Sweet SixtEEn is a new column that going to be featured once a week on SixShot.com by the extraordinary writer Serge Fleury. [Laughs]  It's going to featuring some of the hottest verses, or the ones I think are hot by the artists of today, and yester-year.

The first one up-to-bat is a verse from Ghostface Killah's new album, The Big Doe Rehab. The song is called "Toney Sigel a.k.a. The Barrel Brothers", Beanie Sigel is on that joint too, but when I heard Ghost talking about voting for Oprah, Obama, and Eric B. at the end of his verse, I sold on choosing his over Beans. [Laughs]

Since Ghostface first came out, his stuff always had me scratching my head and laughing to myself. I always thought of him as unique. Name one person out there talking about the same type of stuff he's talking about right now. I'll wait. 

[.......]

I didn't think so. Just like he said on the Cuban Link album: He don't want nobody sounding like him on no album. It's been 14 years and they're still trying to figure you out! [Laughs] 

Always feel free to disagree with whatever on put on there.

Yo, straight out the ghetto I’m damn hood/
I stack a dollar like a whole rack of canned goods/ Your browser does not support inline frames or is currently configured not to display inline frames. R>Baggy jeans no Timbs, ACG Boots/
Livin’ in the crack spot, bangin’ that Sheek Louch/
The narcotics is far from garbage/Whether its cold, or its late August/
My sh*t is fresh ‘cause I catch the hardest/
My little cousin bubble swatches and carry a couple ox’s/
Keep a deuce-deuce by his ankle and get it poppin’/you know/
We be the boys clockin’ the graveyard shift/
Big bundles countin’ the cream/burnin’ the lay-sar spliff/
My man jumps out the whip with the A-R 5th/
And we barred from plenty’s of parties/cause we start sh*t/
Parole hold six months in the box/
My little sister got her head shaved off/she made it home for shop/ 
We selling cartons, pampers, simulac formula/
Anything it take because the paper keep callin’ ya/
Gangstas keep ballin’ for sure/we want more/
We make it rain from the tech and the whop/the necks poorin’/
The precincts’ don’t got enough cuffs for us/to slow us up/they hit us with dust/
Then they rush bust/my man big Ron will break the cuffs/300 pound n***a/po-po has to f**k him up/They say that my projects should undergo therapy/
We never voted/We voting for Oprah, Obama, and Eric B.