No. 24: Mos Def

Like several other rappers on this list, Mos Def is probably best known to younger kids as an actor. If only they knew how nice he is on the mic...

Dante Smith came up in the mid-1990s headlining a second wave of "conscious" emcees. He earned plenty of underground credibility by making guest appearances with the likes of De La Soul, and took it to another level after signing with Rawkus and joining forces with Talib Kweli on the 1998 gem Mos Def & Talib Kweli Are Black Star.

You really should've bought my rookie card...

With a nation full of Internet hip-hop nerds (yes, I was one of them) in his corner, Mos went solo in 1999, dropping Black On Both Sides. The album was beyond well-received — several critics, especially online, performed verbal fellatio on it the moment they heard it. (While I can't say I shared that level of enthusiasm, it was pretty dope.) If you want to hear Mos Def at his absolute peak, look no further than the lead single, "Ms. Fat Booty" — a shining example of storytelling as well as Mos' trademark cadence.

The Black Star album and his first solo effort alone would have been enough to earn a spot in the top 50, but Mos has kept it going over the years, releasing three more solo albums and collaborating on dozens of other notable tracks — including the fiery Immortal Technique track "Bin Laden," a 2004 song that lays the blame for the 9/11 attacks squarely at the feet of the Bush and Reagan administrations. (Not to ride my own dick, but I did the same thing more than two years earlier.)

(Okay, so I was riding my own dick. Back on subject...)

Much like Tupac Shakur, Mos Def was an actor first (true story...check the filmography). Unlike Shakur, Mos will likely find himself best known as an actor in the decades to come.

Make sure your kids know better. Mos is more than just another rapper-slash-actor. He's one of the best rappers of all time, and he just happens to be in movies as well.

No. 25: Slick Rick

Once upon a time, Richard Walters was regarded by some as one of the top 3 to 5 emcees ever, and the greatest storyteller in hip-hop history. Over the years, both of those distinctions have slipped from his grasp — mostly because he was surpassed by a generation of rappers who grew up trying to emulate him.

The man who did it first still has to get some of the credit.

Born in London but transplanted to New York 12 years later, Slick Rick first came up as part of the Kangol Crew with Dana Dane, who had a similar style (but a fake British accent and, thus, a less successful career). He then linked up with Doug E. Fresh & The Get Fresh Crew, becoming an instant legend for his performances on "La Di Da Di" and "The Show," two old-school staples from the mid-1980s.

No longer too young for you, bitch.

Capitalizing on his notoriety, Rick dropped his solo debut, The Great Adventures Of Slick Rick, in 1988. The album still ranks as a classic, thanks largely to storytelling gems such as "Children's Story" and "Mona Lisa." There are also the dueling love songs "Teenage Love" and "Treat Her Like A Prostitute," offering the same mixed message on women that hip-hop has been delivering ever since.

In 1990, Walters went to jail for attempted murder and assault, languishing behind bars for three additional years due to struggles with the INS. By the time he was freed in 1995, Rick had somehow dropped two more albums, The Ruler's Back and Behind Bars, neither of which came close to reaching the heights of his first LP. By the time his final album, The Art Of Storytelling, similarly flopped in 1999, it had become clear that going to jail effectively killed Slick Rick's career.

So why is he in the top half of this countdown, ahead of rappers with far more distinguished discographies? Because many of them might not have even started rhyming had they not heard Slick Rick first. Rappers such as Snoop Dogg and Jay-Z have done covers of his songs, and others interpolated his work within their songs (like the hook from Biggie's "Hypnotize" or Ludacris' entire verse on the Nas track "Virgo").

Numerous rappers sound alike, and many styles have been bitten. But there will never, ever be another Slick Rick.

(Because if Dana Dane couldn't quite pull it off, you can be damn sure nobody else is going to.)

No. 26: Grand Puba

My boy Furious will be sending me an email in about four seconds telling me that I have ranked Maxwell "Grand Puba" Dixon about 25 spots too low.

The thing is, Puba actually did have the potential to at least crack the top 10. If only his solo career hadn't happened.

"No, I am not Forrest Whitaker."

