Hov did
Please, Lord forgive me for what the stove did
Nobody touched the billi’ until Hov did
How many billionaires can come from Hov crib?
I count three, me, Ye, and Rih
Bron’s a Roc boy, so four, technically
I left the dope game with my record clean
I turned the cocaína into champagne
I cleaned up la madrina with the same soap
Me and Loro talk ’bout how we slang dope
Now the weed in stores, can you believe this, Ty?
I put my hustle onto Forbes, can you believe this guy?
Then we said, “Fuck it,” took the dope public
Out the mud, they gotta face you now, you can’t make up this shit
Judge it how you judge it, say we goin’ corporate
Nah, we just corner boys with the corner office
I’m at the cap table, what the splits is?
Not that cap table, boy, we live this
Breezy what the business is
We pushin’ Fenty like Fentanyl, the shit is all legitimate
E was down ten for this
We just got his ten back then went back like, “Where the interests is?”
Em light up the O3
We let y’all do the zazas, OG for the OGs
Some new niggas out of pocket, talkin’ exotic
You barely been to the Baham—that’s another topic
Monogram in my pocket off the red carpet
You see the face I made that night, shit is that shockin’
Odds wasn’t great, we’d even be alive
Gotta be crazy to y’all niggas, we surprised
Shit is too much how we grew up
Shit don’t even feel real to us
OG sold to those, you called kingpin
If those your drug lords, then who are we then?
Hov is a real nigga’s dream
My only goal, to make a real nigga feel seen
Sometimes, it makes a fake nigga hates life
Never my intention, the consequences of my way of life
The way we used to play with life
I’m now careful with the sentences, them only jail bars I like
I never wanted to be the state custodian
The laws are draconian
For those married to the life, it’s holy matrimony and
Somehow, I’ll out-fox every box they’ll try to throw me in
With great ceremony and
Folk and ’nem told me how highly Caddy spoke of him
And bloke and ’nem from London, Harrow Road, Weston Inn
I be speakin’ to the souls of men
Those of them willin’ to die for the existence that this cold world has chose for them
Kickin’ snow off a frozen Timb
Back and forth on this turnpike, really took a toll on ’em
Lot of fallen soldiers on these roads of sin
For those who make the laws, I’ma always have smoke for them
I got lawyers like shooters
Workin’ pro bono for him as a favor ’cause I throw them Ms
In memory of Teelo
I pray none of your people die over jail phones again
All this pain from the outside, inspired all this growth within
So new planes gettin’ broken in
Highest elevation of the self
They done fucked around and gave the right niggas wealth
These ain’t songs, these are hymns ’cause I’m him
It’s the Psalm 151, this New Testament
The book of Hov
Jesus turned water to wine, for Hov, it just took a stove
You never know how this shit could go
Me and Biggs probably got too big if they ain’t book that load
Hindsight is 20/20
Though he’s gettin’ plenty money, lookin’ back now this shit is funny
I just got a million off a sync
Without riskin’ a million years tryna get it out the sink
Hov did
They said they don’t know me internationally, niggas on the road did
I see a lot of Hov in Giggs
Me and Meek could never beef, I freed that nigga from a whole bid
Hov did
Next time we have a discussion who the GOAT, you donkeys know this
Forgive me, that’s my passion talkin’
Sometimes I feel like Farrakhan talkin’ to Mike Wallace
I think y’all should keep quiet
Breaks my heart
God did

JAY-Z (A verse from “God Did” by DJ Khaled featuring Rick Ross, Lil Wayne & JAY-Z)

