By SUNEZ #SkillastratorLO


Layer the soul in the soil and turn the petals of precision

I tell ya this child gon flower the world

Direct beauty into a stereo’d aroma

Surrounded her only with the incense of song

A stream so luxurious I wonder if I dare dissipate it all in a loud sniff

More extra play

she rewind her say,

Tracks got her on the cliffs of keyboards

Extreme Perfection,

the songs smell like the roses she wears in her notes

Breathe you a listen…


Some ExtravagantSin Perception: A pop icon, a talent whose crossed over the counterculture so much we applaud his presence in all these places we will never make it. He’s there so we can be there and his successful rugged individualism, a mere American immorality we embrace, is a proof of we all doing it–doing it big. The pop icon grows more and more fiscally, about a billion, and his money/cash/hoes themes add neo-liberal themes later in celebrity marriage life. All really nothing to revolutionaries that sacrificed so much you never knew but basic human ideas championed seem superhero clad when the pop icon does it. Like jails is bad, them cops really are shooting us, I miss the old pre-gentrified lands, etc. And the hypocrisies of their role in them mean nothing because their success is a long player, every summer. Their life, even off wax, is a payola’d affair to be pictured and seen working with every progressive tuff gong lo life legend they can find. And the lost listener who wrongly thinks this Hip Hop is a popular path to be seen amazingly, as opposed to a confrontational way to create a math of all the wrath, will see the pop icon validating the warring legend who never fiscally flew as high as the icon has. But I see it all differently, a Skillastrator scope around the hillside horrors with realness’ rope. That pop icon one day, in a quadrillion trillion of them, may be the realest but sincerity is more than convenient collaborations of contamination but a consistency of commitment sung in sacrifice to the people’s greatest ideals, like the Hip Hop principles once crafted. Brother! sister! That pop icon should be so proud to have another chance to be seen with the real, the honorable, the sacrificing preserver of the Arts’ integrity. Today, after the #DarkAges and in this #InvisibleRenaissance, I know you niggas don’t see the shit this way. How long y’all niggas gonna look wrong and fuck up my culture?!

Well now, without the sin, this is what the real Hip Hop EPs sound like nowadays…


[Note: All selections followed by a ☆ quote some of my #ArtOnArt & #ScienceOnMusic review of the said LP that can be searched for in search engine]


“Campana con Conga

Albizu con Allah

Skillastrator sentences set in scrapes

Indigenous and beholden like ScrapLO rushing states”


“With only five songs, Rise reveals Numbah 4’s theme and mission through the most passionate tempos and intense cadences thrown.  Musically, the diversity is limited to the battle zone drum slaps and matching chaotic instrumentation. Still, there is ample proof for listeners that this EP is only a sampler of a great rise.”


Calmed cadences of impassioned lyricism of dominant impressions through the prism of obstacling oppressions.


Wavy, defiant, disrespectful fly guy talk for the alternate universe where commercial bubbliness is performed with stylistic overtures in witty wordplay over atmospheric sampling.


Mid tempo cadence, graveled smoothness in the tone, inflections short and direct, verses autobiographically picturesque, toughness natural and never forced. New York City MCing by Milano photobreaked by DJ Skizz.


When a brother uses his engineering work for classic and great LPs with stellar artists as a minor league, signs his own graduating contract and throws the work out, he’s a star seed. Excited to try any and every technique, sampling and arranging his tracks with the expected excellence of honed craftsmanship and overwhelmed by all he now can tell the world, Dave Dar will only make records better than this genuinely sharp sampler.


The tough beats, thickness dropping into the slicing drum snaps and Codenine dives into everything exuberantly. The Tragic Allies crew make song collections the accumulation of moments where a brother kicked his best shit at each turn. Much of IX are slow thugged phrase punches to some generic fuck’s sulking face. These arts of inevitable victories and brilliant brutality have many entries and this one is a qualitative one.


The seeds of Raekwon’s linx fill the recorded streets. Wrong to think there really were never this many drugs, so many plans for them where user upon user can be sold by being sung the told, to sniff, snort or pop. That last pop is the greatest action word and the violence of its path to comfort is an exotic road. It is walked where woman, substance abuser or penniless rapper are to be disrespected. And the headphoned user is the trick.

