The brokest rapper you know–“Alejandro!”–was a friend of the brokest writer you ever read–“Pana! Dige a P que no ta pagando!”–…It’s what I wrote and what P be saying, what you shoulda been thats always been. A stand up man with stand up raps encored through endless rewinds. The laughs that sold were massa’s at him but the ones that persevered were from we slave rebels with him. A great from the 90s’ peak becoming a legend in the post dark ages–them 00’s–able to build over drums in the same dirty, dignified camos he was born in. Sean Price, the one to kill your whole squad, Pa, with just one line, God Cipher Divine, all type of the rhyme. The most high Black man of integrity who loosened his jaws and tongue thrashed lines, phrases, words, letters, P!, as the freest Creator. He made this Creation we creep, crap, clutch, crime , climb, combine, conquer and correct in a greater cradle for craftsmanship.
And there on to my quieter paper to his louder studio, I wrote upon, through thin pads with thick ideas, my blood bled held the lines and my word bonded education, my plus lessons on the pages. And Ruck yelled for silence! Shut the fuck up, part 3, my understanding. Listen. Through scores of brash boom ,the spokesman of beat battering bap, P!, a provoked freedom is in the paragraphs that parachute outta speaker boxes. Twenty years of perfecting a style only to be original in the fakest forums. P was the champion that knew the crown was just a gutted out, golden fitted for a new era of little worth. Still, Ruck versed words welded in flows that wolfed the back of its own earlier words to make a front of toughest statements and slide consonant to vowel into lines of dynamic cleverness.
“I guess this rap shit is a thing of the past/Took the ring off my finger sold the thing for some cash/The nice niggas broke, then the rest get paid/Damn, look at the mess I made, the mess I made…” – “Mess You Made”
Slumlord to Skillastrator, Brownsville’s best name them the best. Together, we built about the babies and dealing with a knowledge of self, right and exact, sincere with integrity. Sean would tell of his roots to Akbar and the great Allah School In Medina in Brownsville and I built on the stems I made my students aware of at Allah School in Mecca as I came from the long lost part of Medina, Sunset Park. Until I made knowledge born P didn’t know I made this way of the Writer an element like Bonz Malone quietly paved, Dasun just be and I stamp and born. P was media press’d up enough and never asked for my press and I never cared to press to make press for a great that didn’t need the pressure I could press out. So he’d press tomorrow’s legends like Napoleon to me to press on. Now the pressing point is the depressing press I must press on with.
So salutes and back to the poverty plenished pen game where I scar scrape my manifestos on motherfuckas faces. All while in crowds abounded, P’s slick quotes disguised industry disgust bearing no sellout sanctions. Layered wordplay letting homonyms hype up patterns, internal versing melodifying aggression and our Five percent dialect embraced as the language of supremacy. All with the complete regard for the Decept and Lo Life street roots, misread by punks as delinquent demerits but actually recorded and performed as honored warrior stripes and pledges to the Black/Brown Hip Hop movement ever thriving out of. With his resurrection as Sean Price, este Dios Boricua writing can see, he became the next great comedic legend out of Brownsville MCing. As BIG PUN or directly to the other Brownsville legend MC, Thirstin Howl the 3rd had it from the first verse, a completely loose, untamed yet completely developed sense of timing, shock strike phrasing and an incontestable battle fury mastered. Also inspired by Ghostface Killah’s abstract innovations on Supreme Clientele, he would repeatedly tell me to have my students just free write in their journals. And just as a pure beatmaker, P sampled to learn from legends and re-created himself completely original. All delivered in a cadence that stopped to admire itself in precise pausing or feverishly roll synced syllables while his offhand keyboarded the flow in circles.
“Sean Price is the nicest MC in the world to ever write a rap/This the way I get paid, unless you box and crack/I write a rap in a minute, niggas dig it for years…Listen, Dikembo Mutumbo, Feliz Navidad/You buy Ecko, they give us free, like Amistad” – “5th Chamber”
And I write even as my adjectives are packed with too many action verbs. So my punctuation punctures the pockets that pack the pitiful paper per diem progress they propagate so a plenty. Nigga…Listen. I honor P! I write a history of many functions, in advance with all the arrogance required, the A&R, Allah and Ruling. I told them they had to go back to the lab before they became media darlings. Premierely prepared to perform, never made a DX lame, a complex shame, a world star dwarf, a source remorse or an extra extra large major league ebro. The A&R been here to label your farce. All Hail King Niggletius! Listen…
Sean P was covered by the pop pundits that study charisma of the greatest magnitude. But the shit’s true was the punchline, an MC who turned the slang decoded by hipster geniuses back to a code we decode in amazement. One of our community MCs who only needed to be an ill MC and maybe have enough to cover a light, phone or cable bill for his next guest verse. Surrounded by lights approaching and buried in accolades, he still fought to walk home alone to the greatest treasures, his Queen and his seeds. I see! We so poor, that we created enterprise and culture, crimes and good times, collecting the capital of survival only to become enlightened by the wealth of creating creation creatively. And now I see the babies are the best part funded by Sean Price’s greatest art parts. Thank you P!
“P, remember me folks/This time next year I’ma remember who don’t/Sean Price, niggas thinking I’m the GOAT/Premeditated/But soon comes, son, the nigga is dedicated…” – “I See”
Please donate to his family @ https://www.crowdrise.com/seanp