The 100 Greatest West Coast Hip-Hop Songs of All Time

The Pharcyde’s debut album, BizarreRideIIThePharcyde, was released weeks before Dr. Dre’s The Chronic, and the two serve as funhouse mirror images for L.A. rap in the early Nineties. (Incidentally, both mention guns, the former with more humor than the other.) South Central quartet Slim Kid Tré, Romye, Imani, and Fatlip presented as freewheeling, blunted, and slightly antic youth deeply immersed in hip-hop culture and unafraid to show vulnerability. On “Passin’ Me By,” which broke them nationally, the four contemplate unrequited attraction with pathos, rhyming over Jay Swift’s crunchy, organ-infused sample from Quincy Jones’ “Summer in the City.” Only Tre’ promises to press up — “Although she’s crazy stepping, I try to stop her stride,” he promises — while the others resign themselves to heartbreak. It’s a remarkable track for an era when men boasted about their ability to accost women or do even worse. As Imani raps, “And I was born not to understand by letting her pass, I proved to be the better man.” —M.R.

While never released as a standalone single, “Ain’t No Fun” became a staple of California mix shows soon after Snoop Dogg’s Doggystyle dropped. It’s the moment when Nate Dogg, after appearances on Dr. Dre’s The Chronic and Mista Grimm’s “Indo Smoke,” grew into the most important hip-hop balladeer of his generation, someone who could straddle the line between vulgarity and soulful charm with his deep, honeyed voice. The late Long Beach singer’s opening verse alone — “When I met you last night, baby,” he begins — has been sampled and interpolated dozens of times, notably by Mariah Carey on her 1999 hit “Heartbreaker (Remix).” Then there’s Kurupt’s unrepentantly doggish verse, and the way he ends it by screeching, “Trick-ass biiiitch!” “Ain’t No Fun” remains a dance-floor killer to this day, the type of anthem that gets women rapping and swaying to Dre’s disco-funk beat and the roguish delights of Snoop’s LBC crew. —M.R.

Like too many rappers in recent years, the late Drakeo the Ruler is mostly known for his brief and tragic life. The L.A. district attorney hounded the South Central rapper for years, and his uphill battle against murder charges and incarceration turned him into a national figure. Just over a year after being free to resume his career, Drakeo was murdered in horrific fashion at a local music festival where he was set to perform. Before all that, though, he generated a catalog of music that deserves closer scrutiny, including his most acclaimed mixtape, Cold Devil, and its key track, “Flu Flamming.” Much like Suga Free, he has a reputation for off-beat rhyming, but he kept time by emphasizing certain words in a muted yet assured voice, even as his bars stretch past producer Bruce24k’s downbeat. “I’m Luke Skywalker with this Glock playing laser tag,” he boasts as he speckles his verses with colorful language. He clearly had talent, and it’s a shame he won’t get to explore it further. —M.R.

From rapper-producer Black C and rapper Mr. Cee’s emergence out of San Francisco’s Hunters Point neighborhood to the latter member’s tragic murder in 1996, Ruthless by Law Posse were regional heroes, and one of the best proponents of a bass-heavy, slang-rich style that would later be known as mobb music. The breakout hit from their debut album, A Lesson To Be Learned, “Don’t Give Me No Bammer” advises the listener on the merits of good “sess.” The word “bammer” is a bit anachronistic now; given advances in marijuana technology, no one worries about dirt weed “in the SFC” anymore. That makes this smooth-yet-funky track a veritable time capsule as RBL Posse stay on the hunt for good dank, drank, and gettin’ into the ladies’ “draws.” Street violence may have robbed them of the opportunity to become major national stars, but at least they gave us this all-time smoker’s classic. —M.R.

