New York City is gray and rainy, but you can still warm yourself by these new Eli Porter rhymes because he spits them like HOT FIRE. (And also like HOT NSFW. Headphones UP.)
Where you at, Envy? I don’t hear you. (Thanks for the tip, Ethan.)
Once again, and until my use of this image is properly acknowledged by its creator…
I acknowledge that you are stealing my image.
Results! I declare this image RETIRED!
That deadpan delivery always throws me off.
This is just beautiful.
Patton Oswalt’s got moves.
The years have marginally improved his flow.
Well, not everybody can be good at talking.
He deed it!
This guy is pretty much Cuba Gooding Jr in Radio.
Only without the Oscar.
Oh man. Who’s gonna tell these guys they missed the deadline for the Videogum Song Contest? (BRING TISSUES!)
where’s our song?
I like it when he said all of those nice things about my pussy.
I’m pretty sure the dude on the right is one of the animatronic animals from the Rock-a-fire Explosion.
I love Wayne’s version of this song, Porter’s? nope.
Wait, what was the first Autumn Jam?
I don’t remember either. It wasn’t Hot Drinks, right?
Hot Drinks is a jam for all seasons!
Is it bad that I read the title as Autism Jam first, to which my reaction was “Oh, right. Logical.”
Eli is getting better at freestyling, but unfortunately that makes me like him less.
Fire. Dopest of the dope songs. I’m detecting a little bit of an Andre 3000 hint to his flow. He’s like Ice Cube, Urkel, and Radio in one.
I’ll listen to this whilst kicking crisp orange leaves to the beat, mp3 player snugly tucked inside windbreaker, musket in the crook of one arm and horn o’ plenty, spilling summer’s harvest, nestled within the other.
You must be logged in to post, reply to, or rate a comment.