The Dead Apple / New York Crash

The Dead Apple

KNICKS IN 6

Ace Trumpets

I Took It Personal

It Ain't Personal

Let God Sort Em Out

So Be It

All Things Considered

Chains & Whips

every morning and every night im awake
im done with the killing now its my life im gonna take
i cant take this shit no more theres bout a second before i break
you promised it'd get better but its all the fucking same
every 3 months i try to take my own life
my parents arent proud cuz i can never do shit right
i wish that u could love me atleast just fake it for a night
u asked if i wanna live and i know its not even slight
and i know im a fucking loser
im jealous and protective but i still dont wanna lose her
baby im a drug abuser
you see im picking shrooms like a junkie with no future
girl i can be your seducer
dont let me get attached cuz ill be stuck on you like a tumor
i wish that i could just be cooler
you used to think im cool but i think that was just a rumor

cens - rumor  (╥_╥) #652

In the more than 15 years since the last Clipse album hit the shelves of record stores, the music world has been upended several times over. “You see great rappers all the time,” Pusha-T says, before contrasting he and his older brother Malice with those who are not truly of the culture. “But there's something a little off about it.” Let God Sort ‘Em Out has no such problems. Over 13 taut, kinetic beats from longtime collaborator Pharrell, Pusha and Malice exorcise demons and catalog areas of personal growth—without ever sacrificing the menace and minimalism that made them legends of the genre. It is a master class in maturing without abandoning one’s core identity, but rather deepening it, making it more three-dimensional. “The fact that it has remained viable for so long has allowed me to say, ‘Hey, this must be meant to be,’” Malice says. Let God Sort ‘Em Out is an instantly unforgettable contribution to the duo’s catalog, and to hip-hop writ large, filled with the type of razor-toothed exercises that made Clipse icons in the first place. Take the taunting “Inglorious Bastards” or “Marie Kondo,” which scoffs at “60-day stars and 20-year thousandaires.” The beats, which Pusha describes as “polarizing,” are urgent, technicolor, and hold plenty of space for the vocal to become the track’s most important instrument. The need to be authentic is paramount, but it’s also natural to these two. Perhaps Malice puts it most clearly: “Nothing else works for us.”