Hip hop is a religion; of this I am sure. For those of you that don’t dissect music blogs and Twitter accounts for a release date of an album, a lost freestyle tape, or new concert listing from your favourite rapper, you just don’t understand. You don’t understand how like a religion, hip hop is based on a strong foundation. From lyrics to beats, the veterans of hip hop past are inspiring future generations of rap superstars and underground legends. That’s because OGs were OGs. If hip hop is your religion, you respect OGs. And it seems like along with a strong love for a heavy bassline and, if hip hop is your religion, you also follow a set of rituals, and possess a number of skills.
World Star Hip Hop is one of your most visited websites.
You know there will be at least three remixes of a big hit all featuring different artists.
You torrent everything.
Or wait for a leak. Then wait for a leak with no tags.
You can rap entire albums, but can’t remember a page of information pertaining to anything important. Ugh. Why.
If hip hop is your religion, you have a favourite coast. You know the different rap labels and can’t wait for the BET Awards to hear each one’s cypher. You understand why Kendrick’s verse on Control lit a fire within the rap game. You remember the first time you heard it and the verse making you lose control of all bodily functions. If hip hop is your religion, you don’t have a Bible, but you do have scripture. You have The Chronic, Illmatic, Ready to Die, Reasonable Doubt, Marshal Mathers EP, Me Against the World, College Dropout, and of course, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. Yes, we have scripture. You don’t have Jesus, but were saved by Yeezus.
Followers of hip hop crave a hypnotic backbeat.
We don’t have a Heaven. None of us were that good. But, none of us wanted to go there anyways. I hear they don’t turn up.
In the name of all things holy.
The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Jay Z, Kanye, and Biggie Smalls.
Long live the gangsters and hustlers, the video vixens, the hype man and the sidekick. Long live the beat-makers and the ghostwriters. We love you all.