#When did biggie smalls juicy come out cracked#
Ridin', decidin': cracked crab or lobster? Your crew run run run your crew run run.Īnd just imagine him, all 300-plus pounds, lazy eye and top hat, rollin' through his English gardens, contemplating seafood as he does in "I Love the Dough":Ĭountry house, tennis courts, and horseback I can fill ya wit real millionaire shit: escargot. I mean, if he can make your girl leave you for that level of romance, what couldn't he do? Outside of sex appeal (when "b**ches used to go, 'Ewww!'") Biggie also rapped often about his fabulous wealth, invoking culinary luxuries, like here, in "Hypnotize": Go fill my belly –Ī T-bone steak, cheese eggs and Welch's grape.Ĭonversate for a few, 'cause in a few, we gon' do what we came to do. Pull the truck up front and roll up the next blunt, Plans to leave, throw the keys to Lil' Cease. Now honies play me close like butter played toastįrom the Mississippi down to the East CoastĪnd he built a legacy in masterpieces of carnal seduction like "Big Poppa": I never thought it could happen, this rappin' stuff Now they write letters 'cause they miss me I just kept playing him in my car, and I let my tape rock until my tape popped.Ī collection of Biggie's finest food rhymesīiggie was a funny man, and he mastered the silliness of sex and food. I knew then I would never get to see him grow as an artist, and only years later would I realize how I'd learn from him. And everyone knows, whether you are eating sardines or lobster, that what you eat and what you want to eat says much about you.įor years, I tried to listen to other tapes in my little suburban family sedan, but I would just keep going back to the Black Rhinoceros of Rap, listening to him drop unexpectedly like bird shit. Everyone, no matter how hardened, can remember the foods that defined their childhood.
Everyone can imagine the horror of hunger, the anger it can engender. There's much more in that song - stories of how he sewed fake Izod logos onto his shirts to seem richer than he was - but it was the cookies, buttercrunch, that made me understand food's potency as a symbol, its ability to bridge enormous gaps between him, his characters, and the listener, whether that listener hustled on his corner or was a Chinese kid from the suburbs. Usually you couldn't tell because he was rapping, straight-spittin', but sometimes, you could see underneath and it was fleshy and soft. Under all his bluster, under the killer braggadocio of " Hunt me or be hunted: I got three hundred fifty seven ways to simmer, sauté" ("Unbelievable"), he still had his throat exposed to the world. "Sky's the Limit" is a song about how far he'd come from the street life, but it's also a song about the innocence he lost even when he was trying hard to never be innocent at all.
The Notorious B.I.G., this spinner of murder rhymes and playboy fantasies, made himself vulnerable. He remembers the flavor of his favorite cookies. He was bragging about being harder than you, tougher than you, even when he was a child in school. The milks was chocolate the cookies, buttercrunch. I mean loyalty: n**gaz bought me milks at lunch. 'Look at they man eye! BIG, man, they'll never try.' His crew's your crew, or they might be next " Born sinner, the opposite of a winner, remember when I used to eat sardines for dinner," he rapped in his breakout hit "Juicy." The scenes and characters he crafted were vivid and real.īut when I heard him rap about cookies in "Sky's the Limit," Biggie Smalls became to me something truly greater than a just a wit and storyteller: And for me, never having killed a man, never having had sex good enough to require that kind of name calling, it was the little things Biggie shared that invested me in the lives lived in his rhymes. He took the invisible details of his world - the cry of a killed rival's baby daughter a lover's orgasmic shouts of "You chicken gristle eatin' motherf**ker!"- and made them glow so that, in between head-nods to sick beats, anyone could see his stories. He rapped about the life of a street hustler-turned-playboy, about blunts and broads and sex in expensive cars, but along the way he taught me who I would be as a writer on food.īiggie's rhymes hum with complicated life. But after he died, after I wondered why there were marches in the street for him, after my friend Eric handed me a cassette with the words "Best of Big" scrawled on the label, I came to love him, in that way where the best artists become, you hope, a part of you. He had a few hits, he had ridiculous sunglasses, he was the opposite of a handsome man and he rapped about his girl-stealing suavity with a mushy mouth.
I didn't think much of Biggie Smalls while he was alive.
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