Slowly cruising his black Benz limo across Yo! MTV Raps in the late Eighties, Sir Mix-a-Lot delivered the big boom for Seattle rap, a landmark moment for hip-hop that didn’t come from New York, California, or Florida. The bass was enormous, and its references to downtown streets and late nights at Dick’s Drive-In were incredibly local, but “Posse on Broadway” would prove irresistible in Texas and the Bay Area. “I wanted to make it uniquely Seattle. I didn’t think anybody else would really care, but I knew every [city] had a Broadway, so if they did care they’d buy it,” Sir Mix-a-Lot told Rolling Stone. “It started to take off and I’m like, ‘How can a song about Seattle be so popular in, you know, Houston?’ “ —C.W.

Nearly 10 minutes and unsuitable for any radio station, “Freaky Tales” was a landmark moment for Bay Area rap, sex rhymes, and the independent hustle in general. Originally released as an underground cassette in a bright yellow J-card and then a centerpiece of his Jive Records debut, this diary of sex stories once had a draft that spanned 75 women, naturally, for the 75 Girls label. “I kinda narrowed it down to about 40-something chicks,” $hort told Complex. “You know the 75 Girls version is real, like, boring at certain points. So I narrowed it down to just the good parts and that’s the song everyone knows.” —C.W.

Freestyle Fellowship were leaders of a bohemian hip-hop scene in L.A. that grew out of a health food store and coffee shop called The Good Life. But they were no chill hippies. The dense abstractions and harried revelations of their influential 1991 debut, To Whom It May Concern, went well beyond even the most out-there moments of De La Soul or the Jungle Brothers, and its dense, alluringly crusty sound suggested they’d been bitten by same low-fi bug that had infected indie-rock contemporaries like Pavement or Sebadoh. On the standout “7th Seal,” rapper Mikah Nine drops clusters of SAT vocab and riffles through sci-fi and fantasy allusions (including a fire Lord of the Rings reference) before arriving at the all-too-real, down-to-earth-ness of observations like “​​Bloody was a thought when my buddy had been shot.” The mix of surrealism and realism showed a way forward for a whole generation of arty local MCs. —J.D.

The longtime secret weapon in Dr. Dre’s arsenal, Cali-via-Texas rhymesmith the D.O.C. has quietly co-written rhymes for some of West Coast rap’s most epochal albums, including N.W.A’s Straight Outta Compton, Dr. Dre’s The Chronic and Snoop Doggy Dogg’s Doggystyle. His 1989 solo album, No One Can Do It Better, was the star turn for the gruff and deeply funky MC. He begged Dre for two weeks to flip the ping-ponging Foster Sylvers track that makes up its backbone and then added the vocals in one burst. “Me and [producer-rapper] Laylaw had been smoking and drinking,” the D.O.C. told WHO?MAG TV. And when the beat came on it sounded like a Jamaican beat, so that’s the way I rapped the rap. … They didn’t stop the tape because the shit sounded so good to ’em, so I rapped that whole song in one take. Drunk. In a Jamaican patois.” —C.W.

Already a veteran of slow, detail-heavy imagery across three albums from gangsta-rap pioneers Compton’s Most Wanted, MC Eiht found his greatest success on his debut solo single. A highlight of the Menace II Society soundtrack — a film in which he also plays instigator A-Wax — Eiht delivers an eerily intimate street tale about how quick decisions can lead to unwanted circumstances. “I get comments from younger people who heard the song for the first time and ask me about it because they’re so fascinated,” Eiht told Passion of the Weiss. “It’s a descriptive tale you can really sink your teeth into. Growing up in Compton it wasn’t hard to write songs of realism.” —D.M.

Pittsburg, California, rapper The Jacka grinded in the Bay Area underground for more than a decade before finally achieving a breakout moment with his 2009 album, Tear Gas. The late artist exemplified the “regional rap” ethos, writing tales of street life and his stalwart Muslim faith with an idiosyncratic mix of sung harmonies and grizzled, slightly offbeat rap flows. But his biggest track, “Glamorous Lifestyle,” demonstrated his versatility as he bounces and boasts over a thumping hyphy club beat. “You know I got paper, ‘cause I’m a d-boy,” he brags as the late producer Traxamillion accompanies him with a keyboard-heavy arrangement, and S.F. veteran Andre Nickatina drops in for a guest verse. The result is a winner that turns up local parties to this day. —M.R.

