Dirty South will rise again! Merely being conscious about your consciousness only makes it known it's not ghost of Terry Schiavo moving the Ouija board through your speakers. Knowing when to ask about touching that ass and when to get meta about the projects that raised that ass gets you off the pulsewatch and in control of the I.V. Religiously reciting the sacred hip-hop texts is academia regurgitate but lacing that crack with the sources, real talk!
Here's Rich Boy in XXL breaking it down on who those D's were being thrown on it for and why there's more D's than these!
That song is both heartbreaking and beautiful. The backing choir is like confession shot past a clueless father and falling straight into the heavens. With your feet half in the grave it's hard to know whether the voices are coming down from up top or shooting up from straight below. Unless they're coming from nowhere and the collection plate, taking in more money than the crack game, leaves you sonned with the realization that all you're left with is you.