When Brand Nubian's debut LP, One For All, came out at the end of 1990, it immediately established Grand Puba as one of the elite emcees on the planet. With all due respect to Lord Jamar and Sadat (then Derek) X, both of whom would almost undoubtedly be included in a top 100, One For All was Puba's baby — and that baby was almost unquestionably one of the five best hip-hop albums ever created.

While the lead single, "Slow Down" (a top-five song of all time), was a group effort, several of the other top tracks on the album were effectively solo cuts — "Step To The Rear" was a perfect example of Puba's witty flow, and he unleashed a little bit of dancehall style on "Who Can Get Busy Like This Man." There isn't a single track he appears on that Grand Puba doesn't own...and again, it's not like Jamar and Sadat sucked.

Maxwell parted ways with the group shortly thereafter, though, dropping the solo LP Reel To Reel in late 1992. While not awful, the album didn't offer much in the way of replay value, and it was viewed as a colossal disappointment to those expecting a repeat of One For All. Puba has put out three more solo albums since, with all of them being largely ignored.

He buried the hatchet with Brand Nubian eventually, rejoining the group in time for 1998's Foundation. The album was a solid effort, but Puba was no longer the single dominating force, and it became clear that his reign on the top had indeed been short like leprechauns.

But like CL Smooth just below him, Puba did more than enough during his all-too-brief peak to ensure his place here.

No. 27: CL Smooth

One of the more unheralded rappers ever, Corey "CL Smooth" Penn may not be considered an all-time great by casual fans, but his peers disagree. During hip-hop's heyday in the early 1990s, CL was as respected a figure as anyone, and for good reason.

Though his time in the limelight was shorter than many on this list, CL Smooth merits being ranked this high for one simple reason — he has the distinction of rhyming on The Best Hip-Hop Song Ever Made.

(And no, that title is not up for debate.)

Use your condom, take sips of the brew...

"T.R.O.Y." was the most perfectly constructed song in the genre's history — Pete Rock's horn-heavy track provides the ideal backdrop for CL's ummm...smooth verses as he looks back at life with his family and friends. The rhyme schemes aren't the most complex, but the flow is uniquely his, and the way everything blends together with the beat can still give true hip-hop heads the chills nearly 20 years later.

Sadly, we didn't hear nearly enough from Pete Rock & CL Smooth as a duo — they split up after just two albums, though they have gotten together for various tracks since and even toured together in late 2010. Even sadder still, CL has done very little recording without his former partner, not releasing a solo LP until 2006, more than a decade after his final album with Pete.

During his apex, though, CL was all over the place, doing collaborations with a list of hip-hop heavyweights that included Heavy D and Run-DMC. "T.R.O.Y." even inspired the remix of "Reminisce" by Mary J. Blige, a track that featured Pete Rock & CL together.

If you weren't into hip-hop in 1992 and 1993, there's a good chance you don't even know who CL Smooth is. But his sound helped define the genre's best years, and he's probably had an influence on a few of your all-time favorites.

For that reason, he's one of mine.

No. 28: Pharoahe Monch

Troy Donald Jamerson would have had a shot at making the top 50 based on his work with Organized Konfusion alone. He also would have been a top-50 lock based on his solo career alone.

Combine the two, and it almost seems unfair that Pharoahe Monch is ranked this low.

Maintain the same frame of mind...screw ya.

Organized Konfusion became an underground favorite with its three acclaimed albums during the mid-1990s, with Monch and Prince Poetry delivering complex rhymes over beats produced largely by themselves. When props and respect didn't translate into sales, the group split, and Pharoahe began his solo career by signing with Rawkus Records.

His debut LP, 1999's Internal Affairs, proved to be one of the better overall records of the late 1990s. Fueled by the lead single, "Simon Says," the album showcased Pharoahe's skills on such tracks as "Queens," "The Ass" and "The Light." Even on "Simon Says," where the hook screams crossover attempt, the rhymes were still on point:

Some might even say the song is sexist-est/'cause I ask the girls to rub on their breastices
Whether you're riding the train or in Lexuses/this is for either or Rolies or Timexeses
Wicked like exorcists shit this is the joint/you holding up the wall then you're missing the point...