After a string of EPs, mixtapes, and head-turning guest spots, Vince Staples finally transcended the “Odd Future associate” tag with the sprawling double-LP Summertime ‘06. The songs evoke the time and place of his adolescence with a richness only possible on a debut, as if decades went into each verse. “Norf Norf,” still the crown jewel of Staples’ discography, reps his city’s hard-edged charms with lines that soar and dip like a paper airplane. Clams Casino’s drone-like sample serves as a siren alerting anyone within hearing distance that the time has come to scream Staples’ opening line; from there, though, best to just shut up and listen. —C.P.

An instant success in the West, the hard-rocking “Boyz-n-the Hood” was the explosive breakout moment for 80 percent of N.W.A, the seismic middle finger that would change music forever. With lyrics by a teenage Ice Cube, production by Dr. Dre and Yella, and the unmistakable adenoidal flows of Eazy-E, this drama unfolds with multiple fistfights, a gunfight, a car crash, an arrest, and a submachine gun unsheathed in a courtroom. Inspired by the storytelling of Ice-T, Schoolly D, Slick Rick, and KRS-One, Cube originally wrote the lyrics for New York rap group HBO, who rejected them. “The lyrics was just foreign to them,” Cube told Talib Kweli. “They was like, ‘You talkin’ another language, man.’ And I was. It was the shit we talk out here.” —C.W.

Released near the end of L.A.’s electro era, the Grammy-nominated, Billboard Top 30 hit “Supersonic” was a blast of frenetic, spandex-clad energy. Yet J.B., Baby D, and Sassy C have often been dismissed as a one-hit wonder whose biggest accomplishment was helping Eazy-E get his Ruthless Records label off the ground. Even “Supersonic” producer Arabian Prince smeared the Rialto-based trio in a 2014 interview when he claimed, “They can’t rap.” It’s ironic that the famed electro innovator seemingly couldn’t understand why the track remains a hallmark. The “Just Jammin’ Def and Fresh” trio’s animated vocal interplay, tag-team chants, unforgettable chorus, and J.B.’s deliriously glossolalia finale: Their performance turned “Supersonic” into a memorable pop supernova. —M.R.

After scoring a 2006 hit as a member of Berkeley group The Pack with “Vans,” Lil B developed an elusive online persona guided by internet culture as well as Bay Area slang and idioms. His second solo mixtape, 6 Kiss, remains a generational dividing line in West Coast rap, praised by the likes of Tyler, the Creator and Kendrick Lamar and dismissed by OGs who feel it breaks from the region’s traditional sounds. New Jersey producer Clams Casino’s amniotic production on “I’m God,” and his inventive sampling of ethereal pop artist Imogen Heap, proved massively influential, inspiring fans and critics to call it “cloud rap.” But Lil B raps in a distinctly California accent and warns, “Bet ya I’m the only goon nigga in these tiny pants,” a reference to the “tight jeans” favored by youth and mocked by older rappers. Influenced as much by Lil Wayne and Soulja Boy as Too Short and pumping out dozens of mixtapes, the self-proclaimed “based god” took Bay Area rap in bold, fresh directions, leaving the audience to debate what it all meant. —M.R.

The story goes that The Game wrote his verses for this in an Escalade during a long drive home after a recording session. It sounds like that, too: in transit, reflective, spontaneous as a memory. Cool & Dre’s effervescent, disco-lifting beat puts 50 Cent in a ruminative mood, and Game packs in a handful of great lines (“Kill a nigga on a song and really do it/That’s the true meaning of a ghostwriter”), but it’s the hook they trade off that seals the song’s place in the pantheon. —C.P.

