Donald-D – Notorious is one of the more overlooked albums of 1989. The album is laced with East Coast rap style production with hi-hats, booming bass lines, groovy guitars, and heavy lyricism. His storytelling skills are impeccable as his rhyming had substance and had a story to tell. His biting vocal delivery leaves much to be desired. The obligatory posse cut (Syndicate Posse) is included on the album too. This shows that Rhyme Syndicate Posse member Donald-D is a team player.
Who Got the Gun? discussed how Donald-D got set up and framed for a crime he did not commit. Throughout the song is where Donald-D gets treated brutally and unlawfully by police. Donald-D getting kidnapped is a reoccurring theme that is used throughout the song.
It was a quarter to 8. Jazz was running late. Donald-D was laying in bed with a girl that would tailgate when he showed up enraged about a headline that said Donald-D committed a crime. The headline said that Donald-D was the trigger man and that he had the 50 grand ($50,000). It was a frame-up. Why was he set up?
But before he could give his statement police cold rushed in his tenement. Their guns were ready to fire for some violence. He was handcuffed and pushed into a car. Donald-D is down at the station behind a closed door being interrogated by the fucking law. What they heard was word of mouth. There’s no truth to it. So he sits in a bottomless pit with criminals. He’s no criminal. All police wanted to know is who got the gun. Why is he treated like one? The system is a joke. He tries to plea innocent with no success.
Donald-D was smacked and beaten down with a nightstick by these cops that are fucking hicks. His bond was set. Chilly Dee had the bail money to bail him out. He is now back at the Syndicate headquarters. Trying to get his thoughts in order. So he called the Syndicate ringleader Ice-T. Ice-T told Donald-D he didn’t know either or who wanted him behind bars.
Was it a rival rap star?
Chilly-D said, “Yo, don’t dwell on it. Their story will never stick.” Donald-D said, “Word em up. Let’s go get a bite to eat.” After a hour or so of grubbing and talking, two cars pull up. One in front and one in back. An uzi is pointed at his face. He gets kidnapped. The driver asks the question, “Who got the gun?”
Donald-D was chained against the wall like a wild beast. This smelled like the dirt of police. They said, “Give up the gun,” Mistaken identity was how he pleaded.
They questioned his whereabouts on June 5th when a cop entered the room and said, “Fuck it. Put a bullet through the nigger.” The bossman told them to chill on the kill. He said, “Listen, we will front you a deal. You can keep the money. Here’s a kilo for fun. But all you gotta do is get us the gun.”
They stepped off. So he tried to relax but felt uneasy by the sound of rats piecing away on the wooden door. This is a long way from being on tour. Slowly but surely he was falling asleep. With a thought on his mind that continued to run. He would like to know who got the gun.
He was woken by the sound of car tires. And then he heard gunfire. He knew the Syndicate was gunning by the sound of the enemies running. Spike held his gun on the head honcho. He had no choice but to show them where Donald-D was at. Randy Mac shot his gat on the sucker he dissed who tried to diss back. Donald-D was freed, but they was still on a mission to take out those who did not listen to his warning that the Rhyme Syndicate was large. They let loose a brutal barrage Vic was quick. Ice was nice. Islam dropped napalm. Bronx Style took a bullet in his arm. He didn’t feel it There were so many caps he had to peel.
Donald-D would show an all-out Rambo by letting off a round of ammo when he stumbled upon their drug operation and a cop who wanted his dead. He tried to pull out but his gun rang out quicker than his as he cried out in pain as he fell out. It was the end. His lights went out with the same thought that weighed a ton. Donald-D will never know who had the gun.
Another Night In The Bronx glorified the violence and crime that was going in the Bronx of New York City back in the year of 1989. Violence is a reoccurring theme in Donald-D’s songs. This song is no exception. The song primarily deals with gun violence. Another Night In The Bronx was an early example of gangsta rap with an East Coast lyrical touch.