Monch also made countless notable guest appearances around the same time, appearing on Rawkus' Soundbombing II as well as Sway & Tech's "The Anthem." He shone particularly brightly on a 2000 collaboration with Mos Def and Nate Dogg, "Oh No":

Pharoahe and Mos we verbalize most/coast to coast, we boast to be the most explosive here
Ferocious, the lyrical prognosis, the dosage is leavin' you mentally unfocused here...

After a few years of laying low, Monch quietly released his second and third solo albums in 2007 and 2011. While commercial success has continued to elude him, he remains — and rightfully so — one of the most respected emcees in hip-hop history.

No. 29: Talib Kweli

Though often overshadowed by his former Black Star partner Mos Def, Talib Kweli has done more than enough to establish himself as one of the elite emcees of all time.

Born Talib Kweli Greene, the Brooklyn native first arrived on the national underground map as part of Reflection Eternal with producer Hi-Tek, then blew up a bit more after teaming with Mos for the acclaimed LP Mos Def and Talib Kweli Are Black Star. The album, driven by the hit single "Definition," helped both emcees launch big-time solo careers in the late 1990s.

After parting ways with both Mos and Hi-Tek, Kweli put out Quality in 2002, and though the LP was an obvious attempt to generate more mainstream appeal (Kanye West and DJ Quik handled much of the production), it was clear that the foundation of the album was still laid with pure hip-hop. The lead single, "Get By," had a pop feel to it — almost a softer version of the Dilated Peoples hit "This Way" — but the rest of the album was loaded with gems, particularly "Won't You Stay," the rare hip-hop slow jam that actually managed to work. Kweli's final bars were fantastic:

When love play with us/it sting like paper cuts
Doused in alcohol, but if it's real there ain't no greater rush
I've got faith in us/it's only you who really know me
I'll be surrounded by people and still feel lonely...

Back up off of me...

The follow-up album, The Beautiful Struggle, was panned as an even more obvious attempt to sell out. Still, many of the verses were still fresh despite production that didn't always fit (the track for "Broken Glass" was far more suited for a punchline-heavy battle cut than it was for a serious story).

Such fame-grabs are now seemingly behind Kweli, who finally seems content with his niche as an underground heavyweight. He has remained extremely busy, putting out roughly two mixtapes per year while making countless guest appearances with other "conscious" acts such as Common, The Roots and dead prez.

The notoriety and riches he once sought have largely eluded him, but Talib Kweli can still lay claim to a spot among the greatest lyricists in hip-hop history. It may not pay the bills, but it's at least as satisfying.

No. 30: Black Thought

There are a few emcees on this list who never had a solo career, but didn't have to — their work as the dominant voice within their group was as compelling as any solo career could have been. Dres (No. 31 on the countdown) was one of them.

Tariq Trotter, better known as Black Thought, is another.

Black Thought was the co-founder of The Roots, which originated as a two-man act with Questlove back in the late 1980s and later evolved into a much larger collective. The group's first major-label LP, Do You Want More?!!!??!, got more love from the Lollapalooza crowd than it did from hip-hop heads infatuated with the Wu-Tang/Mobb Deep hardcore sound that dominated the genre in 1995...but the album nonetheless established Black Thought as a top-level emcee, with songs like "Proceed" showcasing his considerable skills.

Cool, calm, collected my perspective...

Everything got taken up a notch in late 1996 with the release of Illadelph Halflife. Thanks in part to the Internet, The Roots developed a much larger following among the backpacker heads that had finally found a place to link up, and Black Thought's reputation as one of the top emcees in hip-hop continued to blossom. Though "What They Do" brought the most commercial success, the album went far deeper than that, with Thought shining brightly on cuts like "No Great Pretender" and "Push Up Ya Lighter."

Commercial success peaked for the group with Things Fall Apart and the Erykah Badu-fueled single, "You Got Me," but The Roots quietly began to fade from the limelight after 2000, when pop-singer acts such as Nelly and Ja Rule started dominating the radio waves and "conscious emcees" became more and more uncool. That hasn't stopped the group from doing their thing — but Black Thought has been notably absent from some of their more recent projects, including some collaborations with John Legend. He was also relegated to backup-singer duty on a Yo Gabba Gabba! television appearance. (Don't front — your kids love it, too.)