Compton rapper Coolio bounced around in teen electro-rap crews, spent time in prison, and overcame a crack addiction before a stint in WC and the MAAD Circle yielded a major-label deal. The resulting “Fantastic Voyage” is not only one of the biggest barbecue jams of the G-funk era, but also a moment to exhale and celebrate, no matter the circumstances. “I’m trying to find a place where I can live my life and/Maybe eat some steak with my beats and rice,” he raps in an easygoing cadence over a woofer-bass beat produced by DJ Wino and informed by the similarly titled Eighties boogie-funk hit by Lakeside. “Fantastic Voyage” established Coolio, who passed away last year, as a crowd-pleasing star, albeit one informed by the hardships he overcame to survive. —M.R.

First heard playfully debating Ice Cube’s misogynistic boasts on the latter’s 1990 track “It’s a Man’s World,” Yo-Yo became a solo star with singles like “Stompin’ to tha 90’s” and her biggest hit, “You Can’t Play With My Yo-Yo.” Produced by Cube and Sir Jinx, who make good use of a sample from Earth, Wind and Fire’s “Devotion,” and with keyboards and other instruments by Hami Wave, it’s a hardcore statement of purpose for the Compton MC, the self-described “brand new intelligent Black woman” for the Nineties. She claims a love for blunts and Old English 800 “8 Ball” malt liquor, warns that any man who tries to touch her inappropriately will “end up in a coffin,” and clowns women who wear fake hair weaves and green contact lenses. Three years later, Yo-Yo would team up again with Cube for another hit collaboration, “The Bonnie & Clyde Theme.” —M.R.

At this point, it’s a given that Dr. Dre will take his time to perfect the beat. But in 1999, he felt pressure to reassert himself after the long layoff since 1992’s The Chronic. “Still D.R.E.” was the solution. Amped off keys by a then-unknown Scott Storch, the track announces the producer’s new minimalist production ethos, built off a few slim elements and propelled forward by caddy-bouncing drums. The verses — penned by Jay-Z, but delivered with prescription-strength cool by Dre — assert his legacy, with Snoop popping up as a tasteful cosignatory. The result is immortal. Listen to it today, it’s still “Still D.R.E.” —C.P.

Cold 187um may be one of many who insist that he, not Dr. Dre, is the true father of G-funk. But the Pomona rapper-producer has a stronger claim than most: His group with the late KMG and DJ Go Mack, Above the Law, recorded their debut, Livin’ Like Hustlers, for Ruthless Records while N.W.A were still together, and he alleges that Dre plumbed his musical ideas in the process. After Dre left to form Death Row, Above the Law completed Black Mafia Life, but Ruthless delayed its release until February 1993, and Dre’s The Chronic beat it to market. The album’s best single, “Call It What U Want,” finds 2Pac kicking the cipher off over a track filled with pummeling bass rhythm. “2Pac’ll pack a punch and pop the trunk/I’m pumping G-funk but can call it what you want,” he raps, marking the first public appearance of the word “G-funk.” Above the Law aren’t as well-known as Dre or even DJ Quik, but they remain a key West Coast influence, with 1990’s “Murder Rap,” 1994’s “Black Superman,” and “Call It What U Want’ to their credit. —M.R.

With an image inspired by Earth, Wind & Fire’s King Tut-styled costumes and music honed from years DJ’ing in Rodger Clayton’s mobile crew Uncle Jamm’s Army, L.A. musician Egyptian Lover dominated Black radio stations during the electro-funk era. After making Uncle Jamm’s breakout hit “Dial-A-Freak” in 1983, Egyptian Lover issued his calling card on his own Egyptian Empire imprint. It’s a whirlwind of vocoder “Egyptian Lover” hooks, seductive and deep-voiced chants, Kraftwerk-inflected rhythms, and breathy exhalations akin to steam effects wafting across the dance floor. The cumulative effect may seem kitschy now, but it fueled Egyptian Lover’s debut album, On the Nile, which reached the Billboard top 200 album chart and is arguably the first West Coast hip-hop album. The generations who followed owe a debt to “Egypt, Egypt.”–M.R.

