FOUR GOOD SONGS FROM POWERBALLIN

we do ft. bun b -- panicking keyboards chirping, buzzing, swarming around central chant. who got them whips with them dubs?? WE DO!! who gloss hard on them scrubs?? WE DO!! and remember how hot a short burst of chingy actually sounds? that goofy, rubber band twanging flow and always sounding illegitimately convincing talking about street shit, that slippery guntalk out his tight throat. and bun b, stepping away from that slow, lyrical flow he uses on guest verses (reading heavylidded from black leatherbound dayplanner to fulfill his role as oldschool boss blessing the newcomer, teaming up with the kid for a creaky gangsta tears track//or just fucking around on one of his friends shits, flipping through the book until he finds verse about cadillacs/drank) and flipping something short and sweet, big pimpin cadence:

now who got the city by the cojones
who front dope to the man who front dope to the man who front to your homies?
nigga, you owe me, don't even know it, don't even know me
so, no disrespect, give it up, bow down to the one and only
king of the trill and the underground, you see me on the throne
but hold the phone, just keepin it warm until a pimp come home
bitch, give us some, git it boys and ugk, we bout it
money, power and respect, you ain't gotta ask who got it
nigga, WE DO!!

make that ass talk ft. ziggy -- ching-a-ling flipping the burroughs (fellow st. louisian!) shit on another overwhelmingly slippery smooth beat. i've got to listen to these twice to pick chingy's verse out of the blur of blinding shine sheet of ice beat and smooth hooks, takes a minute to figure out where the machine ends and chingy starts. no one else could ride these beats like this without being caught flatfooted at the end of every line.

all the way to st. lou ft. david banner and nate dogg -- slick, plastic d banner beat fitting in perfectly, everything toned down a bit so chingy can't disappear against wallpaper. half a chingy verse sounds like this: "stressin, bout to take four to the head / thinking revolution listening to dead prez / he say, she say, i don't care what they says / man, i'm a hustler stay equipped with the bread / irs trippin, so fuck the feds." and d banner's gruff YUH!s and casual interjections at the ends of hooklines. and nate, obviously smooth on anything.

26s ft. lil wayne -- yall ride 18s, we ride 26s!! yeah, okay. don't count on dudes from st. louis to talk about rims, he's out of his element and can't get specific about what exactly he drives and on what they're sitting. but wayne's done this track so many times that he really want to surprise and use his real world experience, using that new haggard superrapper flow. i'm seein chrome and i do them run flats / president tint: front, back / man, i wish them old bbs's come back / but i roll on them 100-spoke big d's triple gold / lil homie, my rims ain't twistin but don't get it twisted / damn, it's 26s.