Billy Woods on the Lyrics That Changed His Life

Words Matter is an interview series where songwriters whose work means a lot to us talk about the lyrics that mean a lot to them—the ones that helped shape their style, made them jealous, or left them awestruck.

A family is evicted from their apartment just before Christmas as their neighbors pick through their valuables strewn on the sidewalk. An American fighter drone silently monitors the Gaza strip, its mere presence sending shivers through an entire region. A man wakes from a dream of performing music for white executives into another dream of former podcast host Math Hoffa interrogating him on whether or not he’s ever worn a dress. These are a few of the horrors depicted across Billy Woods’s latest album Golliwog, a collection of rap vignettes varying from tense to intimate to silly. Woods has always been an exacting writer and technician, capable of shifting between first and third-person storytelling without losing the unique flow and acerbic humor that’s endeared him to two generations of indie rap heads. But Golliwog is among the most haunted and visceral albums of his career, afropessimism retrofitted to nursery rhyme. 

He’s as magnetic an interview subject as he is on the mic. When I video call him on a Tuesday afternoon, he has his camera turned off (unless you catch him at a show, Woods obscures his face in interviews, videos, and press photos) but sounds like he’s in good spirits. His baritone carries through my headphone speakers, animating everything from his laugh to the brief pauses he takes as he considers his favorite OutKast albums or the specific kind of lasagna recipe he saw in the New York Times. He asks me nearly as many questions as I ask him, each of us unspooling our respective listening and watching histories—ATLiens is his favorite OutKast album, and he remembers being bowled over by the twist ending of Park Chan-wook’s Oldboy when it dropped in 2003.

One of Woods’s greatest talents as a writer is the way he balances the scholarly with the streetwise. He’s gained a reputation as a doomsayer and a dense lyricist, whether solo or with the maverick Queens-born rapper-producer Elucid in the duo Armand Hammer. If you listen closely, you can hear the money stashed under mattresses and bread broken with shady characters as loudly as the Sylvia Plath and Toni Morrison allusions. Here are some of the artists, lyrics, and songs—from MF Doom’s Viktor Vaughn alias to unsung group The Juggaknots—that have inspired Wood’s spellbinding brand of hip-hop.

Viktor Vaughn: “Lactose & Lecithin”

There was something really special about Viktor Vaughn because in comparison [MF Doom’s solo debut] Operation Doomsday was a long build. You had all these vinyl-only singles out on Fondle ‘Em, then the actual LP, which I didn’t even hear at the time. It wasn’t like that with [Viktor Vaughn’s] Vaudeville Villain, which just came outta nowhere, and the same year as King Geedorah’s Take Me To Your Leader, at that. You didn’t really have a lot of foreknowledge of what it would be about, so when it came out, I remember being like Yo, this shit is crazy. 

“Lactose and Lecithin” was one of the first songs where it all came together for me. His flow, the concept, the beat—everything just seemed next-level. With the time-travel concept and everything, It’s just bugged out. It’s this guy’s younger self rapping and there’s this level of conceptualizing, but it’s so loose and to not be bogging down the record at all. That’s the crazy thing about Doom, especially in that era—he was just electric on the mic, so agile. “They probably thought the time gizmo was my wallet,” all that straight out of the [Amadou] Diallo case [In 1999, a 23-year-old Guinean man was shot 19 times and killed by NYPD officers after reaching for his wallet, which they claimed to believe was a gun.] It’s all the things that make Doom great: it’s clever, it’s inventive, witty, funny, sad, black humor. That album has a very special place in my heart. I don’t think it would be Doom’s best album, but if somebody picks it, I’m not pushing back, right? We can have a conversation about it.

Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince: “Nightmare on My Street”

This was early 1988, so this was one of the first songs I was listening to when I came back to the United States from Zimbabwe in ‘89. Somebody gave me a Fresh Prince tape, and that was one of those songs where I had all the cultural context I needed to appreciate it. The concept was pretty straightforward, and it was probably one of the first concept songs I’d ever heard. 

The bit where Jazzy Jeff is snatched away by the demon at the end is always fun. They play it just the right amount of silly and serious. 

When you’re a kid, that’s like experiencing your first movie with a twist ending, and you’re like Oh my God, it was a trick all along. I don’t know what movie that was for you at your age—maybe The Sixth Sense or something. 

I want to say I was like seven or eight when that came out, so I don’t think that was my first. 