Damn. Everybody in the neighborhood heard gunshots ringing out in the dark grim Bronx nightlife. And when Rhyme Syndicate saw him, nobody knew him. Was he a drug dealer? Who would be the squealer? What was his last words? These were the questions the members of Rhyme Syndicate had asked themselves and thought. Donald-D wonders if the brother knew his killer. As the cops stepped in, the posse cold stepped. This was another night in the Bronx.
Local hoods are playin Donald-D close. They were playing his gold until he told them, “Put that bullshit on hold.” Donald-D is hangin solo during another night in the Bronx because his girl went to visit her father in Puerto Rico.
It was time for him to stroll through the streets of your neighborhood like a parade. He was jockin his fade that he got from Dave’s. He rolled down the windows because they were tinted. Skeezers gathered and the Dee resented. The driver pulled off like the 100 yard dash. They only wanna hang because he is pulling in cash.
He put a quarter in the payphone up on the ave while thinking about the suckers on his shit list. But Chilly-D wasn’t home. So Donald-D went to Islam’s crib. The posse was there with some cuties while one braided his hair. They listened to a tune from the Zulu Kings. They was all into it when the telephone rings. Donald-D picks it up and says, “Yo, who it be?” It was the L.A. Player pimpin ass Ice-T. They rapped for a second. Then he gave it to Islam. But one of the cuties was all in Donald-D’s business (biz). She asked if he was single and if he would like to mingle.
When out of the window they heard some people. It was Vansilk, Scorpio, Melle Mel, and Steve-O who’s out on bail. Chilly-D came around and gave all of them a pound and said the place to be in the Boogie Down Bronx is 371 or the Zodiac. The posse went to the Zodiac and it was packed. Busy Bee and Caz was running the show.
It wasn’t snowing outside but there was snow everywhere. There was cuties in the house and some that barked. The freak from Islam’s crib was still tippin him. She was strippin him with her bedroom eyes.
They went to the Hours Motel next. She had the feeling. She paid for the room and then started illin. She took the Moët bottle and put it in her twat. Then she said, “Come on, Dee, now gimme what you got.” She pulled off his drawers with her teeth. Jumped on top and did not pause. She treated Donald-D like he was going to war. It ain’t nothin like a little something that they call sex. It was 3 PM in the afternoon when they left. She was walking with a limp. You can tell he rocked her to death. They jumped in a cab and headed straight to his pad. Another girlie called Donald-D. So she got mad. Donald-D told her to step and catch the train. She said, “Dee, I wanna be your number one flame.” He felt kinda sorry. So he gave her a hug Word up, y’all. She was sprung on Dee.
And then she took Donald-D out on a shopping spree. They got back with Bronx Style Bob later in the evening. They told him the story and he was ready to skeeze. He said, “Her posse can be for the takin. They’re jockin me hard for the records I’m makin.”
The posse were shooting some hoops (playing basketball) while the boys on the hill gettin high on a stoop. They was sitting around with the box cold boomin. The girlies in the place to be was assuming that they would bust a rap but they was laid back. The girlies felt self-pity because the posse didn’t strap up. Them same old everyday skeezers who ain’t nothin to the Dee but dick-teasers. This was another night in the Bronx.
The posse was running low on dough, They couldn’t hop the trains because East Tremont Station was crawling with cops. So they took the walk to E.P.’s rest. Kid Scratch played a beat and Donald-D manifest some lyrics with his ace boon coon Kid Jazz. Tim Jones showed up with a pocket full of cash. The posse was drinkin O.E. (Olde English) when B-Ski lit a joint. Joe said, “Yo, let’s drive down to the point.” They saw Keisha whose pussy is loose. She was selling her body with that faggot Bruce. So the posse went to White Castle.
As Donald-D ate, he watched this girl give a nigga big hassle Back on the ave the brothers sellin dope when the sister start yelling, “He snatched my rope!” Donald-D gave a chase and slowed the pace. What he did was he stomped the sucker in his face.
