Throw another rhyme across the room, they be fetchin' em

I was first introduced to Masta Ace* through Disposable Arts, quite a while ago, and I have to admit, for whatever reason, I wasn't really a fan; I assumed the entirety of his repertoire was in the same serious, matter-of-fact, fine tuned style of Arts. However, I recently discovered SlaughtaHouse. This is a whole different story. Golden, tongue-in-cheek, rebellious young hooligan shit. Also, it makes it much easier for me to appreciate his later stuff.

*I've been pestered to credit one Jared Radin as the catalyst to this introduction, but am compelled, in return, to credit myself as responsible for the acquisition of his ironic thick-framed glasses, the only thing (besides a piping hot, bubbling spring of natural charm) that propels him--albeit probably pretty awkwardly--into the beds of many a ripe, young maiden.