But while he hasn't been popping up much in the mainstream lately, Black Thought certainly hasn't lost his touch, as seen in this BET cypher where he holds his own in between heavyweights Mos Def and Eminem.

Even some Roots fans may not recognize his name, but Black Thought's words will remain an important part of hip-hop's legacy...in large part because he came to prominence during a period when the rest of the genre was quickly falling off.

No. 31: Dres

If I were ever to compile a list of the most underrated emcees ever, Dres would be at or near the top.

As the man responsible for roughly 90 percent of the rhyming for Black Sheep, Andres Titus made his mark immediately with a distinctive delivery and clever, humorous verses. The group's debut LP, A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing, was an instant classic, and Dres covered all of the bases — he was hyped up on the intro cut "U Mean I'm Not," mellow on "Have U.N.E. Pull" and "Similak Child" — and right back to hype for the classic "The Choice Is Yours," the group's signature song.

I know you wanna...you know you wanna...

Additionally, Dres made notable guest appearances in the early 1990s with Native Tongue brethren De La Soul...and he provided a great cleanup verse on "Roll With Tha Flava," holding his own with the likes of Treach, Heavy D and Queen Latifah.

A change in styles for Black Sheep's second album, "Non Fiction," proved unsuccessful, as forays into more serious subject matter didn't sit well with a fan base that had become used to Dres' lightheartedly misogynistic rhymes. The duo split shortly thereafter, and Dres has had a rather nondescript solo career since, dropping three albums and making a few more cameos with the likes of Rhymefest and Slaughterhouse.

His star burned out a little too quickly, but when hip-hop was at its absolute apex in the early 1990s, Dres was more than capable of hanging with anyone on the mic. And if you disagree, we can deal with that later, dig?

I said later, man.

No. 32: Canibus

Like most hip-hop fans in the late 1990s, I was fully convinced that Canibus would end up becoming one of the top 5 or 10 emcees of all time.

Then he put out his first album.

Germaine Williams began his recording career with arguably the most impressive strings of guest appearances ever by a rapper who hadn't put out an album of his own. His 50-bar cleanup verse on the Lost Boyz cut "Beasts From The East" set the bar impossibly high for the rest of his career — it's probably unfair to chide Canibus for failing to reach such heights again when almost nobody could, but perception is what it is. AZ isn't in the top 50 for the same reason.

So ill I got AIDS scared to catch me.

Canibus also has the distinction of being ranked below someone who he destroyed in a battle — "Second Round KO" is one of the best battle records ever made, and anyone who thinks that LL's response was better is a) stupid or b) too caught up in a physical attraction to LL. But LL is ranked ahead of Canibus because the latter proved to be such a disappointment career-wise.

Much like the man just below him on this list, Chino XL, Canibus is an elite lyricist who just can't seem to turn that ability into good hip-hop music. I'm sympathetic to such rappers (largely because I am one), but I have a hard time enjoying the product they put out. Can-I-Bus was a monumental disappointment, but I didn't give up hope because I knew how talented Canibus was. After 2000 B.C. was only slightly less disappointing, I more or less hopped off the bandwagon for good...although Rip The Jacker was decent, especially "Poet Laureate II."

It's impossible to hate on Canibus if you're a lyricist — he's just too good. But in the end, you can't help but be disappointed with him because, like several other emcees on this list, you feel like he could and should have brought so much more to the table.

That doesn't mean we shouldn't celebrate what he did bring.

No. 33: Chino XL

I'm a big fan of versatility, but sometimes it's nice to just have one thing that you do better than almost anyone else. For Derek "Chino XL" Barbosa, that thing is crafting punchlines.

Capable of dissing you or bench-pressing you.

From a strictly musical standpoint, Chino is borderline unlistenable — but it doesn't so much matter because his lyricism is at such an elite level. According to his Wikipedia bio, he's a real-life member of MENSA...and that intellect is apparent in his rhymes, which are loaded with witty similes and battle punches.

