.
  • Stop blaming bloggers.
  • Make meaningful music.
  • Stop obsessing over airplay (or lack thereof).
  • Stop showering undeserving veterans with blind praise.
  • Stop sleeping on unsigned talent.
  • Stop hopping on trends.
  • Stop making everything a race issue.
  • Stop being so gimmicky.
  • Stop calling everything a concept album.
  • Stop making tinkerbell beats.
  • Stop blaming skinny jeans.
  • Stop blaming hipsters.
  • Stop explaining your art.
  • Let your music speak for itself.
  • Stop playing it safe.
  • Invest in better artwork and packaging.
  • Stop promoting ignorance.
  • Stop burning bridges over stupid things.
  • Stop bragging about sales.
  • Stop showing up six hours late to your own shows.
  • Stop blaming the South.
  • Stop putting people in a box.
  • Stop tossing “classic” around.
  • Stop congratulating yourself on every other song.
  • Stop trying to sell the same album twice.
  • Stop looking for the next 50 Cent.
  • Stop hating people who color outside the lines.
  • More rapping, less singing.
  • Stop wasting your budget on video hos.
  • Do tell me, how do you get in those jeans.
  • Stop getting murdered by Eminem on your songs.
  • Stop telling me to “bring that sh-t back!”
  • More improvised freestyles, less written freestyles.
  • More originality, less biting.
  • More RZA, less Bobby Digital.
  • More effort, less ghostwriting.
  • More albums, less mixtapes.
  • Stop using auto-tune to mask a lack of singing talent.
  • Stop making contrived girl songs.
  • Stop wearing obnoxious gold chains.
  • Stop calling everything a movement. Civil Rights = movement; Bugatti Boys =  not   a movement.
  • Stop shooting up the clubs.
  • Stop wearing jackets that look like LV handbags.
  • Stop nominating idiots for Hip-Hop Honors.
  • Stop handing out giving awards to the same 5 people every year.
  • Stop sending impostors to your show (I’m looking at you, DOOM).
  • Ban Diddy from Twitter.
  • Stop putting baby pictures on your album cover.
  • Be aware that the roof is not literally on fire.
  • Retire the word “swag.”
  • Stop trying to save hip-hop. It doesn’t need saving.
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    • behind da barz

      --------the chemicals R identical, we're one & the same / with 7 letters in all 3 of my government names / walked on water, nah, neither did jesus / its a parable to make followers & readers believers--------i gave her my honorable discharge & she took it like a soldier--------what's a black beetle anyway, a fuckin roach-------she told the director she tryna get in a school-he said "take them glasses off and get in the pool"---------what ya'll call swag to me is faggotry-------my outfit so disrespectful / u go 'head n sneeze let my presence bless u--------its quite amazing that u rhyme like u do / & how u shine like u grew up in a shrine in peru-------its hard fuckin with niggaz u hope u can trust / ure a fool if ure main bitch is easy to fuck--------beyond the walls of intelligence life is divine / i think of crime when im in a new york state of mind - ------THE WAY SOME ACT IN RAP IS KINDA WACK / IT LACKS CREATIVITY & INTELLIGENCE / BUT THEY DON'T CARE BECAUSE THEIR COMPANY IS SELLING IT / ITS MY PHILOSOPHY ON THE INDUSTRY--------From days I wasn't "Abel/able", there was always "Cain/caine-------know how to leave anything in 30 seconds / when you feel the heat coming & flee with the murder weapon--------ayo my silent moments' loud as the crack of thunder / my hunger like the crocodile that attacked the hunter-------i'm something between platinum & flop, underground & mainstream / conscious, backpack, scratch dat; same thing---------this phiscal year im'a stay hot, buzzin / wit dudes that help me shoot like a-rod's cousin-------i fight chicks who bite dicks / give 'em lock-jaw then make 'em fight pits ------all we see is terrorism on telievision ------i'm da illest nigga alive watch me prove it / i'll snatch your crown with your head still attatched to it ------slap your face till your head ache your neck break / the next day slash your throat thru the neckbrace ------ I'm ahead of the game, ahead of these lames / I'm a head case, the head nurse gets me better with brain ------ure now dealin with da kid who heat-holds & reloads / like god gave him a gta ammunition cheat-code ------once upon a time i used to grind all night / with dat coke residue that was ipod white ------ --i took trips with so much shit in the whip / that if the cops pulled us over the dogs would get sick (sniff) ------ i put my lifetime in between the paper's lines / i'm da quiet storm nigga who fight rhyme ------brain cells are lit ideas start to hit / next the formation of words dat fit / at da table i sit making it legit / when my pen hits da paper...aah shit -------i save money while u spendin ure doe / i must stash like da hair between your lip & your nose ------age don't count in the booth / when your flow stayed submerged in the fountain of youth -------when i'm writing i'm trapped in between the lines / i escape when i finish da rhyme - ------if we can't eat together then u aint my mans / so when u see me in da streets dont shake my hand- -----money is da root of all evil / dats why u always gotta now where u stand with your people--------i can show u how to gamble your money, handle a gun / & be a family man & go home to your sun- -------black diamonds in my jesus-piece / MY GOD-------its like da ball be over the plate & they dont call it a strike- ------i'm a gangsta & a gentleman, show you both sides of the coin / knife at your throat-gun at your groin- --------my testimonial be "death to a phony mc / you wanna impress me, show me a ki--------lord knows what homey would do if i showed him da 9 / a one-eyed man is king in the land of the blind--------on da road to riches & diamond rings / in the land of the blind a man with one eye is the king--------you lack the minerals & vitamins, iron & the niacin--------stares get exchanged then the 5th come out / the tough guy disappears then the bitch come out--------if you got a bith you dont argue with dat bitch / you dont listen to dat bitch all you do is fuck dat bitch-------know da bitch b4 you call yourself lovin it / nogga wit a benz fuckin it------went from $20Gs for blow to $30gs a show / to orgies wit hoes i never seen befo'-------i'm intelectual; passed more essays / than police motorcade parades thru east l.a.