What was your first movie where you were like Wow, this ending is crazy. 

That’s a good question. I know this isn’t the first, but the earliest that comes to mind is Oldboy. 

Oh man, you came up on the good stuff. I feel like you and I could have a whole other movie podcast talk on some other shit.  

[Author’s note: woods was my guest for the eighth iteration of my Reel Talk interview series a few weeks before we spoke for this piece. If you’re interested, check it out exclusively on my Patreon.] 

Bigg Jus: “Dedication to Peo ‘97”

Immersive first-person narrative, incredibly personal, so much sense of place. The first time I listened to this song, I was like This is a short animated film waiting to be made. That’s something I aspire to sometimes, like where you try to capture this whole thing that’s more than the sum of its parts, but it’s still very detailed and specific. I’m sure it was powerful to write and perform, but it’s powerful for other people, too. I listen to that, and I’m transported to that time and place, or at least what I imagine it to be. 

Even him talking about riding the F train from Stillwell to Hillside & 179th, the world is so fleshed out. You can smell the grime and despair in the air. 

Some of the most affecting parts are how he’s describing his childhood and family history, bouncing from home to home and getting into fights with his grandmother when she drank and he smoked; saying “I slept there last night, might as well do it again.” That’s so powerful, the ability to say all that without defaulting to “I hate my grandmother.” All the complexities and the generational trauma tied up without having to make a neon sign pointing to it. It’s just a narrative in and of itself. 

He has this line in here that’s always stuck out to me where he has this whole vision of spray painting giant letters, one on each train car, and that whoever did that would be a king. As he’s walking in the snow, he comes up on a train where exactly that happened. One time, I had a dream—I don’t even remember what it was about—and woke up thinking What if I made lasagna with saag paneer in it? I sent the text message to my friends and no bullshit, the next fucking day, there was a recipe for lasagna with saag paneer in the New York Times. The next fucking day. Crazy. Anyway I think it’s an amazing song. 

The Juggaknots: “Loosifa”

One of the best rap songs anyone ever made. Period. On a technical and flow level, Breeze Brewin is up where with anybody ever. I don’t know how many, but it’s a lotta people who sat and tried to write and spit a rhyme just like that man did. He’s one of those people you imitate when you’re trying to find your own style.

Once again, really immersive storytelling, although this is of a very different kind. Phenomenal writing, incredible flow, gut-wrenching story from someone who was so young. 

Is there any specific song on Golliwog that was inspired by this one?

Not in that sense, but it was one of my inspirations in making rap music. The journey it takes is mind-blowing to me. Incredible. It’s a horror movie.You could see it becoming an A24 type of thing, that dichotomy and one person’s breakdown, which makes the Travis Bickle sample in the beginning all the more compelling.

RZA: “Sickness”

Digital Bullet is the most underrated Wu-Tang album. Killah Priest’s record [1998’s Heavy Mental] gets talked about more than that one. Some songs are wack and the project’s overly long, but it has some fucking amazing songs on it. “Sickness” came out when I was really bending to the task of rapping and being a rapper. It hadn’t really become a real thing in real life yet, but I was writing all the time and I had moved on to Okay, this is real, I’m doing this. I listened to this record a lot around then. This is one where it’s more about mood, and it always makes me think about the post-9/11 commentary in there, or at least about America and the world. It’s a personal song about the things around you, you know what I mean? Sickness in a sick society, what’s causing all of it? I can’t link it to a particular song [on Golliwog], but definitely something I think of as a mood and energy. It’s the best rapping RZA has ever done.

Nas: “2nd Childhood”

One of the best records on Stillmatic, one of the best Nas records generally, and one where he just does his thing perfectly. Mission accomplished. He tells all these different stories that intersect in similar ways, and although there’s judgements being made within the song, he’s talking about people he doesn’t know. And no one can beat the “Break his mom’s furniture, watchin’ ComicView.” It’s crazy, it’s too accurate. We all know what it is. It’s a great song, it’s perfect. That ability to do the individual story, each occupying a verse, is cool. 

We all know someone like the person in this song. I came to Stillmatic a bit late, and this was one of the songs that endeared the album to me in a real way. Of course, “Ether” kinda superseded the whole project, but I’d say Stillmatic is a great project. 

