Songs Rhino loves, #44: Scarface - “Who Do You Believe In”
On some days, this immensely powerful masterwork is my favourite rap song.
Those of you who have engaged with my taste in rap music know very well that Scarface (that is, Brad Terrence Jordan, the éminence grise of Houston, Texas, who has been rapping since roughly 1985), has very few rivals as my very favourite rapper of all time. Much of his early work is a little bit too “gangsta” for me – his revered 1994 album The Diary does little for me, aside from a lone spectacular song called “I Seen A Man Die” – but as he got older (he’s now in his 50s) he has eased into a contemplative mode that I find so rich and compelling that I rush to take in every new album he drops. He’s been through a lot in recent years, battling the coronavirus and receiving a kidney transplant courtesy his twentysomething son Christopher, and it means a lot to me that he’s still here. This song, which is from his 2007 album Made, is one I find almost unbearably powerful – the beat is stately and haunting, and Uncle Face, to whom I have often referred as “the master of the gravitas of quietude”, speaks softly and slowly and lets each word of the three verses on this song, each of which delves into some fresh horror or emotional torment, register as clearly and unshakeably as possible.
Please allow me to reproduce those lyrics here; ordinarily such an exercise would be pointless, but it feels worth it to me to point out the writerly mastery of Mr. Jordan’s spare but sharp and devastating verses. He is not given to using ornate vocabulary, as so many of my other favourite rappers (people like AZ, Raekwon, Brother Ali, Aesop Rock, Ghostface Killah, and Tragedy Khadafi, among others) so frequently do, but he makes every word count – Andrew Nosnitsky’s observation that the weight of his words is frequently borderline Scriptural rings true for me. His use of folk imagery involving a very specific and time-honoured conception of the way God and Satan operate in the world moves me, and so does the whole of the third and final verse, his political commentary on which has always struck me as astute and clever as well as moving.
Really, though, you can’t get a sense of why this song is so powerful and magnificent without listening to his vocal tone; he sounds absolutely benumbed and wearied, worn down by life in the extreme, and I find it almost unbearably wrenching. Here are the song’s excruciatingly powerful lyrics.
Verse 1
This past year was a rough ride, jokin’ aside
A lotta n—as left to do bids, and most of ‘em died
My neighborhood is like a ghost town, would hype some trash
The BGs got the hood hot with whites and rats
The old folks is mad at us ‘cause they kids is lost
…How you expect for us to teach when all you did was talk?
The trickle-down theory, but this generation of thugs
Aint nothing like my n—as was when was hustlin’, blood!
It went from weed to cocaine, cocaine to drank
Drank to handlebar, heroin, X an’ crank
Smokin dip, plottin homicides, killin’ theyself
Butt-naked wavin’ pistols ‘round, the feeling of death
Got mama cryin’, ‘cause she know deep down ‘e needin’ her help
But he's a dead man walkin’, still she pray for his health
Why did Corey have to die young? I'm losing my friends
Fought a war against cancer but he lost in the end
Fuck!
Verse 2
Outside I see the cop cars flashin’ they lights
Raindrops symbolizin’ God is savin’ a life
The sun shinin’ so they say the Devil beatin’ his wife
The body bloody underneath the sheet is waiting for Christ
The streets is hungry so I know they watchin’, waitin’ to strike
But anything you ever got for easy came with a price
Its just the chance a n—a took, he was shakin’ the dice
Committed suicide to get his chain covered in ice
I aint gon’ lie, I did the same thing in order to shine
25 an’ had a drop Rolls, top o’ the line
I came a long way from rockin’ up ounces an’ dimes
To movin’ big boys four or five blocks at a time
And since this rappin’ wasnt payin’ bills I did what I did
Got my money for it, let these n—as see how I live
Wrong answer – you’d think a motherfucker’d be proud
To see his homie on his feet instead of talking him down
Why is that?
This third verse is very dear to me, and I’m not sure this joint would rank quite so highly on the list of my favourite songs of all time (or my favourite rap songs in particular) without it. I have a very fond memory of reciting it during class one evening in (I believe) 2011, during Professor Ron Nelson’s course on the history of rap music at York University, at a point at which he had tried to assert that great rap music was no longer being made, and the entire class (some very possibly thinking the verse had been written by me, despite my averral that it was the work of legendary Mr. Jordan) erupted in applause and cheers. The artistic triumph that inspired that rapture is not mine, but that remains a proud moment for me regardless. Here’s the verse.
Verse 3
Now if the ghetto ever made a change, it changed for the worse
But I love it, so I write in tears an’ pray til it hurts
Prick my fingers ‘til the bloodstains would cover the page
Wipe my eyes an’ look ahead an’ hope to see better days
I turn my TV off, ‘cause I don't wanna look at the news
Hard times seein’ people cryin’, Arabs an’ Jews
Fightin’ for they religion, n—as livin like n—as
Mexicans on the border, whiteboys saying kill ‘em
Politicians playin’ puppet gotta answer me this
Do you believe you’re really God? My answer is this
Did you say, “Let there be light!”, give Adam his wife?
Produce the vegetation, separate the day from the night?
Create the land an’ the sea an’ man in your own image
If not, then I want all this bullshit ended!
Sendin’ them kids to fight a war that they ain't have to be in
That Saddam shit is dead, let's see you fuck with them Koreans!”
Please pardon the bluntness and unsubtlety of this exercise, but this is one of those rare rap songs where I think the magic comes alive all the more when you read the lyrics on paper, so I reproduced them here. I made a pact with myself that I would forbid myself from selecting the same artist twice in this column until I got past selection #50, but it won’t be long until Scarface appears in this column again. He’s made a great quantity of my favourite songs in the history of popular music, and I think he deserves his flowers and his propers. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. I would be made very happy if even a tiny number of you elected to recognize his brilliance along with me.