DESCRIPTION:
About:
Born and raised in the Bronx, the sibling-centric Juggaknots first gained underground renown for their appearances on Columbia University's Stretch Armstrong & Bobbito radio program. When a record deal with Elektra went south, Bobbito Garcia issued their Clear Blues Skies vinyl-only EP on his Fondle 'Em label in 1996. Like almost all of the releases on the label, the record was out of print before most people got a chance to hear what all the fuss was about. Brothers Buddy Slim (Kevin Smith), who acts as the group's main producer, sometimes under the name Fever the Kid, and Breezly Brewin' (Paul Smith), whose steady, effortless-sounding flow won him acclaim, though he never really found much fame, kept busy with outside projects. A Juggaknots collaboration with Company Flow and J-Treds appeared in 1998 under the name Indelible MC's and was featured on the Lyricist Lounge comp. The following year, Breezly worked with Prince Paul on his Prince Among Thieves album. Clear Blue Skies was reissued on CD — along with ten new songs and a remixed version of the title track — in 2003 by Third Earth Music, and the duo added a third member, sister Queen Herawin (Peridot Smith), who had been too young to participate before. A decade after their debut EP was released, their follow-up, Use Your Confusion, featuring beats from both brothers as well as Stones Throw's Oh No, among others, and recorded while the three continued their day jobs as teachers in New York City public schools, came out on Amalgam Entertainment.

Lyrics:
Behold the fungus among us
When dabblin with babblin
I sends the battle scene to the apocalypse
With this you grab my cock ya lips
Be gettin sorta puckery
Gettin the Brewin gassed to save that ass come stop the fuckery
My style'll leave ya posin like a hitch hiker
Make me wanna bitch microphone slap that shady ass, you bullshit nigga
Your frontin said you didn't think too hot of me
But once you feel the vocal sodomy you'll say, "You got it, G"
I finds the virgin ears I'm bustin raw pops
Ya savin the drops, tryin to analyze my DNA, the verbal blueprint
Even if you spend eternity you're baffled, nigga
Havin not the slightest clue of how I'm swingin
Bringin styles and flow that's nastier than urine
See my shit is pure and ghetto embellished demonic funk and all that good shit
A bad nigga when it comes to grabbin mics
I love all women of the spectrum, fuck around I'm stabbin dykes
And as I hurt em I convert em, when it comes to honey dip skits
I'm leavin pussies sore as if you just delivered triplets, I flip shit
When niggas say the brewin doesn't rhyme slick
I yokes em in the Heimlich just to get the fuckin garbage out ya throat
Mentally hardcore
There be no guard for defendin against the shit I'm sendin
Once you're comprehendin the ill funk aphrodisiac
Givin the hoodies woodies as I'm fuckin up the head like brass knuckles givin noogies

I be's the hell fire word reaver
Even Ripley can't believe
I pull a stunt as if my name was Colt Seaver
AKA The Fall Guy
I never score, why?
I'm hittin like Mattingly
Get your fuckin Webster's dictionary
Look under "fat" and you'll see my profile so smile
You're grinnin like the Joker
Cause I chose to smoke a mic and let you witness
Get this through your thick skull: my shit is deadly
I kicks my verse, niggas couldn't offer competition with a medley of their works
I smirks when booty niggas try and grab this
Survival of the fittest call me fuckin Tony Atlas, at the podium
I pours my sodium in open flesh wounds as I mesh tunes with the vocal joint
To become the focal point
Brothas of funk soon discover I be +deeper+ than that nigga Larry Fishburne's +cover+
Hover on the L, sorta like a stealth in the night
Then I makes the party +jump+ even when it's full of white men
Check it out
I represent enlightenment
That have you squintin
Hintin to rewards of the lord's charity received with clarity
I heave skillaful syllable is the brick I stick in music mortar
Makin ya think and raisin my floor to architect

I comes to spark a teck
Mind barrages massages carressed in peace
The vocal acupuncture your stress released
Like a hymen crack in my rhymin slack and never that
Styles mysterious like under LL's hat

The curious become the furious and play the jury
Thus I'm found guilty labelin my sound filthy with the gutter in my utter
A fat bitch goes, "Me me me"
I cut her in pieces kill her sisters daughters and nieces
Anything related to such a thought
I crush I fought hard representin wicked Juggaknot minds
I breaks it down to your English
I makes you say, "I'm gooder"
Verbs deeper than a hooker strictly bonin seven footers