Really good. I would say it’s fairly rated because there are Nas projects that are more underrated and, in retrospect, there’s songs on Stillmatic that could’ve been better. But I think it’s in the realm of very, very good. 

What would you say is more underrated than Stillmatic?

There are some elements that make me want to say God’s Son, but I guess I would say Untitled. There are some pretty bad songs, but if we take that as the fait accompli of every Nas album, and we accept that there are only some, not many. I think there’s a lot of good songs, a lot of interesting ideas, there’s quality rapping, some dope beats. Untitled isn’t an album people hold up to too much scrutiny in this day and time, and I’d have to go tracklist for tracklist, but in this moment, that’s the one I’m claiming. 

My favorite song on that album is “Fried Chicken” with Busta Rhymes. But I also remember not loving “Black President.” 

Hold on, hold on, hold on, I might need to go with Hip-Hop Is Dead. I always really liked “Still Dreaming” and “Blunt Ashes.” I know people mock Chris Webber’s beat or whatever. There’s some bad joints and a bad Game verse at the end of the album. 

How do you feel about “Who Killed It?” 

Understandable that you did it, don’t need to hear it again. I can’t fully support that.    

Ghostface Killa: “260”

They just drop you into this one without even trying to set the narrative table, but once again, incredibly vivid storytelling. You’re just in the mix from the jump. Masterful coordination from Ghostface and Raekwon. 

The whole thing is like a conversation between the two of them. People say that a lot about songs, but this one really feels like the duo and the listener are experiencing this story together. The type of song any rapper would be proud to live off of forever. Plus “a white block of cheese in New Zealand” is hilarious.  

And just ending it there! Of course it seems normal now, but being dropped in at the beginning and just taken out at the end, with little to no exposition of explanation? Nobody’s telling you This is what you should think of what’s happening, and I like that subversion of expectation. Everything, in the end, was for nothing.

Company Flow: “Last Good Sleep”

A song on a legendary album. It really departed from a lot of their earlier material and was arresting and powerful, and the lyrics and sonics are perfectly aligned. Great worldbuilding, great storytelling. 

You specifically name dropped Company Flow as a “source” on “Star87,” and we know your relationship with El-P to an extent. Before your relationship began, what was it about Funcrusher Plus that stuck to your ribs?

I was at Howard University and somebody came into my dorm room and said “Yo, you guys have to hear this,” and turned it on and my mind was blown. Totally original, totally different. It was filthy, noisy, this group of young guys—young Black guys—listening to this and bobbing out on the energy and a braggadocio and the style. It was like seeing one of Spike Lee’s early movies or seeing Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs or something. Like somebody just dumped out all the rules of what you were used to. The pieces are familiar to you but they’ve all been rearranged. 

And [“Last Good Sleep”] is a standout moment on the record where we’re taken to a single set piece which is significantly different from the others in terms of content. Most of the album is one thing, which is fine because it’s brazen and fire, but that just added that extra element of Oh shit, this guy just got real. I could also relate to it personally, growing up around domestic violence and things like that. They’re not the same song at all, but you could draw a line to “Waterproof Mascara” [from Golliwog], the opening of it. [El-P’s] is a standalone story about a child dealing with domestic violence in the home, while “Waterproof Mascara” is an interweaved poem with these intermingling lines centering around women and their peers.    

Street Smartz: “Don't Trust Anyone”

You reference the hook from this song on “Waterproof Mascara," which is nice touch  

Always one of my all-time favorite things to reference. I think this might be the third time I’ve paid homage to this particular song. I’ve fucked with that song forever, great rhymes, incredible beat. Can’t tell you how many rhymes I wrote to the instrumental of that song. That song’s applicability has served me well. If you knew that song, hopefully that was a nice chuckle for you to have. If you didn’t, I hope you go check it out. 

It made me happy for sure. Great Buckwild beat on that one, too. 

Oh, that’s Buckwild? Wow.

Fela Kuti: “Zombie”

I was introduced to Fela’s music later in life, like college. I knew who he was before then, but it wasn’t music being played in my house or anything. That was around the same time I was learning about Ken Saro-Wiwa, who was still alive at the time, before the Nigerian government executed him. Getting more into music and seeing how powerful it was. “Zombie,” of course, stuck out to a lotta people—it was a big-ass hit. But once I started thinking about the Black zombie, and Nas had the “Black Zombie” song, I figured out what I wanted to do on “Blk Zmby,” I was like Oh, I can use that here.