Crimeapple has gifts to develop and has come in the form of the most pop form of underground MC, the killa clappa and ‘caine caper lane. Add the niche of smooth inflections of Spanish Escobarology and it seems like more of the same mierda. But this shit is skilled, refined and strives to be musically uncut. A worded eye for the distinct detail, a unique cadence of control and a charisma that increases steadily. Metralleta shows much promise despite my trepidation with such a cliched content as the crux of his major themes.


#RespectFAKE was always the heart that pumped the investors into our culture’s music. They’d let us all go if our art’d lives didn’t fiscal up right. Replaced, remodeled and all together reduced. This is how I seen it and I can fit the daily exceptional we never see again somewhere into this picture. Down to the last Molecules, there must be so much more to why we not hearing from an MC that held so much legion in our ears.

Alike Marquee, this is a powerful, twenty year surprise debut for Molecules of The Legion. Immediately, with Showbiz on the production and highlighting the work with the instrumentals included, this is another purely refined display of Boom Bap. A production that Molecules dominates with verbal clarity, the toughest tone and a diversity of battle raps and gritty tales. The ghetto dominance of “Good Life,” the details from mindset to set by set actions on “Heist,” to the horrid mentalities to survive the streets on “Jungle.” Molecules isn’t innovating content here but his stylistic gifts and grit are a rarity to appreciate.


The Broken Home Crew is one of the most unique collections of idiosyncratic MCs and far reaching thinkers ever assembled. NYC, let alone Hip Hop anywhere, has such a barrage of challenging viewpoints, rugged absolutism and technically gifted lyricists. G.S. Advance is an ideal sample as he may be the most abstract and eclectic of the crew, able to express himself with innovative beatmaking or as a writer of these thought explorations others will call songs.

The wondering on self through “Why is a Raven Like a Writing Desk?,” the retrospection on his own illness thst fleeted from him on “The Tribute,” or the cryptic scenery to his domination painted on “Levitation.” I think of the effect of the perfectly distilled absinthe. It would sound like G.S. Advance reading and thinking between every creative crafting, wondering and reflecting before every undertaking and laughing joyously at the circle of life, it’s demise and rise, its rewind and replay. It’d be poured all into a short player, just like this.


This is why EPs are never really coveted. There is no other shortened player this year that constructed a more engrossing universe that is cut short by length. A work where the songs add up to more than their individual worth, it seems a special introspective cryptic chamber of no-fucks-given and dominance-demonstrated-demoing are balanced by thick thudding drums and synthed rock and b-movie music samples that ends an hour before we begin to wonder where the fuck we’ve steeped our ears into.

Eff Yoo’s calculated articulation and evilish  disregard is able to be marveled here as he deadpans his flow extremely “Stranger Things,” or throws cleverly dark comedic punchlines through “Silk Shirts & Fast Hands” or through the oddest battle bar imagery sparked by word choice and placement on “Criminal Activities” (“the glove box is a cacophony of parking receipts…”). Eff Yoo has another strong work that reveals more so that his crafty mind has too much to share and Spicaso isn’t enough space but certainly proof of the place.


Slumber’s family is constantly disrespected by Awon and Dephlow. Awon’s voice tempering is only getting more rugged. Duo MCing here leads to incredible lead bars for each of them whilst Phoniks’ always lovely sampling turns the songs to a Jazz’d Dunk contest. The details to our urban horrors and their responsive survivor-will-thrive spirits are uplifting to us fighting in real time. With Anti-Lilly releasing another strong LP (It’s Nice Outside produced by Phoniks as well) that even this writer enjoyed and foolishly overlooked when publishing the earlier Real of 2017 LPs, it’s more proof that Don’t Sleep Records really have become the sleeper greats of this #InvisibleRenaissance.


“The mind and the world, the creator and creation is an odd couple even when we know it’s a thing of ours.”


“Two unique voices from Tesla’s precisely announced depth to Ray’s chopped glide through selections of stream of conscious phrasing (“Say It”), battle bars (“Alien Metal”) or angles on the hard times (“Despicable Class”) all prepare us for their full length whether the weather permits…”


“Been out the box–I only jumps with gold coiled jumping jack huffers.

Crank yanked back deep in they mind,

wears rewound to astound, no clown–

In breaks a glass ceiling

on the cue of the Youngstown melodies…”

“Jazz For The Streets ultimately is another reclamation of Huff’s powerful thematic character, a stylistic hustler with a holistic view of his people, from his Youngstown to the world around and abound.”