The phase I’m on, love, I wouldn’t believe it either
I’d be like, “JAY-Z’s a cheater,” I wouldn’t listen to reason either
All I know is E’s a felon, how is he sellin’?
Weed, the Caliva brothers, deep down, I believe you love us
Feast your eyes, the piece unique, it’s sapphire
Rappers liars, I don’t do satire
Neither I nor my wrist move mockingly
Y’all spend real money on fake watches, shockingly
They put me on lists with these niggas inexplicably
I put your mansion on my wall, are you shittin’ me?
I blew bird money, y’all talkin’ Twitter feed
We got different Saab stories, save your soliloquies
They like, “If BIG was alive, Hov wouldn’t be in his position”
If BIG had survived, y’all would have got The Commission
Hov was gon’ always be Hov
It ’twas the universe will ’cause Allah said so, and now I’m here

JAY-Z (An excerpt from “Neck & Wrist” by Pusha T featuring Pharrell Williams & JAY-Z)

Entertainment is changin’, intertwinin’ with gangsters
In the land of the killers, a sinner’s mind is a sanctum
Holy or unholy, only have one homie
Only this gun, lonely ’cause don’t anyone know me
Yet everybody just feels like they can relate
I guess words are a motherfucker, they can be great
Or they can degrade, or even worse, they can teach hate
It’s like these kids hang on every single statement we make
Like they worship us, plus all the stores ship us platinum
Now how the fuck did this metamorphosis happen?
From standin’ on corners and porches just rappin’
To havin’ a fortune, no more kissin’ ass
But then these critics crucify you, journalists try to burn you
Fans turn on you, attorneys all want a turn at you
To get they hands on every dime you have
They want you to lose your mind every time you mad
So they can try to make you out to look like a loose cannon
Any dispute won’t hesitate to produce handguns
That’s why these prosecutors wanna convict me
Strictly just to get me off of these streets quickly
But all they kids be listenin’ to me religiously
So I’m signin’ CDs while police fingerprint me
They’re for the judge’s daughter, but his grudge is against me
If I’m such a fuckin’ menace, this shit doesn’t make sense, B
It’s all political, if my music is literal
And I’m a criminal, how the fuck can I raise a little girl?
I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be fit to
You’re full of shit too, Guerrera, that was a fist that hit you!

They say music can alter moods and talk to you
Well, can it load a gun up for you and cock it too?
Well, if it can, then the next time you assault a dude
Just tell the judge it was my fault and I’ll get sued
See, what these kids do is hear about us totin’ pistols
And they wanna get one ‘cause they think the shit’s cool
Not knowin’ we really just protectin’ ourselves
We entertainers, of course the shit’s affectin’ our sales
You ignoramus, but music is reflection of self
We just explain it, and then we get our checks in the mail
It’s fucked up, ain’t it? How we can come from practically nothin’
To bein’ able to have any fuckin’ thing that we wanted
That’s why we sing for these kids who don’t have a thing
Except for a dream and a fuckin’ rap magazine
Who post pin-up pictures on they walls all day long
Idolize they favorite rappers and know all they songs
Or for anyone who’s ever been through shit in they lives
So they sit and they cry at night, wishin’ they’d die
’Til they throw on a rap record and they sit and they vibe
We’re nothin’ to you, but we’re the fuckin’ shit in they eyes
That’s why we seize the moment, try to freeze it and own it
Squeeze it and hold it ’cause we consider these minutes golden
And maybe they’ll admit it when we’re gone
Just let our spirits live on
Through our lyrics that you hear in our songs, and we can—

Eminem (Excerpts from “Sing for the Moment” by Eminem)

She died
within a week.
Over her bed
in the ICU we prayed.
We sang the body plastic.

We who loved her,
we watched her tremble,
we dabbed her dry mouth.

We waited
for her eyes
to open again.

For her to see us
holding her,

saying, it’s ok.

Danielle Badra

Hands inclined
ascending along lines where
notes fall inside a sanctuary.

Love
a nervous staccato
nearing atonement.

Leaning away
from an epic étude
she improvised cacophony
escaping into decrescendo.

Her ear
an effortless tempo
solely her own.

Her illness was graceful
as Rutter’s Requiem
yet she offered no harmony.

