King Of The Sea

Thanks Zef!

Zef sent that, cos of a thing I said in G chat (chat for Gs).

Narstie's over, talking about Dot Cotton having a "condom neck".

Narstie's on the amazing all star remix that's dropping shortly. DJ Jack Nimble's over in a minute to rehearse for the tour. I have been doing flipping loads of drawing.

Thor was ace.

Was going to write a big thing about why, but it isn't in my SHEDUUUUULE!


"I'm gonna blow out the straight fire fam."

The Lex Luger Workout Plan, And The Troll Of London Fields

That's me doing dead prez's Hip-Hop at Southern Hospitality's Hip Hop Karaoke at the Camden Crawl yesterday. Don't I look happy? The arm belongs to my dear old friend Dipod, who was good enough to hold the words up for me, as I didn't know them all. I know most of them. Pretty much 92% of's verse, anyway. About 60% of M1's. I wonder why that is? Anyway, I have respolved to learn the whole thing, 100%, so I can do it at parties, cos it is superior swag.

Speaking which, the mighty DJ Rob Pursey dropped Wonton Soup straight after my performance, and it kicked the fuck off. And when the whole thing was over, at the criminally early hour of 6pm, he dropped 4 Lex Luger productions in the space of about 2 and a half minutes, and my GOD if that isn't the most hardcore workout I have ever come across. Serious. I thought I was gonna have a seisure. Waka Flocka must be fit.

By the way, if you don't have a clue what I'm on about, Lex Luger is a producer who makes mental apocalyptic beats on Fruity Loops that all sound like the X-Men theme.

He's so awesome.



About 6 hours later I was getting trolled by some funny posh kid in London Fields, who come over to ask for a cigarette in exchange for an invitation to an "excellent party" he and some of his chums were having upstiars. I didn't have a cigarette, but worse, I had not watched any television yesterday.

He was all like, "how could you not have watched it? It was the greatest moment in our country's modern history!"

Oh, I was laughing like a donkey. Haw haw!

"Aren't you proud?" he cried. "Don't you care who represents you?"

"Don't no weird inbred lizard people represent me, brother!" I told him. "I represent me!" He did a very good aghast face. He kept it going for ages.

"He's your KING! She's your QUEEN!" he wailed.

Oh how I LOLed. "I have no KING, you funny boy!" I said, through the pain of my aching ribs. "I have no QUEEN!  I bow to no man or woman or vegetable! Why would I want to do something crazy like that? I'd put my back out!"

"Dude, he's so trolling you," said my new Northern friend, who'd upset the boy already by telling him he'd gone fishing all day yesterday.

"I don't know what you mean," the posh boy sniffed, sadly.

"Damn G, you're gonna tell me you voted Tory next. You're gonna tell me you read The Times," I said, through tears of laughter.

"Yes I did! And yes I do read The Times!" he exclaimed, sorrowfully. Then he turned on his heels and stropped off upstairs to his excellent party.

All in all, it was a lovely day.

RIP Nate Dogg. Nobody Did It Better


I just went to my favorite rap website and dropped a tear.

Hip-Hop's Hookman, the greatest to ever do it, is dead.

I can't believe it.

He was the fucking greatest.

I remember where I was the first moment I heard his voice (Penmon, my bedroom, about 7pm, aged 13,  overjoyed and awed at such rude melody).

He made every beat he blessed sing.

Nobody touched a mike with melody like Nate Dogg. He was so fucking cold.

The classic West Coast trilogy, G Funk Era, Doggystyle and The Chronic would have been unrecognizable without Nate.

213's The Hard Way is one of the most criminally slept on albums of all time. As is his solo album, Music And Me.

Maybe they'll get some shine now.

In the meanwhile, remeber this stone cold fucking fact:

Nobody Did It Better.

Image by Dino da iScreaman


[sleeve id="8455"] WOOOO HOOO!

It is all but done!

I am giving it a once over now, then I'm gonna play it on the Doncast at 5pm GMT!

Then I am gonna do a final master tweak, render it and chop it and tag it and zip it and up it to preorderers. And finish the art. Then up the stream.



So, I got some (ha!) sleep, and I listened to the noises Birddogg was making up here while I was down in New York, doing whatever it was I was doing in New York. Like, there's some ill stuff. But one in particular is just tremendous. it is mighty. It fills my heart. And prefectly fits so many of the raps I was writing in New York, tempom flow, everything. So, what I've done, is draw various raps, and bits of raps, together, to create this New York song that's been brewing all the time I've been here. It is best I get it out now, before I FORGET. Annoyingly, the necassary component is missing. So piss.

Bad: All the stuff I bought last week - food, drink, socks, weed - is gone. Mostly. I got a lot of Ritz crackers, peanut butter and macaroni. Good: There's a Death's Head Moth on my window. (See right) Bad: There is animal shit by my window. Good: The air outside is fresh and envigorating. Bad: The air in the top level of the house, in which I am supposed to be dwelling, is thick with the stink of animal and of animal excrement.

I went to turn on the sauna earlier, and nearly trod in cat shit. Or dog shit. It could be both. Whatever. It's like, wow, sauna! Oh, catshit. Wow! Oh. Wow! Oh. Etc. So, I wanted to go into town and get a job today, to pay for my ticket back to New York, but waited about for people to come with me rather than just doing it, and the end result is it's super late now, too late to get a job anywhere, and everyone's going into town to go out, save me, who must stay at home cos he has no ID (this is a worry), and it's too far to chance not being allowed in anywhere.

A ha!

So I should write more now. I wrote a bunch earlier. Phil is worrying that Amy has forotten his ass, as she went in her tiny car to take Cecelia and James over an hour ago. But she hasn't forgotten him. It's just miles from ShanGayKen to Woodstoock! A HA!

I just asked Spiky if he has a message for the world. He said, "spitroast!" So there you go.


So I fell alseep on the sofa after 5, and was awakened gently by Super Phil at 6:20, and it transpired Bird left my bag with my passport in it at the venue last night. But Bird's got me another ID card, so we're outside waiting for Jeff to pick us up at 6:30. And at midday we're in LA, and soon after that we're in Interscope's offices,and I'm filling a bag with Nirvana, Guns N Roses, Gilbert And Sullivan, Dre, Peter Gabriel, Police and other such back catalogue. Jimmy Iovine has a signed letter from Tupac and a video console that won't switch on. And loads of ideas. A balcony. A lush view. LA is lush to look at, from these places of advantage. Like, later we visit Jeff and Trent's, and there's this fucking alien cat that loves me, and an incredible, incredible view, of this desolate wilderness spattered with money.

It was a lovely day.

But in the nighttime it is hard not to see that LA is awash with cunts. It is a sad and massive amount of cunts, and I am not sure whether it is sad because this is what the world did to them, or because this is what they do to the world, or because they are cunts, and you can see their faces rotting right in front of your eyes.


After a nice little rest, I am back in London with a pink pack of eyeballs on my case. That shit looked nice on IE, but fucked up Mozilla. I don't know what it was doing to Macs. So he will live to the right. Read a bunch of Hilaire Belloc's The History Of England Vol XI, From The First Invasion By The Romans To The Ascension Of King George The Fifth on the train. I now realise that we are living in an oligarchy. Well, a strange, new fangled sort of oligarchy masked as a democracy. With a bit of a monarchy. But it is an oligarchy, nonetheless.

This book was published in 1915, and, interestingly, predicted that Russia would do what America has. The author is also in favour of true aristocracy, and I can see his point.