“Colors” made explicit what underground hits like Eazy-E’s “Boyz-n-the Hood” implied: Los Angeles was suffering from an epidemic of gang-related violence, the result of rivalries between various Bloods and Crips sects. Prompted by Dennis Hopper’s exploitation movie of the same name, Ice-T recorded the theme song with co-producer Afrika Islam and DJ Evil E, and took inspiration from Paterson, New Jersey, rapper King Sun’s underground 12-inch “Mythological Rapper.” (Listen closely and you’ll notice Ice raps in the same cadence as Sun.) He takes on the persona of a “nightmare walking, psychopath-talking” banger in a cold, heartless tone, while reasoning that his criminality is the result of social blight. “My mother’s on crack, my sister can’t work ‘cause her arms show tracks,” he says. “Colors” is a bleak and unrelenting journey. However, the video version ends with a message of hope. “Yo, please stop, ‘cause I want y’all to live,” says Ice. “Peace.” —M.R.

Formed in Sacramento by rapper the Gift of Gab and producer Chief Xcel, and based in the East Bay, Blackalicious were one of the strongest representatives of New York-styled, sample-centered hip-hop, with a dollop of soulful consciousness reminiscent of The Roots’ Soulquarians collective. The Gift of Gab not only wrote songs filled with moral insight and pathos, but also played with language, none more famously than when he spit a bar for every letter of the alphabet over Cut Chemist of Jurassic 5’s turntablist beat. Featured on the A2G EP, “Alphabet Aerobics” acquired a cult reputation among indie-rap fans. Over a decade later, it went viral when actor Daniel Radcliffe recited it on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon in 2014. By the time Gift of Gab passed away in 2021, you could hear him rhyme similarly poetic delights for DoorDash TV ads, inviting the viewer to explore the catalog of a mighty, unsung indie-rap career. —M.R.

“Super Hyphy” is one of those songs that almost instantly captured an era: in this case, the hyphy movement that dominated Bay Area rap in the mid-to-late aughts. Oakland rapper Keak da Sneak wrote the song after getting a beat CD from San Jose producer Traxamillion; the latter, who passed away in 2021, was inspired by seeing his friends dance at a party. Released in spring 2005, it took over local radio and stayed in heavy rotation for years, with Keak’s raspy slanguage booming across the region. Musically, it served as a brighter corollary to the street-rooted mobb music, bubbling up at a time when youth-driven phenomenon — think ringtone rap, jerkin’, and snap music — were dragging rap fans back to the dance floor, whether they wanted to go or not. —M.R.

“At the time in rap, everyone was talking about getting high, but no one was talking about what it took to get high,” Luniz rapper Yukmouth told The Guardian. “Being real comedians, we thought it’d be funny to do a track talking about trying to put our money together to buy a sack. Like, ‘I think I got two bucks in my sock, what you got?’ That was our reality at the time.” The pulsating, ominous indo-smoker’s plea became an instant Bay Area anthem in 1995, but went much further, giving the city’s homegrown “mobb music” its day in the Billboard Top 10. During their brief moment of fame, Luniz dutifully served as Bay Area ambassadors, enlisting a who’s who of local legends — Dru Down, Spice-1, E-40, Shock G, and Richie Rich — for the also excellent remix. Its ominous melody, borrowed from Club Nouveau, would eventually serve as an orchestral motif for the Jordan Peele’s horror film Us. —C.W.

Based in L.A. since the Eighties, Virginia-born The Lady of Rage established herself as Death Row’s power forward on rap ciphers like Dr. Dre’s “Lyrical Gangbang” and “Puffin’ on Blunts and Drankin’ Tanqueray,” and Snoop Dogg’s “For All My Niggaz & Bitches.” Unfortunately, the label didn’t know what to do with the hardcore rapper, and by the time she finally got to release Necessary Roughness in 1997, Death Row was falling aprt, with Dre and Snoop gone, 2Pac dead, and Suge Knight facing prison time. That leaves “Afro Puffs” as her only solo showcase from Death Row’s peak era. Still, the song displays everything that made her so essential, from her gruff, commanding voice to the way she rocks Dre and Daz Dillinger’s swinging hard-funk track. “Lyrical murderer, I’m servin’ ‘em two scoops of chocolate/Check how I rock it,” she raps while Snoop adlibs on the chorus. It’s a shame we didn’t get more.–M.R.