In 1996, when the rest of hip-hop was beginning its downward spiral toward bubblegum pop death, Chino dropped his rugged debut LP, Here To Save You All. The album, which featured a fantastic collab with Ras Kass ("Riiiot!") and several other bangers, began a barrage of punchlines that continues to this day...

Every day you live is a gift from me/that's why they call it the present...



Jesus came in the vocal booth like, 'N****, you the next me'...



You ain't just wack/you're what wack wants to be when it grows up...



Be a man like Meshell Ndegeocello/receive your ass-beating...



...and so on.

Chino could even manage to shine among the heavyweights. On the 1999 Sway & Tech posse cut "The Anthem," he stole the show on a track that also featured the likes of Eminem, Kool G Rap and Pharoahe Monch:


Now who the master to beg?/Your demo gets passed on the reg
You shouldn't have been signed if you had a white cast on your leg...

Still doing it to this day, the bodybuilding fanatic plans to release his fifth solo project, RICANstruction, shortly. The album is rumored to feature appearances from Ras Kass, Immortal Technique, Proof and Big Punisher.

Don't count on him being outshined by any of them.

No. 34: Guru

Two qualifiers here before we discuss Keith "Guru" Elam in greater detail:

a) As is the case with the other deceased rappers on this list, I made every effort not to artificially inflate this ranking because he's dead...
b) I had to take into account that the quality of his rhymes may have been artificially inflated by the fact that he got to spit them over DJ Premier beats for almost his entire career.

That being said, it's impossible to front on Guru and his place in hip-hop history. While I disagree with at least one of my boys on him from a purely lyrical standpoint — in terms of straight-up rhyming, Guru is really just a slightly above-average emcee — I have to give him his due because of what he accomplished and what he stood for.

Unlike most of the rappers who have come after him, Guru didn't give a fuck about record sales, and he continued to call out the sellouts and fake thugs long after it became socially acceptable (in the mainstream) for rappers to become sellouts and fake thugs. His rhymes weren't particularly complex, but they were never, ever fake — and there's a lot to be said for that, especially in this day and age.

More than a decade of hits that'll live forever...

With the exception of his Jazzmatazz records, an experimental collection that was part inspired, part forced, Guru's mark on the world was left by his work with Gang Starr, a group made up of him and Premier, otherwise known as either the best or second-best beatmaker of all time. The duo spent more than a decade churning out quality material, and it's impossible to give Primo all of the credit after Group Home proved that not just anyone can make his beats into classic shit.

Beginning with 1989's No More Mr. Nice Guy, Gang Starr took the hip-hop world by storm, with Premier's signature scratch hooks and Guru's smoky monotone voice blessing such classic tracks as "Take It Personal" and "Mass Appeal." The duo got some long-overdue love from the mainstream with 1998's Moment Of Truth, and went gold for a second time with a greatest-hits album, Full Clip, that featured a new single by the same name.

Even after the turn of the century, when most old-school rappers were making ill-fated attempts to cross over, Guru and Premier stayed true to their roots — The Ownerz was one of their best all-around efforts and one of the most authentic hip-hop records of the last decade.

Tragically, Guru succumbed to cancer in April 2010 at the young age of 48. His life may have been cut short, but his legacy cannot be.

No. 35: Ludacris

Full disclosure: the first time I heard Christopher "Ludacris" Bridges, I thought he was just another wack southern rapper. And if we were to base it solely on that lead single — "What's Your Fantasy?" — I'll maintain to this day that my first impression was correct. That song kind of sucked.

But over time, Luda has grown on me...and I've got to give the man his due.

Unlike most southern emcees (and by "most," I mean 99 percent of them), Ludacris actually sounds like he's put more than 4.3 seconds of thought into his lyrics. He doesn't rely entirely on danceable beats to get him over like most of his brethren from America's bastard half....and admittedly, I didn't figure that out until he made a guest appearance on the deliciously old-school Nas cut, "Virgo":

Little cute thing said 'What's your name?'
I put my necklace in her face and told her 'Read the chain'
Ooh ooh so stuck up told me shut the fuck up
Ludacris is in the hou-oooh-ouse...

Move, bitch. Get out the way.

