And still.
My breathing is somewhat back under control. I did some hardcore exercises today, both vocally and physically. I’m not worried about the physical side. I know how to hold it down for crowds. And I never was the most active performer onstage. But vocally, I expanded to where I can do a few higher scales with my notes than I was able to AS RECENT AS YESTERDAY!
God is good, and “The Devil is dead ass a liar!”.
I listened to a lot of jazz (today), a lot of breaks, a lot of sample packs. Currently listening to my man Ludacris. Booty talk in Atlanta is literally an expression. You can hear a lot of self-deprecation in it, as well as a lot of slick talk and gangsta-isms. I used to joke that I need grills for all the shit I talk. I abandoned the notion, because it’s an #iykyk concept, and that only reminds me of the ATLDL thing that brought about laughter from me and sadness for AIDS-infected black women.
Likely, I won’t be battling anyone anytime soon. I believe my MCing is, though superior, not enough to impress a crowd IMMEDIATELY. It’ll take time to understand my bars, and no one has time for E=mc bars. Now, 96% of you battle rap nights can suck this dick, and that’s just how I feel. I don’t think your bars are potent, or as potent as the bars of the 4%. I’m not entertained, you’re corny, and I stopped watching full battles because of this. But again, I’m not getting in the ring. Put me in your bars, I’ll put you in my songs.
How beautiful is that, huh??