You a writer on Hip Hop music, embedded as I am, you make your own way and you got no choice but to make your own element. I don’t live to cover your fucking next record nigga. I don’t need bodies on my pen from prior savageries to be worthy of the pen. And I won’t let my massive poverty and struggle be dismissed cause I didn’t survive by criminalizing; rather nigga, instead I enterprised new ways with words, the shit these rappers try to do with fame, drum backdrops and fan snapshots I did with pittering papers, paltry pens and perfecting passions.

Why all the resolve to revolt? Cause from day one you do Hip Hop the white man has always had a secret weapon in all this industry he made to sell our elements. That weapon is our own impacting judgments of each other. The thug MCing is real as if all of his horrid acts were honorable. The intellectual MC is a fraud because he isn’t with the people, those same people that praise the criminal who was never for the people. And both can fucking rhyme yet both are hailed or despised for all the wrong reasons. They both will one day see that the cliches the other man imposed on them were all that divided them from the ultimate aim– furthering Black liberation through the greatest countercultural arts, Hip Hop. It’s beautiful when these brothers meet and on The Seven–that’s the God number if you forgetting Sunez Allah builds on the Original man–two of the ill ones meet, Styles P and Talib Kweli.

Both fuel each other from any of their flaws and propel their own greatest attributes here. Any didactic mis-versing Kweli has is erased by the rugged Styles and the focus of Styles P is at an extreme when with Kweli, one of the great topical thinkers on wax.

The meanness is a beautiful thing on the tempered piano and ruthless bass smashes of  “Let It Burn,” the grooving “Poets & Gangstas” where they intro their temperaments, toughness on all spectrums, the streets and poverty from all angles. The challenging concepts as Styles critiques white privilege and Kweli analyzes Islamophobia on “Brown Guys.” The militant bombing of the 99 percent on “In the Field,” to the deeper African connections on “Teleprompters,” the EP shatters assumptions of our own people and obviously the thousands of racists that tweet Kweli daily. The Seven is a matchup that means alot to Black music because it shows the music is so much more than just songs about personal hells and commentaries but the people’s war, our struggle.


The God is a last of the warring builders on wax. With a calmed cadence of dominant confidence that lets us imagine Hannibal leading his elephant brigade through the mountains and outflanking the enemy, Negro Only Pies collects battles he’s won the last few years. Musically, Preme deserves elephant breaks, armored horns and spearing pianos because his flow glides through Inf Mega’s ideal 1,2 break and pensive keys on “The Magnetic Mind,” his chopped violence (“We don’t gotta die to go to heaven how they taught us/if we take out the devil we could take what they owe us”) uplifts through the blues piano riffing on The Dope God’s “Birth of a Nation” and it’s all real cause Preme was that willing and able soldier when I really was bombing devil’s dealing tricknology in front of our school (“Sunez Allah dropped bombs on them niggas too..”) on “Just Building.” Preme is a real time builder so his verses hold the coolest bravado and toughest honor to the listener, never preaching them to any rigid religiosity but anthemically raising song by song. His mastery in the pocket along with his natural tone that’s a special blend of velvet gravel, he is an MC who only needs an orchestra for impeccable records. These early choices collected here show the God is selecting capable symphonies.


“Wicked winners without wit
Wildin while we writers whipping wonder with wisdom  worn…”


“Starvin B has no flaws as an MC. There is only greater potential he ever needs to reach.”


“Instruct them,

ill all on how you be,

histories in advance barred,

giggle at mistakes–the babies that become lessons.


In this Boom Bap filled booth.”

“The more the God Planet Asia lets us know he gives no fucks, the more his words scatter like photons finagled into lasers.  A stream of conscious with the probabilities of illness so high that no one knows the location of the next recording. “


“Sit to study, plan, stand, I, Original man!, kneel one knee antagonize the #RespectFAKE fan

Only one, ya wretched of the Earth!

We ain’t praying for rains no more”


“June Mega belies any cliche. Hard to the core yet his lyricism is based on a nimble cleverness in carefully paused delivery of writing technique after technique…Roll Blunt’s cut scratching, drum selection/eqing/diversity is more than well done. Ill one after another, Roll proves he can create aural sheets the Wisemen MCs can write on…”


“The knowledge chapter of Ezekiel

Love burnt in hellish service,
my word strengthens in write
For her,

Building out of our own burial by burdens
In this,

A sunder culled trife”


“Themes that are brought to a picasso’d peak by his use of abstract wordplay imagery delivered in a contiguous barrage, with no helping commas or periods. This abstraction amazes throughout…”


“A righteous day means I’m more the niggery villin

Laying down, a hymn for P!:


“The natural gifts that envelope the ever developing skill sets from Da Villins, is a non-didacticism in their lyrical themes of ethics and righteous pursuits amidst the daily hells.  Nigga, they ain’t preaching but still reaching but with none of the diluted woke that soothe crackas.”


