Slicing swords and a Chef on meth bring the beat in like a call to war. These aren’t the cartoon gangstas of the west coast, the politicians of the east, or the Young MCs of the Billboard Hot 100, these were real kids. Bored kids. Angry kids. Starving kids. They didn’t want to ride low in a sparkle-coated six-four or dance all night in the club or change the American ethical landscape. They wanted you to get off their fuckin’ block so they could get high and grab a bite without your dumb ass getting’ all up in their shit for no goddamn reason. It’s there in the blare. Gritty and mean, stomping ever-forward to fuck up someone who tried to pull some shit, as victorious horns roar, “Shame” is statement of purpose. We are here, we are fucked up and we will fuck you up. Our knowledge is deep and wide. We will shoot your dumb ass and leave you rotting in a dumpster, and no one will find you. We will never face retribution. We are animals, sniffing out survival. Criminal perfection. The Wu is a unit, an impenetrable fortress. Brotherhood.
Who’s got your back?
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