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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Fat Joe: The Worst Southern Rapper Of All Time

In case you didn’t know, the month of February is not only “Black” History Month it’s also ideal for a rapper, what with so many of them taking an early visit to the pearly gates around this time. It’s amazing that in this shortened month so many talented artists have had their breath taken away like Berlin, from Lost Boyz hype man Freaky Tah to Harlem underworld’s Big L to, of course, J Dilla. In case you also didn’t know, today just so happens to be the eighth anniversary of one Big Punisher’s death.

Despite my, ahem, earlier allegations that the Big Moon Dawg may have met his maker from Pimp C-ing on pork rinds, I’ve always considered Pun to be one of the last of the premier East Coast rappers of all time. And, similar to my favorite rapper’s way-too-early death, he was gone before he had a chance to really make an indelible mark in music. What’s sad though is that upon listening to his second album again, you can truly hear Pun struggling to keep up with the beats most times as if fighting for his last breath with each bar, whereas Capital Punishment was a flawless display of lyrical gymnastics. “Tres Leches?” Fucking nasty.

Even sadder than that was what happened to Fat Joe after Pun passed. Before Pun, Fat Joe was nothing more than a DITC piff pocketer, occasionally given a few bars to display how mediocre, at best, his rhyme schemes were. However, his rhymes got a considerable upgrade once he started hanging around Pun, so much so that he almost – dare I say it – came off like Punisher, as if he stole a few pages out his rhyme book or something (hmmm...). Even more coincidental is the fact that as soon as Pun bounced – followed by the disintegration of the Terror Squad into perhaps the worst rap group of all time [1] – Joey Crack’s raps pretty much went further south than Nat Turner’s [2] tongue on some random-ass, mentally destroyed skig skag in any random “episode” of Black Street Hookers.

I guess due to the fact that either New Yorkers are quick to turn on their own or are somewhat smarter than their recent standardized test score result let on to sniff out bullshit, Fat Joe eventually moved down to Miami – basically a cocaine cowboy-ridden swamp marsh of horrible rappers – and eventually bested, inexplicably, the likes of Jackie-O and motherfucking JT Money of all people, as the preeminent shitbag of Southern rap. I’m not even sure if the denizens in the South are aware of how god-awful he sounds, though my hope is that they’re trying to silence that Persian Bib the Michelin Man’s nonsensical deadpans about being the best or some shit. Or perhaps they’re just flat-out scared of him; it seems that everyone he’s in close contact with catches either a bad one, whether it’s Cuban Link getting the Wolverine treatment, Remy Ma putting a couple slugs in her weave holder’s liver or those two weed carriers that sat with Fat Joe in a SUV and ended up getting shot the fuck up last year, or their careers go nowhere fast. But maybe that was New York’s plan all along: to dump the dead weight to make room for better talent. Hell, they’re already getting off to a great 2008.

***

I have a miniature tribute to Big Pun over at the side hustle. Feel free to check it out.

[1] You would think with all those Latinos, one of those humps would have made his way to the rose bushes of Jay-Z or something. I’m just saying.

[2] I still can’t believe somebody in porn goes by the name of Nat fucking Turner.

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