“Word. Fearless as Cardona’s conga adrift in the waters of the Nile.

Always for the oppressed meek as if boarding Clemente’s last flight again.  

Do the knowledge…”

“Chilo is an MC that can only be appreciated as a great of the #InvisibleRenaissance if we compile his published literature (Closed Doors & Opened Windows), his spoken word performances and this ever increasing catalog of albums with producers of varied aural stylings. Add these all via the proper amazement paid to the degree of difficulty, the angles of illness used attacking them and the bedrock of righteous content that edutains it all together. Chilo summed Art.”


There are too many animaled events that read of my sincerity in blissful illness. As when my meddling letters terrorized the smoothest heist. They sought to steal the way we group our ways and meanings, our themes, into exotic problems that made us the worst settlers. The ironies of the peddler, they settled on my ancestor, saddle me with debts, rattle me with a long lynch of the willies and now we seem to settle for the worst settle, mere monies to fit our kettle remain. I’ma see high as high as sky on this one and watch me peddle…

Skyzoo is a narrator of his own freshness, a Spike Lee Joint that got lyricalled on the hottest day after the the right thing was done. Shabaam wasn’t bugging when he told me he’s Spike’s floating montage with every tale of his coming of age on the Medina stools. And he can focus on specific entities and make his portraits derailed to any moment expanding it to themes of intrigues as these Peddler Themes.

An incredible MC on the reaching of aspirations and expressing them to the listener (“And intuition be all we want as a centerpiece/Center me as being, the minority that all the majority speaking thru/And speaking to you….” – “Long Money”), epic imagery (“The intro to Belly how we posted
100 on the table, I’m just drawing up the opus
16s like I’m in the stall Tryna load this
Working on a light show, clip full of glow sticks…” – “Let It Fly”) and with a witty wordplay that is perfect in the pocket (“Sweet 16 running laps outta the barrel/Said it sing lullabies that’ll wrap you like a carol/Ducking that is like juggling laps with a Camaro…” – “Bamboo”).

Skyzoo adds to a seamless catalog extending the burgeoning Black Brooklyn brother’s biopics with great beat selection, continuing his strong sample adherence and jazzy horn reps. It all leads brilliantly to his next LP, In Celebration Of Us.


Temperatures that force unwarranted movement, the calamities attach to even the most unique biochemical compositions.

The virulence of violence counted in the countless painted reminisces into rhymes.

So study Khadafi in a small Extraordinary Petri wax and his “Organic Thoughts” lead the theme on his legacy of his many lyric revolutions, “Beloved, I’m gracious/intensive with innovation/more G than a mason/I bless tracks and just lace them/My blueprint to they whole movement basically made them/Don’t wanna admit it my DNA is living in them/genetic extension of Mahdi, my organism…” With the detail to his innovation autobiographically referenced on the essential edutainment of “Pain & Glory” and his continued classic theme of the true and living God, the Original man with knowledge of self, in the daily wars against oppression on “True and Living” only supplement the truth of his pioneering and evolutionary claims to so many other MCs. In a brief five song blast where Frost Gamble fills the space with the crispest bass drum surround sound, Khadafi’s wordplay pierces through with his mastered imagery of epic historical resurrection, select word choices in battle bars and commentaries all we downtrodden Black life can relate to. One of the all tine5 intriguing MCs with an ever growing GOAT candidacy, Rare Fabric is a subtle yet significant add on to the catalog proofs.


“I offer these blessings clasped by iron binding.
Word Zagnif! We still Kings…”


“Zagnif Nori and the entire Noble Scity Crew are blessings of the #InvisibleRenaissance, the 2010’s. Much of that is their unseen excellence as displayed here and some of it is the demand we willingly await them to supply.”


