If you see ‘The Score’ as a collection of Battle raps – the order (usually) of Lauryn, Clef and then Pras holding up the rear competing for the prize – you’d place Hill at the top. Private-DIC sell hits, like porno-flicks do chicks. Heretics push narcotics amidst its risks and frisks,Ĭool cliques throw bricks but seldom hit targets Hand-picked lunatics, keep poli-TRICK-cians rich The first verse in ‘The Beast’ sees 18 rhymes (some half) in an ear-blowing tour de force:Ĭonflicts with night sticks, Illegal sales districts, Playing with speeds – double-timing “thinking of all the kids”, for example – is just one ingredient of her ingenuity. “I get mad frustrated when I rhyme/Thinking of all the kids who try to do this/For all the wrong reasons” she raps in ‘How Many Mics’. It’s almost like a hip-hop version of ‘Tommy’, like what The Who did for rock musicįrom the off, Lauryn Hill sets out her stall with brio. It tells a story, and there are cuts and breaks in the music. It’s like how radio was back in the 1940s. It’s a theatre of pandemonium, pain and pride shot with colour, dialogue, sound effects and some of the finest lyrics commited to tape. That’s not to say it’s all cupcakes and unicorns: ‘The Score’ contains grisly portraits of life in the ghetto. They’ve described the recording process in interviews as relaxed and organic you can’t hear the tension between Wyclef Jean and Hill that would lead to the band’s break up a year later. Fugees, a hip-hop trio from New Jersey, are in a liminal stage between the release of their totally underrated debut ‘Blunted On Reality’ and an album that would transform them into one of the most celebrated hip-hop groups of the decade: ‘The Score’, released sixteen years ago this week.Īt the time, Fugees (formerly Tranzlator Crew) were in their 20s – Lauryn Hill was just 21. It’s the year of mad cow disease, Dolly the sheep, NASA’s Endeavour and Apollo 13. Giuliani’s Mayor of New York and Clinton’s President. East Coast hip-hop is in excellent health with Raekwon, Mobb Deep and GZA leading the way. C'mon son my steelo's tight Cause by far I'm the best producer on the mic On the right, a_ytical conceptions With precision and leave lyrical incisions.The year is 1996. I creep like a theif, no doubt the man's swift I'm more magnificent than Lee Van Cliff You stand stiff and got the nerve to let your man riff And start flakin' like dandruff.
#Fugees the score lyrics full#
I'm the L, Won't you pull it Straight to the head With the speed of a bullet Cuttin' jokers off at the meeky-freeky gullet Lyrical sedative, keep n_s medative Head rushers I give to creative kids and fiends Dreams of euphoria, Aurora, To another galaxy Phallic-sy Be this microphone, but get lifted Lyrically I'm gifted Burn on in without the roach clip (it) Henders, mind-bender Pleasure sender, So frequently your nerve endings belong to me Wrongfully you put me down not receiving the full capacity of my smoke Wack n_s choke From the fumes that I emote, Or emit s_ See even I feel the mahogany L Natural hallucinogen Turning boys to men again With estrogen dreams Release blues, yellows and greens From Brownsville to Queens I'm a bring down the ruckus Play the nutcracker Rough-neck rednecks make me no bother Time after time, ask Cyndi Lauper, Boss, you don't want to f_k with my partners Motion, commotion, what's your proposal Uphold two-fold, the crew is disposal Like utensil, false idental, Me and my guitar go back like the days of the RMC's The W-Y-C-L-E-F, Wyclef Through any contest I'm victorious Still keep it real, if you will and manifest Through your skills, not by how many shells you peel. Wyclef the multi-talented Average heads can't handle it I'll bring it to you live Only if you want it. Don't play macho, while you got the gun Cause if you got to reload.
Competition, stimulation for the rap man Losers check your tooters While I'm suckin' on your girls hooters. So you'll be back with France CU Traitor in your crew is mafo heat Put the poison in your tea and kill the toad, But I'll be back with the centipede I'm on some new technique, drunken bamboo Awoo hoo a hoo, I'm taking all crews what. Hooo, you've got to go for backup To do what you gotta do.
Raaaaah, raaaah Let me attack just like the black cat You in the wrong neighborhood, check the map. Blaow, blaow put the heater to your head Now your dead.
Look into the rhyme Rum to the ripple Sing boo, But at times I come in triple.
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