The Unconventional Flow: Tacticians of the Awkward Rhyme Pattern

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I Love Hip Hop Blog-  Rap performances have grown to reflect a myriad of subject matter, and a seemingly limitless pool of potential lies within content. Yet let us not forget the added possibilites when we include a complimentary flow. Generally, rappers attempt to remain dutiful to the metronome. Some master this and plenty others just keep it sustained. But what about those artists we enjoy who trail blaze another route of delivery? These perhaps are regarded as unique, genius rhyme schemes with some as stretched as vehicle in a Cash Money video.

CORMEGA- “American Beauty” (prod. Cormega) | The Realness (2001)

In some circles of critics Comega’s rhyme pattern is seen as complex and multi-syballic. Cormega does competently stretch out his lines, however not without a forced rhyme here or there. This is where it may appear to be awkward. Cormega has garnered a good deal of respect due to his cinematic stories. He certainly shared a story teller niche similar to his former rap fellows Nas and AZ (as a part of The Firm). Aside from getting kicked out, his flow stood out.

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Yo, its night time I can’t sleep
My pens beggin’ me to write rhymes
Cory’s a felony despite time
I erase the urge on the tip of my tongue
I taste the words a story is born, my glorious song
Hip hop cannot ignore me for long
I know her last man abused her, I can’t refuse her
Alotta niggas used her, treated her like shit even confused her
She had class now she sellin it all for cash
When Marley had her, her face was more pure body fatter
Primo treated her good, made her the queen in my hood
She used to be out in Queens with DMC
And on the rooftp with Big, Fritz, and R.P
She was fly she kept her shit tight
Yo if he didn’t go to jail dun, she mighta been Slick Rick’s wife
Disappeared a few years, she was “Stranded On Death Row”
Dre had her on anotha level in the west coast
She met a lame with with a drug dealer name
He had a locked for a while, then his whole style changed
You know the wisdom is reflected the knowledge when its manifested
If not fed in due time the mind is anerexic
You understand the message
I know I’m gettin to deep for some
Rhyme — Uncut raw, the beat numb
Back to the subject in hand, I called her and said I miss her
Stop fuckin with my fake crew cuz they dissed her
Then along came the R, reminding her of her essence
Rza said she like a sister blessin her with lessons
She was stressed because she missed Pac
She still crying after B.I.G. died askin ‘when will this shit stop?’
I love her like a mother, my physical path
She even overlooked the fact about my criminal past
And stayed with me in jail beyond gates visitors passed
No longer is she lettin niggas fuck her just for cash
Whats her name dun?

CURREN$Y- “Breakfast” (prod. Mos Def) | (2009)

Curren$y is regarded as a montone orator with a laid black flow reminiscent of a Louisiana bayou.  His style has seen some alteration since his No Limit days, but you can always expect solid verses with a touch of nonchalance in his voice.  His tranquilized sound and relaxed delivery cater to both stone cold sobriety and high times.

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So cold with it protentcy of the beat is consistant
with the fact that most did it prolific not shakin

or stirred in da presence of those niggas herbs
they only after ya bread them fuckin birds

you think they like your haircut fair enough
live your life patna guess I can keep these two cents in my pocket

and back to these underground rap dollas refused the majors
and stayed real I kept my promise rolled bamboos in the bahamas

mama it’s either that or them strawberry colidas X-box web browser
download or updated NBA roster play?

two game season condo full of snacks spitta not leavin off
brand muthafuckas odd numba you are not even on my level

write that sickness my ink pen sneezin yancy thigpin

can’t catch me sleepin you ear hustlin muthafucka
and I’m eatin creepin with my side

bitch hope I don’t ge caught cheatin New Orleans
dis morning new york in this evening squintin

they eyes and shit they can’t see him fly in the house
buzzin them bugs can’t be him elegible letters in my leger

they can’t read him smilin money pilein I’m cheesin odometer
broken I ain’t know that I was speedin fast livin slow gin for these bitches

I got that game from my Pittsburg niggas ? V Diablo 96 ? Daniel son crane kick

E-40- “Sprinkle Me” ft. Suga-T (prod. Mike Mosley and Sam Bostic) | In A Major Way (1995)

He has a distinctive sound that has remained as such throughout his lengthy career. E-40 never fails to add a comical and animated flare to all of his material. Whether it be playful crooning or making up his own words, 40 water has such a command that his unorthodox, smooth and fleeting flow almost crowns his sound.