On paper, the lyrics weren't golden — but for the track, they were delivered perfectly, a wonderful homage to the Doug E. Fresh/Slick Rick era...which was exactly what Nas was going for (Doug E. even blessed the record with something resembling a verse).

At that point, I was sold.

We can't pretend that he's ever been anything other than a mainstream rapper, more than willing to accept a place on the pop charts...but unlike most 21st-century emcees, Luda makes sure that he offers at least some semblance of lyricism, dropping clever punchlines and such on his way to multi-platinum sales status. In a sense, he's the southern version of Redman. Really, the two aren't all that dissimilar. (Red's better and he's been around longer, but hey, the north wins every battle...deal with it.)

I guess what I'm getting at in a roundabout way is this — since the turn of the century, almost all mainstream rap has sucked rhino cock. I won't even call most of it hip-hop, because it's really just pop singers pretending to be hard now. But Ludacris has at least made some effort to keep it hip-hop, and his impeccable delivery and flow put his otherwise slightly-above-average lyricism into the mix.

Considering that nobody who made a major-label debut after him is in the top 50 (again, that's not a spoiler if you have a brain), that's pretty high praise.

No. 36: Scarface

I'll be the first to admit that I have a bias against most southern rap — by and large, I don't feel it. That bias has been fueled by an abundance of incredibly shitty music over the years from the likes of Master P, Mystikal, Juvenile, Three Six Mafia, Paul Wall and Lil' Wayne.

(Yeah, I said it. Wayne's not good. He's not in the top 50 of all time. Not even close. Get over it, dullards.)

Not that n**** to be fucking with.

That said, I have a healthy respect for the few actual artists that have come from our nation's crappier half. (I don't love love love Outkast as much as some people, but I like some of their stuff and their talent is undeniable.) And as a product of The Golden Age, it was impossible not to have some sort of appreciation for the Geto Boys and their No. 1 starter, Brad "Scarface" Jordan.

Face is the godfather of hip-hop in Houston, and arguably of the entire southern United States. (I'm not sure if that's a compliment. Okay, it's not. But still.) His deep, intimidating delivery blessed countless Geto Boys tracks, including the timeless classic "Mind Playing Tricks On Me" from the group's third LP, We Can't Be Stopped.

Scarface has had an equally notable solo career, one that also helped to land him in his current role as the head of Def Jam South (where he signed such acts as Ludacris) — but his most lasting marks on hip-hop will be the ones he made with Willie D and Bushwick Bill. After some temporary splits and personnel shuffles, the Geto Boys enjoyed a resurgence in the late 1990s, with back-catalog songs like "Still" and "Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta" being prominently featured in the film Office Space.

Back in 2005, Chris Rock said that he considered Scarface to be one of the top three rappers of all time. That's a bit of a reach...but top three dozen certainly isn't. The south has struggled to produce a better emcee since.

No. 37 & No. 38: Ghostface Killah and Raekwon

How could I not lump these two together?

From the moment the Wu-Tang Clan burst onto the scene in late 1993, Corey Woods (Raekwon the Chef) and Dennis Coles (Ghostface Killah) have always seemed to be a package deal. When Raekwon dropped his "solo" debut in '95, the classic Only Built 4 Cuban Linx, it was "featuring" Ghost, who returned the favor by sharing the bill with Rae on his 1996 "solo" effort, Ironman.

The move made sense — the two play off each other well, and much like Q-Tip and Phife, their chemistry probably made them seem better than they actually were. I'm the first to make fun of Ghostface for rapping about absolutely nothing (and often not even rhyming)...shit, one of my favorite pastimes back in the day was freestyling pretend Ghost lyrics:

Mashed potatoes/fresh ass Wallabees
Parallel parking/fuckin' with the onion rings

Half-ass fools get demolished and bruised.

...and so on. But through the nonsensical flows about shoes and arts and crafts and what have you, Rae and Ghost were always strangely ferocious. Shit, go back to Cuban Linx and find a song that wasn't awesome. Dare you. "Ice Cream" was in constant rotation in my whip at the beginning of my senior year in college, and when Ghost dropped a year or so later, I was just as quick to loop "Daytona 500." Everything these two put together just...worked.