Co-produced by Ice Cube, Sir Jinx, and Chilly Chill, “Dead Homiez” is a remarkable anomaly for a rapper whose career is marked by blunt sociopolitical opinions and verbal bellicosity. Cube’s storytelling strengths take center stage, but they’re rendered in a mournful, embittered voice. He attends the funeral of a friend who was murdered, but he focuses on the aftermath and how untimely deaths traumatize and fracture Black neighborhoods in South Central Los Angeles, not the violent act itself. “It seems like I’m viewing a body every other month,” he raps ruefully while describing the day with impressive detail and admits he might “maybe shed a tear or two.” But he also fills his lyrics with empathy, and notes, “How strong can you be when you see your pops crying?” More than three decades after its release as an album cut and video for the Kill at Will EP, there’s still nothing in the genre quite like “Dead Homiez.” —M.R.

“It was a clear black night, a clear white moon,” begins Warren G on “Regulate.” Two years earlier, he assisted his older cousin Dr. Dre as a ghost producer on The Chronic. Then, in 1993, he produced and made a cameo on his onetime friend Mista Grimm’s “Indo Smoke.” That rap hit set off a bidding war for Warren G that Def Jam won, while Death Row negotiated — or strong-armed, depending on whom you ask — the right to use “Regulate” for the Above the Rim movie soundtrack. “Regulate” opens as just another night of Warren G and Nate Dogg cruising around the LBC, an evening that nearly goes awry when Warren is threatened with a carjacking. He famously samples Michael McDonald’s “I Keep Forgettin’,” resulting in a massive Billboard hit that, as noted in an episode of the aughts web series Yacht Rock, was memorably “smooth.” Anchoring it all is the late Nate Dogg, perhaps the greatest hip-hop crooner the West Coast ever produced. —M.R.

“Me and all my peoples, we always thought he was straight,” raps YG as he begins a memorable protest of then-presidential candidate Donald Trump. It’s an acknowledgement that, despite too many past controversies to list here, Trump enjoyed pop-culture status as a wealthy mogul, with his name used as shorthand for big American business in numerous rap songs. However, Trump’s bigoted 2016 campaign, and his targeting of working-class immigrants, changed YG’s view. “Since we know how you really feel…fuck Donald Trump!” he chants. “It wouldn’t be the USA without Mexicans/And if it’s time to team up, then let’s begin,” adds the late Nipsey Hussle. Produced by Sam “Swish” Wishkoski, who sets a stark arrangement of bass and spare keyboards, “FDT” is pure rage, a middle finger to a mushrooming catastrophe that felt — and still feels — hopelessly out of control. —M.R. 

In case you missed it, Humpty Hump is the one who says, “Just grab ’em in the biscuits.” Before Digital Underground had all of suburbia doing the Humpty Dance, the major-label debut single introduced the world to this rollicking gaggle of funk freakazoids. With influence — and multiple samples — from the P-Funk Mothership, “Doowutchyalike” is a nearly nine-minute ADD pastiche of party noise, skits, scratch solos, and a virtuosic tour of iconic soul and funk melodies from Piano Man (actually DU mastermind Shock G). “I just felt like the song was all about having a good time and breaking all the rules in hip-hop,” Shock told Vibe. “You are not allowed to bite, so let’s bite on purpose. Let’s talk about stuff that no one talks about.” —C.W.

