Invented The Remix

by Nicholas Craven

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This week, after 9 years of music, they killed my Youtube account for copyright infringement because of all the acapellas I've used on my remixes. To celebrate this loss, here's a remix compilation.

RIP YOUTUBE 2007-2016


released February 5, 2016

Produced & Mixed by Nicholas Craven
Artwork by Nicholas Craven
Photo by Logan Mackay




Nicholas Craven Montreal, Québec

Nicholas Craven FKA Da Godfatha', Soulful Gritty Beats from the North Since 2006. Now operating out of Montreal, Quebec.

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Track Name: I Wanna Go To Hell (feat. The Notorious B.I.G.)
When I die, fuck it I wanna go to hell
Cause I'm a piece of shit, it ain't hard to fuckin' tell
It don't make sense, goin' to heaven wit the goodie-goodies
Dressed in white, I like black Tims and black hoodies
God will probably have me on some real strict shit
No sleepin' all day, no gettin my dick licked
Hangin' with the goodie-goodies loungin' in paradise
Fuck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice
All my life I been considered as the worst
Lyin' to my mother, even stealin' out her purse
Crime after crime, from drugs to extortion
I know my mother wished she got a fuckin' abortion
She don't even love me like she did when I was younger
Suckin' on her chest just to stop my fuckin' hunger
I wonder if I died, would tears come to her eyes?
Forgive me for my disrespect, forgive me for my lies
My babies' mothers 8 months, her little sister's 2
Who's to blame for both of them (naw nigga, not you)
I swear to God I just want to slit my wrists and end this bullshit
Throw the Magnum to my head, threaten to pull shit
And squeeze, until the bed's, completely red
I'm glad I'm dead, a worthless fuckin' buddah head
The stress is buildin' up, I can't,
I can't believe suicide's on my fuckin' mind
I want to leave, I swear to God I feel like death is fuckin' callin' me
Naw you wouldn't understand (nigga, talk to me please)
You see its kinda like the crack did to Pookie, in New Jack
Except when I cross over, there ain't no comin' back
Should I die on the train track, like Remo in Beatstreet
People at the funeral frontin' like they miss me
My baby momma kissed me but she glad I'm gone
She knew me and her sista had somethin' goin' on
I reach my peak, I can't speak,
call my nigga Chic, tell him that my will is weak.
I'm sick of niggas lyin', I'm sick of bitches hawkin',
matter of fact, I'm sick of talkin'.
(hey yo big...hey yo big)
Track Name: 40 Days & 40 Nights (Feat. Tragedy Khadafi)
I hit the turnpike on dirtbike with 2 heaters
On my way to Philly to fight for Mumia
Only thug guerillas will react to this
The laws try to destroy black activists
Half of y'all is performers and actresses
I keep at least a 100 grand in the mattresses
Shit so hot, soon as I write it I get indicted
I dare one y'all scared niggas to bite it
I done stood in hood lobbies getting my rocks off
With longjohns and 3 pairs of socks on
Ducking from the pigs so I don't get knocked off
Or popped off, and y'all thugs is soft
That's why your skirt get pulled up, clothes come off
Red Dragons, can't even fuck with my brain pattern
I'm online, Pentium Plus and Benz wagon
Mahdi, believe me it do ring bells
If you saw me do dirt you won't live to tell
I'd done lived in a cell, did bids in hell
Held niggas at gunpoint for ransom and bail
Track Name: Exclusive (Feat. Raekwon & Ghostface Killah)
Aiyo Clientele Kidd
Layin in the crib gettin' ill money, those who 8 hours get gig
Got rugby's on and 4/5ths
Attractin' them niggaz I go against, the money was his
One nasty unit of murderers, all type of Goons'll watch
Then four minutes later they burgulars
I heard from the grapevine mine made it
Elevate the name up, this gift gotta reign and his game went up
And now he's stronger than ever, Nike jackets and Classics
Go against it and it's instant vendettas
He run things, gun down Kings, check the joint the kid flyin' in
Crib in Africa with two lions
Somethin' like the Prince of a jewel thief, so smack the millions
Came back wrapped it up, too sweet
The game is missin' somethin' unique
I put too much to fall back on, I rather just sleep

Yo yo yo shoot him in his mouth.. (nah)
Fuck him, get the gasoline tell Terry to pull the act up
Bring him to Rae warehouse, hang him from hooks then skin his ass
As lame as he look he ready to cook (yeah)
And he pleadin' for mercy, bleedin' from his dome and he thirsty
The first week we made him eat shit!
Videotaped his wiz and I fucked his bitch
Made him watch me on the couch havin' fun with his kids
So what hurts more: is it me showin' love to ya fam?
Or you in the box laid under the floor?
Or keep you alive blow torchin' ya balls?
My murder chainsaw, ya bloods on my Scarface walls
Not even Ajax can clean that, Jack
We need that maintenace man shit that kill that greasy blood on contact
Finish you off 'cause I'm pressed for time
Your man and 'em will be next to die
Track Name: Land Of The Crooks (Feat. Sean Price & Maffew Ragazino)
Verse 1: Sean Price
P, the nicest nigga in the borough
Sean Price nice and all of my verses thorough
Lotta niggas spittin', but none of y'all niggas Ruck raw
Rappin' after P, I'm like pfff, what the fuck for
Listen, don't fuck with the best
I'll cut your hands off, so you can upchuck your set
Ruck is a vet, when touchin' the sket
Your whole life say goodnight, like the cousin of death
Asthma attack rap, don't get punched in the chest
You will suck on your suck seeds when suckin' on cess
My criminal mind impervious to submission
My criminal rhyme will burn a fifth at you bitches
Highly unlikely to find a nigga betta
Kojack, Columbo cold rockin' berettas (bong)
Blam, blam, duke you Canada cooked
Mother fuckin' Sean Price in the land of the crooks

Verse 2: Maffew Ragazino
It's senior, uh
Ain't no shook hands in Brooklyn
I'm from where the jooks scam and cook grams
Crack rock zombies goin' super HAM
In Vietnam, the war's on, my hooligans
I'll probably back track down and book fam
If they see 'em in the community nigga food man
R.I.P. MCA, no sleep till
Never ran, never will nigga B-Ville (Brownsville)
Salvaged denim and my Jordan IIs
Black mobb boss ring leader, motley crew
My bitches a stallion, no horse shoes
I only pop bottles wine bottles that need cork screws
Nets fan cause the Knicks ain't shit
Number one whether or not they win a championship
I'm from the only mother fuckin' borough with a team
Brooklyn, NYC (Senior)