If you want to get immediate attention, there are a few things you can do. The first is acquire the most eerie Samoan Serial Killer Wrestler by way of Dead Presidents masks, which you will use to cloak your identity when you run up on a minding-her-own-business white girl in rapidly gentrifying Brooklyn. Make people remember that the Guru is gone, but that stick up kids stay out to tax.
Ensure that your clip has the requisite details: pouring malt liquor out the brown bag, the wanted sign on the telephone pole, the D-Block orange jumpsuit you wear with the screwface scowl, the full clip. Scare the transplants. Remind them that Brooklyn can still be Brooklyn at any given moment, no matter how many organic puppy patisseries land like a trust fund cyclone.
It’s not a bad idea to purchase matching “Death” tracksuits that don’t obscure what you came to do. Rap like every word is a bullet and the trigger has been pulled back for the duration of your twenty-something years. Aim, shoot, and be sure that the shots don’t miss. The accuracy is evident in the first real visual from Tao & Hicks — formerly GQ. They sound like a dirty Taoist cop duo that would run the jux on Andy Samberg on Brooklyn 99.
I’m not sure if they’re real brothers, but they look too similar not to be. They rap like a BK next-generation version of Clipse, surly, raw, and reminding me of the “Funeral”-era.
The body is in the trunk like Nore and Nas taught them. Mug shots into Forbes pictures is the goal. Mortality in the back of their minds, gun glued to their hand, rap that reminds you of the feeling of older days without resorting to boom-bap rehash. Best New York rap group I’ve heard in years.
