It's one of those nights, my dearies, where only the ugliest and most twisted horrorcore can satisfy the dark urges roiling within. Brotha Lynch Hung's pet themes - cannibalism, mysogyny, madness, infanticide, booze - all permeate this miasmal gangsta record like smoke from a funeral pyre. A west coast answer to the New York's burgeoning horror rap movement, this first LP sounds like a hybrid of the G-Funk synth-and-melodica slink and the menacing funk of a John Carpenter soundtrack. This is roughly the rap equivalent to Butchered at Birth. Tread cautiously.
Rest in Piss
get da baby
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