Danielle Badra

Before the morning chill burns off
I’m in front of my computer screen

and somebody on the internet needs me
to look at them. Working from home

is just like working in outer space, I imagine.
I go to the bathroom

just to go somewhere. I hear my neighbors
through the wall, and my heart jumps—

there are others. Their faucet runs.
They’re in there together, laughing.

I return to my workspace and my coffee needs to be reheated
again. Because my mother raised me

to outlive her, I used to stand in another room,
away from the microwave, but now that I’ve taken

to the practice of mindfulness
I leave my hand on its door handle

and pay attention, like my niece when she plays
Microwave, zapping soda cans

in her plastic appliance labeled Just Like Home.
The waves pass through me—

my soft tissue lighting up like phantom vibrations
in a dead landline. Until the sun goes down I orbit

between my workspace, bathroom, kitchen, bed,
taking conference calls about artificial intelligence.

First order of business is to define what intelligence is,
then how to avoid a dystopian eventuality.

We hold our phones away from our ears,
speakers on high, because we all read

the same headline about radiation.
When somebody’s dog barks near the phone

somebody else’s dog barks back.
This is the best part of my day.

Ryann Stevenson

One river gives
Its journey to the next.

We give because someone gave to us.
We give because nobody gave to us.

We give because giving has changed us.
We give because giving could have changed us.

We have been better for it,
We have been wounded by it—

Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet,
Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails.

Its story is old, the plot worn and the pages too,
But we read this book, anyway, over and again:

Giving is, first and every time, hand to hand,
Mine to yours, yours to mine.

You gave me blue and I gave you yellow.
Together we are simple green. You gave me

What you did not have, and I gave you
What I had to give—together, we made

Something greater from the difference.

Alberto Ríos

As I was helping Đạo with his writing assignment, I wanted to explain to him the art of storytelling. To give him an example, I let him listen to Eminem’s “Stan.” I was not sure if it was helpful, but he was hooked on the song. This song brought back so much memories for me.

Dear Slim, I wrote you, but you still ain’t callin’
I left my cell, my pager, and my home phone at the bottom
I sent two letters back in autumn, you must not’ve got ’em
There probably was a problem at the post office or somethin’
Sometimes I scribble addresses too sloppy when I jot ’em
But anyways, fuck it, what’s been up, man? How’s your daughter?
My girlfriend’s pregnant too, I’m ’bout to be a father
If I have a daughter, guess what I’ma call her?
I’ma name her Bonnie
I read about your Uncle Ronnie too, I’m sorry
I had a friend kill himself over some bitch who didn’t want him
I know you probably hear this every day, but I’m your biggest fan
I even got the underground shit that you did with Skam
I got a room full of your posters and your pictures, man
I like the shit you did with Rawkus too, that shit was phat
Anyways, I hope you get this, man, hit me back
Just to chat, truly yours, your biggest fan, this is Stan

Dear Slim, you still ain’t called or wrote, I hope you have a chance
I ain’t mad, I just think it’s fucked up you don’t answer fans
If you didn’t want to talk to me outside your concert, you didn’t have to
But you coulda signed an autograph for Matthew
That’s my little brother, man, he’s only six years old
We waited in the blisterin’ cold
For you, for four hours, and you just said “no”
That’s pretty shitty, man, you’re like his fuckin’ idol
He wants to be just like you, man, he likes you more than I do
I ain’t that mad, though I just don’t like bein’ lied to
Remember when we met in Denver?
You said if I’d write you, you would write back
See, I’m just like you in a way: I never knew my father neither
He used to always cheat on my mom and beat her
I can relate to what you’re sayin’ in your songs
So when I have a shitty day, I drift away and put ’em on
‘Cause I don’t really got shit else
So that shit helps when I’m depressed
I even got a tattoo with your name across the chest
Sometimes I even cut myself to see how much it bleeds
It’s like adrenaline, the pain is such a sudden rush for me
See, everything you say is real, and I respect you ‘cause you tell it
My girlfriend’s jealous ‘cause I talk about you 24/7
But she don’t know you like I know you, Slim, no one does
She don’t know what it was like for people like us growin’ up
You gotta call me, man, I’ll be the biggest fan you’ll ever lose
Sincerely yours, Stan—P.S. We should be together too