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Yeah, hocus pocus, skiggedy skay
It ain’t nuttin but me
That nigga E-40
Finna sprinkle some of you fools with some of this
This G-A-M-E man some of this game
Understand my sista
Finna sprinkle you fools with sprinkle sista
Understand this doe
It don’t stop til the motherfucking glock pop
(Don’t stop) and fuck a glock I’m fuckin with a 6R
P226 Diana Ross cousin nina
Misdemeanor, that’s what we do, understand it

[Verse 1: E-40]
I be more hipper than a hippopotamus
Get off in your head like a neurologist
Pushin more weight than Atlas
Got a partner by the name of 2Pacalypse
The seven-oh-seven my roots go hella far back to Flor Terrace
I pull a forty out of my ballcap 
and den I flush it down my esopha-garus
The group that I’m with The Click
Suga, D-Shot, Legit
Family orientated
Game related, it’s the shit
Killing motherfuckers off crucial
Sittin em down mutual
Running through these lyrics as if I was fibered
like Metamucil

Timah timah…. forty wata.. forty wata
Sprinkle me main, sprinkle me main, sprinkle me main, sprinkle me main
Big timah timah, big timah…. forty wata-ahh
Sprinkle me main, sprinkle me main, sprinkle me main
Kick that shit Suga

FREEWAY- “What We Do” ft. Beanie Sigel and Jay-Z (prod. Just Blaze) | Philadelphia Freeway (2003)

Freeway is another artist who has to some effect, trademarked, a wandering and long winded flow. His voice tends to commandeer the beat with a robust high pitch, similar to Ghostface Killah or even Lil’ Boosie. This enables him to steer his flow by a dog collar and force you to hear all of what he has to say.

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We still hustle ’til the sun come up
Crack a 40 when the sun go down
It’s a cold winter
Y’all niggaz better bundle up
And I bet it be a hotter summer, grab a onion
Yes the ROC gets down, you hot now, listen up
Don’t you know cops’ whole purpose is to lock us down?
And throw away the key
But without this drug shit your kids ain’t got no way to eat, huh?
We still try to keep Mom…smilin’…
Cuz when the teeth stop showin’ and the stomach start growlin’
Then the heat start flowin’
If you from the hood I know you feel me ([Jay-Z:] Keep goin’…)
If a sneak start leanin’ and the heat stop workin’
Then my heat start workin’ I’m-a rob me a person
Catch a nigga sleepin’ while he out in the open…and I’m-a get him ([Jay-Z:] Keep flowin’…)
We gotta raise our kids while we livin’
Make a million off-a record bail my niggaz outta prison
Fuck a Bentley or a Lexus just my boys in the squadder
Nigga talk reckless then I hit ‘em with the Smif ‘n…
But I’m never snitchin’ I’m a rider
If my kids hungry snatch the dishes out ya kitchen
I’ll be wylin’ til they pick me outta line-up…
We keep the nines tucked, chopped dimes up, rap about it
Wyle out, fuck niggaz up, laugh about it
I’m not tryin’ to visit the morgue but Freeway move out ’til I sit with the Lord
‘Til I…get my shit together, clean up my sins
Freeway got it in like 10 in the mornin’
And I can get it to ya like 10 while you yawnin’ mang…
Still deliver the order mang!
And I ain’t talkin’ bout chicken and gravy mang!
I’m talkin’ bout bricks ‘o ye-yo, halves and quarters
4 and a halves of hash you do the math
Swing past us scoop up your daughter
She wanna roll wit’ a thug that rap, you do the math
He won’t blast ’til my stacks in order mang!