All in the sleep, where all them shades remember totality with their melanin toning, discussing the worth of its time past and the honor in its next planned brilliance. Slumber blackly into endless numbers, the mathematics doze supremely. Secretions to rehab depletions, thoughts thrown take hold and set creation again. The Creator was never asleep, the sins are going to be the finest lessons in our recuperating orchestra. Waking movement the creation gets seen but only if we really sleep through the preparation can we at greatest rest for such a brilliant performance…

Sleep Sinatra is the Meditation Choreographer of this #InvisibleRenaissance. His cadence is only gaining in smoother tones and poetic expectation. A liveness that rides (“Animism”), chants and flows that glide (“Bartholomew”) and an intensity that subtly overflows (“Laboratory Raids”). The verses are impeccably visual from the outer to the inner (“Nights with them hood soldiers/Polo pullovers/niggas shooting dice/snatch your life if the price lower/dealing with minds colder/memories tragic/tend to be laughing/ just to keep from snapping/dreams crashing off a fifth of that magic/you can’t imagine the damage that that can assemble though I scribble with pencil sigils/vandals handle the message issued/ there’s no scrambled signals…” – “LyfeTimez”), exercises flow fluctuations on choruses (“A Universe Called Heaven”), uses similes and metaphorsbrilliantly (knowledge that second verse on “SkyNet“), details hells with a needed rabid harshness (“Deprived,” “Down On Me”) and climbs with us on the struggle (“Empire Fallen”) with them ever increasing realizations of his powers (“Atom Bombin“).

Musically, the sound is consistently powerful as this first great prime he began in 2014. There is the deep dungeon boom of “Windmill,” the crunched and thickened slop of “In My Veigns,” the guitar fiddled cool of “RealTime,” the soul crooning on “Piatkowski,” the machined musicality that marches the break on “Torches,” or the sparse piano and drum crash on “Equinox” that lets his flow double time with distinct pauses.

These four EPs add to an LP of dynamic stream of a conscious presentation of warrior meditations that is filled with songs (i.e. “Malcolm’s House,” “Phenomenon,” “Time Of Prayer & Its Meaning,” etc.) that define his themes and easily example his excellence.

Sleep Sinatra is of a strand of healing illness that is used to repair our own organs when they need to reflect to re-intent and smoothly groove to inspiringly think.


one’s plots of perfection prepared need pensive planning amidst particular performed presents to propulsively present ourselves most prudent.

So Sleep on the gift…





Ingeniously with grime, sampling the Thundercats score, Mic Mountain rhymes with a freedom and joy that starts to get away from the more robotic battle bar scenarios he gets trapped in. His off kilter flow works with like minded sampling that challenges him our of convention. I look forward to more of this type of action from Mic


Scared of hell but love it’s rhythm, Aimms only seems for you. When he performs on stage he almost holds your hand and takes you through the zoo you want to watch holding your peanuts and sparking your cotton candy. But he’s the landlord of these fucking projects and now you’re his subject–excuse me, a tenant having to fend for yourself. That this little tour was supposed to be free but your camp left you with no bands back. Now you can’t feel yourself enjoying what you thought as niggers talking as yo nigga. You will swoon and feel the breaks, hear a perfectly articulate flow in a calculated cadence that punctuated consonants in the pocket. And in your pockets there’s no escape, Mitchell isn’t what he said only. He is a project nigga but all that talent isn’t just raw. You can’t rhyme this well with just a gift to express the casual ghetto layman. Aimss describes hells matter of factly that collide with battle bars that are mostly his life, his life is the fucking punchline, a big ring around the eyes and beats that nicely swell the ears equally. My own poverty won’t appreciate that lost tourist obsessed with our hells Boom Bapped but I’m following behind prepared to appreciate the subtle depth of the “485 4A Freestyle,” the heart of the “515 3B Freestyle,” the repping of “My Projects,” and the soulful exuberance I saw him perform “Pop Ya Top” with. I saved the tourist pressing pause before he was ejected but the rightly done mixtape warns us of a greater MC we are soon to hear. I need that warning. Now get some gentrifiers cause I’m missing my compromised hood already. Be safe rappers and #RespectFAKE fans…


They try. To assault his naivete as a lack of toughness but he’s the one who fought back,  even shot the pigs to randomly protect our people.To attack his lyricism via complexities, not even appreciated in others, without ever seeing the Langstonian depth in being a distinct poeticized voice for any and all of us.

Countless quotables that define our generation to all the others and stylistic vocalizing that do put him in absolute candidacy for GOAT but all you’ll hear are frivolous speculations on his murder, his supposed breaking of unethical and hypocritical street codes from street niggas trying to sellout on the other streets (the industry) and the wackest millenials money, mollys and moguls could ever make say they are easily better than him. Woe be the #RespectFAKE!  