-------DEAD IN THE MIDDLE OF LITTLE ITALY LITTLE DID WE KNOW / WE RIDDLED SOME MIDDLE-MAN WHO DIDN'T DO DIDDLY-------visualizing the realism of life in actuality / fuck who's da baddest; a person's status depends on salary-------mechanical movement, understandable smooth shit / that murderers move with-the thief's theme--------DEEP LIKE "THE SHINING" SPARKLE LIKE A DIAMOND / SNEAK AN UZI ON DA ISLAND IN MY ARMY JACKET LINING / HIT THE EARTH LIKE A COMET - INVASION / NAS IS LIKE THE AFRO-CENTRIC ASIAN; ½ MAN, ½ AMAZING-------& why certainly i'm squirtin / bust a nut then get up & wipe my dick on your curtain-------walk by your casket & spit in your face--------i know how to get my peers off me / make 'em cry & die from high blood-pressure cuz tears are salty-------i'm not trying to give you love & affection / i'm tryna give you 60 seconds of erection / then im'a give you cab fare & directions / get your independent ass outta here - question?---------black cat is bad luck; bad guys wear black / must've been a white guy who started all that--------either you're slinging crack-rocks or you got a wicked jumpshot--------all us blacks got is sports & entertainment--------2 many athletes, actors & rappers / but not enough niggaz at nasa - ------why did bush knock down the towers?--------I REACT LIKE MIKE / ANY ONE TY-SON, JOR-DAN, JACK-SON / action, pack gunz, ridiculous--------all the teachers couldn't reach me & my mom couldn't beat me / hard enough to make up for my pop not seeing me---------kings from queens, from queens comes kings / we're raising hell like a class when the lunch bell rings---------excuse me miss, can i give you a minute? / may i buy you a glass of ice with liquor in it?--------what goes around comes around i figure / now we got white kids calling themselves nigga / the tables turn as the crosses burn...---------YOU LOVE TO HEAR THE STORY AGAIN & AGAIN / OF HOW IT ALL GOT STARTED WAY BACK WHEN--------i guess they got a grudge cause i won't budge / playin tough, staring down the judge with my hands cuffed---------A CHILD IS BORN WITH NO STATE OF MIND / BLIND TO THE WAYS OF MANKIND--------who shot biggie smalls? if we don't get them they gon' get us all / i'm down to run up pn them crackers in their city hall----------its kinda hard to be optimistic / when your homey is laying dead in a casket----------they say the blacker the berry; the sweeter the juice / i say the darker the flesh; then the deeper the roots---------i took your breath away then we'd perform cpr---------there's no real way it can be explained / i guess its just the way i smile when i hear your name--------CASH RULES EVERYTHING AROUND ME / C.R.E.A.M. GET THE MONEY, DOLLAR DOLLAR BILL Y'AAAAALL------------see I’m a poet to some, a regular modern day shakespeare / jesus christ the king of these latter day saints here / To shatter the picture in which of that as they paint me as / a monger of hate and satan a scatter-brained atheist--------i remember marvin gaye used to sing to me / he had me feeling like black was the thing to be------------this be that put-you-out-your-misery song / that makes you ask your man 'is this the joint he's dissin me on?'---------foul all your life now ure 90 / on ure death bed u regret being grimey---------INDUSTRY RULE #4080, RECORD COMPANY PEOPLE ARE SHAAADYYYY / so kids watch your back cause i think they smoke crack---------society's a weak excuse for a man-----------planet earth my place of birth / born to be the sole controller of the universe---------the mic had my prints, on on it was a body---------a squealer tells, but the dealer still sells---------some young male put in jail / lawyer so good his bail was on sale----------i'm just takin a piss......unless you're gonna do it----------fuck street clothes, we thug it out in tuxedos / stomp niggaz with hard bottoms in casinos--------people higher up have the lowest self-esteem / & the prettiest people do the ugliest things-----------IF YOU ADMIRE SOMEONE YOU SHOULD GO 'HEAD & TELL 'EM / PEOPLE NEVER GET THE ROSES WHILE THEY CAN STILL SMELL 'EM-----------goddamn, what a nigga gotta do to make a million / without the fbi catching feelings--------i got a story to tell / in these streets we got drugs & guns for sale---------we keep the nine tucked chop dimes up rap about it / wild out fuck niggaz up laugh about it---------- read between tha lines of ya eyes and ya brows / ya handshake aint matchin ya smile---------what the fuck i rap for? to push a fuckin rav-4?-------fuck all the glamour & glitz, i plan to get rich / i'm from new york & never was a fan of the knicks----------the white boy blossomed after dre endorsed him / his flow on renegade-fuckin awesome...applaud him-------before i start you know i gotta / pay homage & respects to afrika bambaata---------DRUGS IS THE KEY TO SUCCESS / MONEY IS THE KEY TO SEX------i pimped my crib so i must exhibit------- I - WILL - NOT - LOSE !
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