MF DOOM-”Doomsday” ft. Pebbles The Invisible Girl (prod. MF Doom) | Operation: Doomsday (1999)

Metal Face Dumile may be one of hip-hop’s most mysterious acts. His production and story telling knack  match some of the abstract concepts behind the albums. His voice, an embedded British accent insulated with Long Island, usually totes along an animated story at its own discretion. A rebel to much of his own production, he often never lets it dictate his flow.

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I used to cop a lot
But never copped no drop
Hold mics like pony tails, tight, in [????]
Stop and stick around
Come through and dig the sound
Of the fly brown six-o sicko psycho who throws his dick around

Bound to go three-plat
Came to destroy rap

It’s a intricate plot of a b-boy strap
[? Vemstack?] cats get kidnapped

Then release a statement to the press – let the rest know who did that
Metal Face terrorists claim responsibility

Broken household name usually said in hostility
Um… what… MF, you silly

I’d like to take “Mens to the End” for two milli’
“Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo!” That’s a audio daily double

Rappers need to fall off just to save me the trouble, yo
Watch your own back

Came in and go out alone, black
Stay in the zone – turn H2O to Cognac

On Doomsday!
Ever since the womb ‘til I’m back where my brother went
That’s what my tomb will say

Right above my government, Doom will lay
Either unmarked or engraved, hey, who’s to say?

I wrote this one in B.C. D.C. O-section
If you don’t believe me, go get bagged and check then

Cell number 17, up under the top bunk
I say this not to be mean, wish bad luck or pop junk

Pop the trunk on See-Cipher-Punk, leave him left scraped
God forbid, if there ain’t no escape, blame MF tape

Definition “super-villain”: a killer who love children
One who is well-skilled in destruction, as well as building

While Sidney Sheldon teaches the trife to be trifer
I’m trading science fiction with my man the live lifer

A pied piper holler a rhyme, a dollar and a dime
Do his thing, ring around the white collar crime

Get out my face, askin’ ‘bout my case, need toothpaste
Fresher mint, monkey-style nigga get [?dentadent?]

And dope fiends still in they teens, shook niggas turn witness
Real mens mind their own business

That’s the difference between sissy-pissy rappers that’s double-dutch
How come I hold the microphone double-clutch

C.O.’s make rounds, never have ‘ox found
On shakedown, lock-down, wet dreams of Fox’ Brown

On Doomsday!
Ever since the womb ‘til I’m back where my brother went
That’s what my tomb will say

Right above my government, Doom will lay
Either unmarked or engraved, hey, who’s to say?

Doomsday
Every since the womb ‘til I’m back to the essence
Read it off the tomb

Either engraved or unmarked grave, who’s to say?
Pass the mic like “Pass the peas like they used to say”

Some M-er F-ers don’t like how Sally walk
I’ll tell y’all fools it’s hella cool how ladies from Cali talk

Never let her interfere with the Yeti ghetto slang
Nicknames [? off nipple and tip of nipples?].metal fang

Known amongst hoes for the bang-bang
Known amongst foes for flow with no talking orangutangs

Only gin and Tang
Guzzled out a rusty tin can

Me and this mic is like yin and yang
Clang! Crime don’t pay, listen, youth

It’s like me holding up the line at the kissing booth
I took her back to the truck, she was uncouth

Spittin’ all out the sunroof, through her missing tooth
But then she has a sexy voice, sound like Jazzy Joyce

So I turned it up faster than a speeding knife
Strong enough to please a wife

Able to drop today’s math in the 48 keys of life
Cut the crap far as rap

Touch the mic, get the same thing a Arab will do to you for stealing
What the devil? He’s on another level
It’s a word! No, a name! MF – the super-villain!