Dear Mr. I’m-Too-Good-to-Call-or-Write-My-Fans
This’ll be the last package I ever send your ass
It’s been six months, and still no word—I don’t deserve it?
I know you got my last two letters, I wrote the addresses on ‘em perfect
So this is my cassette I’m sendin’ you, I hope you hear it
I’m in the car right now, I’m doin’ 90 on the freeway
Hey, Slim, I drank a fifth of vodka, you dare me to drive?
You know the song by Phil Collins, “In the Air of the Night”
About that guy who coulda saved that other guy from drownin’
But didn’t, then Phil saw it all, then at a show he found him?
That’s kinda how this is: you coulda rescued me from drownin’
Now it’s too late, I’m on a thousand downers now—I’m drowsy
And all I wanted was a lousy letter or a call
I hope you know I ripped all of your pictures off the wall
I loved you, Slim, we coulda been together—think about it!
You ruined it now, I hope you can’t sleep and you dream about it
And when you dream I hope you can’t sleep and you scream about it
I hope your conscience eats at you and you can’t breathe without me
See, Slim—shut up, bitch! I’m tryin’ to talk
Hey, Slim, that’s my girlfriend screamin’ in the trunk
But I didn’t slit her throat, I just tied her up—see? I ain’t like you
‘Cause if she suffocates she’ll suffer more and then she’ll die too
Well, gotta go, I’m almost at the bridge now
Oh shit, I forgot—how am I supposed to send this shit out?

Dear Stan, I meant to write you sooner, but I just been busy
You said your girlfriend’s pregnant now, how far along is she?
Look, I’m really flattered you would call your daughter that
And here’s an autograph for your brother; I wrote it on a Starter cap
I’m sorry I didn’t see you at the show, I must’ve missed you
Don’t think I did that shit intentionally just to diss you
But what’s this shit you said about you like to cut your wrists too?
I say that shit just clownin’, dawg, come on, how fucked up is you?
You got some issues, Stan, I think you need some counselin’
To help your ass from bouncin’ off the walls when you get down some
And what’s this shit about us meant to be together?
That type of shit’ll make me not want us to meet each other
I really think you and your girlfriend need each other
Or maybe you just need to treat her better
I hope you get to read this letter, I just hope it reaches you in time
Before you hurt yourself, I think that you’ll be doin’ just fine
If you relax a little, I’m glad I inspire you, but Stan
Why are you so mad? Try to understand that I do want you as a fan
I just don’t want you to do some crazy shit
I seen this one shit on the news a couple weeks ago that made me sick
Some dude was drunk and drove his car over a bridge
And had his girlfriend in the trunk, and she was pregnant with his kid
And in the car they found a tape, but they didn’t say who it was to
Come to think about it, his name was—it was you
Damn…

Eminem

When I was lonely, I thought of death.
When I thought of death I was lonely.

I suppose this error will continue.
I shall enter each gray morning

Delighted by frost, which is death,
& the trees that stand alone in mist.

When I met my wife I was lonely.
Our child in her body is lonely.

I suppose this error will go on & on.
Morning I kiss my wife’s cold lips,

Nights her body, dripping with mist.
This is the error that fascinates.

I suppose you are secretly lonely,
Thinking of death, thinking of love.

I’d like, please, to leave on your sill
Just one cold flower, whose beauty

Would leave you inconsolable all day.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.

Jon Anderson

You choose
the flowers
without petals.
The vase
with
murky waves.
You started
to explain
and then
stopped.

Ben Niespodziany