The Backroom Verse

I don’t remember exactly when BET launched 106 and Park but I do recall enjoying their version of MTV’s Total Request Live when it debuted. It had a video countdown and AJ and Free were pretty decent as hosts. I had hopes of making it on the show and having my video crack the countdown, and I wanted to have an in-depth interview that would reach the world via BET’s platform. Some days I would imagine the questions they would ask me, and how I might flirt with Free and laugh at AJ, I was a young adult with a dream.

That was probably a decade ago when I watched the show daily to catch up on who was hot in the game and who was next to rise. They changed hosts, switched up the format, and the audience got younger as I got older. Finally in 2009 I was able to sit on the 106 and Park stage and judge Freestyle Friday while promoting my album My Soul To Keep. My dream of being a guest on that show faded away. I am no longer interested in appealing to the youthful masses, and the only time I view the program is when my peoples like Mickey Factz, J. Cole or Skyzoo have been featured.

Anyway, I had to really take a step back and appreciate my name being called to do a verse for The Backroom, which is somewhat like “The Basement” that I used to watch on Rap City. It’s a throwback to when rappers could show their pure talent by actually putting words together without worrying about marketability, sales or downloads. This was the reason I began doing music. Without reflecting on my past, I almost missed the importance of this present moment. Yesterday my segment on BET aired. I have been on national television before but it was different yesterday.


Not only have I been infrequent on the blogs releasing music for the last two years but I have not been active performing either. Ironically, I am more confident in my words than I have ever been. For the first time in my career, my image totally matches who I am, and I feel comfortable with my family, friends, basketball buddies and anyone that may know me as Sherod to listen to what I have to say. I have reached a new chapter in my journey where the idea of doing music is no longer synonymous with the word “grind.” I am at a place where I can vent, educate, learn, grow and be vulnerable without wondering if it will pop, catch on or go viral. And with that said…the words:

“I wonder if Cassius Clay would have found out about his fate,

As a youngin, before he changed up his name and absorbed the hate,

Would he still have jumped in the ring and took jabs and hooks to the face,

And become the greatest of greats if he knew he would have the shakes,

When it’s over?

It’s never over for me, but I can relate,

‘Cause my body would start to tremble whenever I walked away,

I’d be sweating like I’m on heroine, meth and MDMA,

Since y’all said that y’all like me bragging, I’m back and I’m here to stay,


The human avatar for rapping hard, I battled God and came out with battle scars,

I feel like I build with angels and travel far, for every gram of raw and a phantom car,

That you hear about from dudes that they tag as stars,

You might as well believe in Big Foot…the tooth fairy, leprechauns, Santa Claus,

They’re spitting candy bars,

Kit Kat, Almond Joy, Butterfinger, Milky Way,

Snickers, Twix, Baby Ruth, Hundred Grand, Pay Day,  

Hersheys, Reese’s, Three Musketeers,

They’re Twizzlers, that the listeners do not wanna hear,


I’m a mutant, at nine I showered with rhyming power,

Now with any beat I get, I devour,

Put me in a room full of haters,

Have ninety-thousand Simon Cowells,

Their reactions, just be a line of vowels,

Ooohs and aaaahs,

Maybe a hell yes,

Say more, sell less,
Sick flow, well-dressed,
Save rap, help desk,
Hire me, wire me money little rapper, I can fix up your words like spellcheck,

When I said well dressed…

I wasn’t talking Tyler Perry, Martin Lawrence, Eddie Murphy,

Men in dresses, kinda scary,

Oh my bad, they’re rocking kilts, wearing skirts,

Oh I’m clearly,

Just a hater, never mind, just pretend y’all didn’t hear me,
Over there a distraction,

Ok now back to me,

I’m Shallow Hal in the flesh, although I be rappin’ deep,

They found the way to battle me,

Fake your own death like you’re rehearsing for a sick patient role on Grey’s Anatomy,
I know I come across in manners,
That’s cerebral, far from evil, sorta feeble, understanding,
So these “ignant” people hear me, I start talking bout my hammer,
Now my Friends are acting funny like they’re Joey, Ross and Chandler but…
I stress nothing, I sit calm,
The game’s funny like old sitcoms,
These rappers look like Fresh Prince, Full House,  Family Matters, Growing Pains,
Who’s the Boss?, Diff’rent Strokes, Good Times, Happy Days,
Girlfriends, The Jeffersons, Seinfeld, Cosby,
Saved by the Bell, Bernie Mac, Steve Harvey,
My Wife and Kids,

The life I live, is semi-sorta Godly,

Some of y’all hardly working, me I’m working hardly,

I’m partly Barkley, Garvey, Marley,

For crashing this non-lyricist party,

My mental, it’s sharp as a Ginsu, but harsh and offensive,

I spark instrumentals, it’s hard but essential, my target is simple,

With all that I been through, my heart isn’t gentle, I harnessed potential,

And studied flows, even borrowed like rentals,

From different emcees, yes each bar is eventful,

I mixed CNN, Vh1 with Comedy Central,

Then added BET, A&E, Showtime, Lifetime,

Playboy, Fox and I channel Pac when I write rhymes,

My patterns are real tricky,

They’re simple, but complex,

Who could flip any concept?

Whether sky lounge, party jet, rooftop pub,  it don’t matter how high the bar’s set,

Y’all don’t hear me,

It’s a different day now,

Game-change music, let me just explain how,

I elevate the level, and I educate whoever, since the kids are out here spelling like the Chick-fil-a cows,

Rap ain’t helping, I just add to the drama,

Your daddy left and now you’re mad at your mama,

I’m glad and I’m honored, to tell you you can make it, as a graduate scholar,

You can take the path of Obama, or Mario Chalmers,

I have to be honest,

With all of these scriptures that I just rapped to you,

Half of you may not get it, or have the aptitude,

Other half are stuck with that hater, debater attitude,

And I could be the greatest, I’m nothing to Maya Angelou,

And everything she brought to the world,

I rock wife-beaters but I never tortured my girl,

I get sicker with every minute, doesn’t force me to hurl,

But it could fetal position you, you ball up and curl,

A lot of dudes want to act like Deebo…Tyson,

Real life similar to Peabo…Bryson, 

I touch down like an eagle…viking,

Steeler…titan, see my writing,

At times it sounds extra pissed, ’cause you don’t know me,

On beats I’m affectionate, the drums hold me,

And the hi-hats whisper, and I kick it with the kicks,

Have discussions with percussion,

Treat the music like a chick, I tell ’em…

I feel better than massage parlors,

Once I start giving orders like The Godfather,

And I make her breathe like I’m her Lamaze partner,

Even though I’m never home like your car charger,

My flow is beautiful…

I put letters together to get numbers,

You know, a Roman numeral…

Every beat you can throw a funeral,

Love me or hate me, the feeling’s mutual,

I show loyalty,

If I worked at Burger King or Dairy Queen, I am still royalty,

So how I’m still here is beyond me,

Father, Son, Spirit, I’m embodying all three,

So really,

Messing with me, you must be on E,

It’s like playing a game of horse, and you on E it’s over.”

For the video click here.


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