LO, to hate his hate when you never had the love for us that produces such reactionary protectives, a loyalty to every sincere thought of Real he ever had. His mistakes he owned without liars laying new fables and his revolution doesn’t lose its honor due to his untimely martyring. Remembered In Perfection is the only way to see Tupac.

No MC of this next era, where the few real take on the handle of sculpting revolution, is more fitting to wax homage to 2Pac than  Napoleon Da Legend.

A builder with the youth, a Black man who sincerely handles the contradictions thrust upon us and one who genuinely embraces the warrior role with all of the MC tools in tow. On Tupacrypha, NDL samples Pac’s words often and places him as an actual thinker with bigger revolutionary plans and not merely the captivating pop phenomenon. NDL parallels him and propels into his hells expertly on “Charles S. Dutton,” reveals his own immense fury on “Constantly Armed,” intimately relates his motives on “Picture Me Rollin” and offers his own remix add on verse to Pac cuts (“Thugs Mansion”). The homage is also peaked with his own analysis, “A rebel gets oppression with aggression in your message controversy following every step you took and wrote your legend/accusations and allegeds…you against the world but you provided us with hope and many timelines you regarded as the GOAT…” (“Legends Never Die”).

Filled with soul from one of today’s essential MCs, Napoleon Da Legend doesn’t rap at us but just as 2Pac, conversates with us, in rhyme, about our times, on all his deepest finds and thoughts on the worst of crimes, just to position us in a artful pondering of our needed climb. I would think that 2Pac would be supremely honored by Tupacrypha.


This Wu-tang legacy is made abnormally enormous and extensively epic primarily because of the existence of brothers as Killah Priest. An impeccable, completely unique catalog of aural literature, his imagery from the battle bar to the recreated ancient landscapes to the cosmic voyages are filled with this music’s greatest word choices, literary stylistic devices and compositional structures ever. While Heavy Mental is a rightly cherished classic of classics, his prime that extends that masterpiece’s lore from 2007, beginning with The Offering, through 2010, that ended with The 3 Day Theory, saw a 2009 that included The Exorcist, Elizabeth and the first of these Untold Story of Walter Reed excursions. A 2010 LP and 2013 double LP later and this Part 2 continues arguably, the deepest lyric catalog in history.

The distinct perspective in his choruses (“Art imitates life/So when I write my heart, that emulates life/All heights and all depths/Large nations and small sects/Standing ovation for old texts” – “Art”), simple descriptions that offer a portrait to a tale (“He stood beside the gate and twist his back, arch holding a stick/Beneath a cliff, his back hard/His face and eyes seem molded and fixed on the beyond/Unknowing, unspoken/He reaches his arms, then turned over to his palms…” – “Fire Lord”), the abstract and fantastical that layers metaphor to accumulate the distinctions of kingship on “I Am King” : “The medicine man with boxwood should have came sooner
Heavy breathing, the fox feeds on tuna
The pusher’s drug, the moon lit his blood under a tree
The warrior priest bush ran spear pinpoints the deer
The armor shows his drama, the blood shows his honor
His mug show the horror, his tongue show the herb of garlic
Milkweed and seeds above the starlit
Below the prophet, the stone breeds the warrior
Godly, his body submerged in garment…” Filled with the many epic battle bars from “God Of The Ages” to “Time At Hand,” to the retrospective stream of conscious tales as “Ensymes,” the many tales as “Pinch Of Kelp” and wordplay skill displays as “Repentance,” the whole Priest cannon is in these 34 tracks

This lyricism after nearly 20 years of recorded concentration is expected and yet isn’t lauded as it once was which is a crime to Art of word and literature let alone MCing and the literary heights it can reach.

Sunez Allah #SkillastratorLO of the LO LIFES


The organization of these principles around a counterculture, an expressive arts of creation that uplifts the ideas and thoughts of an oppressed people, is why I’m an honored builder amongst legends, knighted by heroes of Medina (Rakim Supreme Shabazz Allah/Rudy Lo, Thirstin Howl the 3rd, Bonz Malone) to further create in my element as a Hip Hop Writer of #ArtOnArt & #ScienceOnMusic. So the world may find love that locks in with the action of loyalty though they may never find another writer with my kind of grammar…


Representing the pillars of:




Peace, Sunez Allah

#SkillastratorLO #PowerWrite