Formerly known as Royal Rock, Pomona, California, rapper Suga Free split time between hustling in the streets and rapping before he caught the attention of DJ Quik. His 1997 debut, Street Gospel, initially drew respectful reviews and a muted commercial response, then fomented a major cult reputation, particularly in corners of the rap world that delight in artists with colorful personas and unusual styles. “If U Stay Ready” got the single and video treatment, but “Why U Bullshittin’?” is widely considered the best representation of his unique stop-start, on-offbeat flow. He utilizes an unabashedly pimp-ish vocal tone reminiscent of Max Julien’s Goldie character in The Mack. “Now I’d never I hit a woman/But I’ll slap the shit out of a bitch, now why you bullshittin’?” he raps over Quik’s beat. True, Suga Free carefree misogyny is not for the faint at heart, but one can’t help but be dazzled at his sense of wordplay and timing, even as he illustrates a world that most of us would never want to live in. —M.R.

Released as the first single from the Pharcyde’s second album, Labcabincalifornia, “Runnin’” marked the first widespread exposure of James “Jay Dee” Yancey. The Detroit producer arranged a softly melodic Stan Getz samba loop to accompany the quartet’s lyrics of vulnerability and pathos, from Fatlip’s admission that he was bullied in school to Imani’s feelings of self-doubt. “There comes a time in every man’s life when he’s got to handle shit up on his own,” harmonizes Slim Kid Tré. The single was a mellow shift from the group’s delightfully antic debut, BizarreRideIIThePharcyde, and it captured the group and their fans in a different phase, lost in buttery beats, aided by weed smoke, and making sense of life’s tumultuousness. —M.R.

Emerging from the underground around 2010, Odd Future were blog and zine darlings with a grimy, surreal sound to back up the hype. Eerie and minimal, “Yonkers” put everyone on high alert that the crew’s leader, Tyler, the Creator, was deep into his own unnerving aesthetic. The song was slow, dour, and sinister, with Tyler kicking things off with the inviting line, “I’m a fucking walking paradox/No, I’m not, threesomes with a fucking triceratops,” delivered in his signature subterranean grumble, and it only got weirder from there. Somehow, this left-field statement started his rise to becoming one of this century’s least likely pop stars. —D.M.

Bay Area fans of a certain age will remember the clout E-40 carried when he dropped The Mail Man EP near the end of 1993. His Sick Wid’ It label promoted the five-song EP by wheat-pasting large posters throughout Northern California, and “Captain Save a Hoe” seemed to blast from every passing car. Unsurprisingly, Jive Records picked it up for national distribution months later. A collaboration between the Vallejo, California, rapper and his family group the Click — brother B-Legit, sister Suga T, and cousin D-Shot — “Captain Save a Hoe” is only one example of E-40’s talent for inventing and/or popularizing local slang (also see the deathless word “d-boy”) as well as his ability to balance P-funk-like satire and pointed reality rap. Even Suga T mocks the titular cornball: “If ya breath stank, ya gets ganked, mang.” Meanwhile, producer Studio Ton arranges a slumping, bluesy beat full of funky worm melody and mobbed-out bass. —M.R.

“How I Could Just Kill a Man” was originally released as the B side to “The Phuncky Feel One,” the first single from the debut album by South Gate trio Cypress Hill. “The Phuncky Feel One” didn’t do well, and the album failed to take off until winter 1992, when “How I Could Just Kill a Man” soundtracked the finale in Ernest Dickerson’s movie Juice. A crucial trip to NYC yielded visuals for the song that made Cypress Hill’s career, and you can see Q-Tip and Ice Cube purposefully nodding their heads to DJ Muggs’ dusty, ominous, slow-rolling rhythms in the clip. Heard today, “How I Could Just Kill a Man” feels like a metaphorical warning shot for the Nineties: guns as an affirmation of individual power, the crate-digging aesthetic of boom-bap, the permanently dusted sound of groups like Wu-Tang Clan and Black Moon, and the slow, steady rise of brown identity in hip-hop. Then there’s B-Real’s tale of a deadly encounter with a home invader, rendered in his unique nasal delivery, all while Sen Dog drops gruff ad-libs. “Didn’t have to blast him, but I did anyway,” raps B-Real. “That young punk had to pay.” —M.R.