ENT News: BET Awards 2014

Real Husbands BETLast night it was the BET Awards and because BET has become more about entertainment and less about music we felt it was necessary to place this little wrap up in Entertainment News.  But anyway but since MTV did a great wrap up make sure to read their article. We are just going to post the only thing that counted the Cyphers. We agree with the LA times that it was the most memorable part of the night.
According to Gerrick D. Kennedy of the LA Times, the true meat and potatoes of the telecast are the cyphers that showcase veteran and emerging wordsmiths delivering their most ferocious freestyles. The members of Slaughterhouse delivered a fiery set of rhymes. Rapsody and Lil Kim held it down for the ladies in separate cyphers (sorry Tiffany Foxx). The cast of the Kevin Hart led spoof reality show, “Real Husbands of Hollywood,” provided splitting laughs — and a few punches. But the night easily went to Top Dawg Entertainment’s cypher, particularly the imprint’s breakout star Kendrick Lamar. After dropping a bombshell on the rap world with his acid-spewing guest verse on Big Sean’s “Control” — the Compton-raised emcee declared himself king of New York and challenged his contemporaries (by name) to step up their game — a host of rappers barked back. Lamar had yet to respond, until his cypher.
His TDE brethren built the tension with successive wallops of fury, but Lamar capped the cypher by dishing out two minutes laced with vitriol and a punishing amount of gut punches. Choice lines came in abundance. “Nothing’s been the same since they dropped ‘Control’/ And tucked a sensitive rapper back in his pajama clothes / Your … never penetrates/ Pin the tail on the donkey, boy you been a fake,” most likely sent a chill down Drake’s spine, while missives such as “I’m the master that masturbated on your favorite emcee,” “I got my thumb on hip-hop/ And my foot in the back of your ass” and “Hold up, wait a minute/ Your career ain’t … unless you got some Kendrick in it” light volcanic fire underneath the feet of every rapper with a pulse. Ouch.
See the rest of this article on LATimes.com

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