Donald-D headed to his crib on Lambert Avenue. He ran into his brother Kirk on the way to his crib. He said Mick jetted off in a five point o (5.0). But he did not know where Mick had to go. He said Bambaataa was with them and Ikey C. And then Donald-D got a call from Easy A.D. on the phone. Now Donald-D is cruising the town in his Audi 5000. Cops pull Donald-D over because they say he rowdy. They are searching Donald-D down. Do you know what they found? A real rap trooper from the Boogie Down Bronx hat travels the airwaves to everybody borough. Donald-D is a devastating thoroughbred making bread and putting heads to bed. Instead the feds are playing him close because he is the Syndicate Sniper that they want the most.
These lyrics show that not only was Donald-D street smart, he was also book smart. “Graduated from Morris High, not ‘Street Academy’/But still street smart, I knew I had to be/Pimpin my lyrics to a beat like this”
Donald-D described and explained his life on the road through his constant travels on his song On Tour. He is the notorious rhymer with original rhymes.
Donald-D has got the mic. Donald-D has got you hype! Crowds are loud. Stage lights are bright. He is a loaded shotgun that’s second to none at center stage. At center stage like a fire he rages. It’s time to declare a new age.
In the limo in the back, champagne is in the glasses. People are asking Donald-D for stage passes. Autograph seekers stepping on his sneakers. He signs autographs and then he rhymes through the speaker. Coming at you raw to the core when the bass is booming the systems smoke. You can scope and hope that it’s only a joke. The sound barrier is broke when it hit the high note. So go with the flow because you paid that dough. He is a prime time performer like The Cosby Show because he will never curse. Next time you see Donald-D will be on a commercial. Donald-D has been many places and seen many faces. That’s right, y’all. He has performed for many races on tour.
Girls galore are at his hotel door He can’t take it no more. Trooper tour dominating. His fans be waiting while all of the reporters are all out stating Donald-D rocks sports arenas and big colosseums. He love the prime time cause it’s in the PM. Girls be tearing what he is wearing. And the guys on the side don’t seem to be caring. He is a star to the highest degree. He was born to be the master of ceremony on tour.
While Donald-D crops and bops to the sound of hip hop/rap, Chilly-D givse electrical shock to the deejays lampin and deejays rockin. He’s got a record on the left and a record on the right turntable. Chilly-D is ready to cut a beat that makes you move your feet. Deejays step back while Chilly-D scratches. Chilly-D is a master who can create a beat faster. His scratch can’t be matched in the USA by any rookie or known deejay (DJ). Chilly-D is chillin with the scratch.
These lyrics showcased Donald-D’s lyrical ability.
For the rhyme dictator, no navigator
Perpetrator hater, I rock the spectators
So go with the flow cause you paid that dough
I’m a prime time performer like ‘The Cosby Show’
Cause I will never curse you, yes, we’re universal
Next time you see me, will be on a commercial
I been many places, seen many faces
That’s right, y’all, I performed for many races
On tour
Got a D with a dash, my given name Donald
I’m the controller, pimp lane stroller
Solar polar bear, dice roller
Scholar with the dollars, I make ya holler
When I sweat you can bet, there’s no rings around the collar
Girls be tearin what I am wearin
And the guys on the side don’t seem to be carin
Got a right hand stronger than Hitman Hearns
That would even put a smile on Albert Einstein
Operation radication, radication operating
Donald-D is here this year, demonstrating
How to rap, black, yo, back, you can’t rap
Put your hands in the air, this is a mic-jack
On the wanna-be MC’s and the ones I raided
All perpetrators will be terminated
By the rap outlaw, I’m here for war
The second that I step through the concert door
Devastating lyric maker is who I am
Who’s illin for a killin like Son of Sam
You ham get bodyslammed, you say, “Damn, he’s a ram”
You jellyfish clam can’t rock (rock) the king of the jam
I got energy to burn, so learn
I rate this album 5/5*****!!
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