Until it didn't. After the second Wu-Tang project kind of flopped, Rae and Ghost continued to make solo records, gradually relying on one another a little bit less. The unofficial split seemed to have less of an impact on Ghostface, who has a more impressive solo catalog (hence him getting the one-spot nod), but neither achieved the same heights that they had managed from 1993 to 1996.

Everyone cools off from being hot, as another top-50 emcee reminds us.

When Rae and Ghost were on it, though, they were at or near the top of the game for a stretch that covered the last three years of hip-hop's golden age...which means they were better than almost anything we've seen since.

No. 39: Heavy D

I wrestled with Dwight "Heavy D" Myers and his inclusion on this list, both before and after his untimely passing earlier this week. If rap was college basketball, Waterbed Heav was the consummate major-conference bubble team — a pioneer who was always respected but never really at the top of the game during what was the most loaded era in hip-hop history.

When he died, I wanted to revisit his place on the countdown, trying to resist the urge to bump him up just because he died. (I believe I resisted that urge fairly in the other cases of deceased rappers — something I'm sure I'll take heat for in at least two particular instances later.) But it was an opportune time to go through some of the better parts of his catalog, because songs I hadn't heard for a while were getting some play.

As it turns out, Heavy might've been a little better than I was giving him credit for.

The other night, I heard "Peaceful Journey" for the first time since the year that the album of the same name came out. It wasn't full of complex rhyme schemes, but I had forgotten that the overweight lover had such an overtly conscious side. In a sense, he was the male version of Queen Latifah — capable of either being serious or cranking out a dance record.

RIP, big man. Thanks for the bag of blue funk.

He'll be remembered mostly for the latter, particularly "Now That We Found Love," a new-jack Teddy Riley remake of a Third World reggae classic. The video, which shows a surprisingly nimble Heavy and his crew clad in rain suits and dancing in an alley, is the most lasting image I have of him.

But it's certainly not all he's got. Heavy was respected enough throughout the music industry to get a guest spot on a Michael Jackson record ("Jam"), the first rapper to score a collab with the greatest entertainer of all time. He was also respected enough in hip-hop circles that he could get anyone on a track, and "Don't Curse" remains one of the most impressive collections of talent on a single posse cut (Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane, Grand Puba, Q-Tip, and Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth). That almost worked to his detriment in this case — everyone but Pete Rock, a producer by trade, outshines him on this track, and all but one of those emcees is ranked ahead of him on this list.

Being outshined by that group, though, is not exactly shameful, and being able to organize it in the first place is impressive (or at least was, given that it happened in an era where rappers won't just take top dollar to drop a verse for anybody). He even managed to find room in the video to let Puffy play himself...again.

Unlike many of the other deceased rappers on this list, Heavy D at least lived long enough to build a full career, even branching out into TV and movies (see? Latifah!). He was a little soft around the edges at time, a bit crossover'ish at a time when crossovers weren't accepted — and yet he never lost his credibility. That speaks to his level of talent.

We've got nothing but love for you, Heavy.

No. 40: Proof

Without Proof, there would likely be no Eminem. That's enough to justify DeShaun Holton's inclusion on this list — but there's much more to it than that.

Proof, who was tragically killed in April of 2006, was a renowned freestyler and is generally acknowledged as the godfather of Detroit hip-hop. He was involved with several different groups over the years, most notably D12, but didn't take the chance to release a full-length solo project until mid-2005. It seems to fit in with his selfless nature that he a) waited so long and b) put the album out on his own label (Iron Fist) when he could probably have put together a project on Aftermath even five or six years earlier.

...But it's too late.

Searching For Jerry Garcia was one of my favorite slept-on projects of the last few years. It speaks to Proof's reputation that he was able to round up guest appearances from not only Em and D12 but also B-Real, Method Man and Nate Dogg, among others. Rather than put out an album with Em's fingerprints all over it in an attempt to sell big, Proof seldom mentions his closest friend. It's his thing, commercial success be damned — and it works. Try to front on a track like "High Rollers."

The album's final track, though, is its best and most haunting — on "Kurt Kobain," Proof raps a three-verse suicide note, shouting out his family and closest friends before blowing his own head off. It was enough to give you chills even when he was still alive. Less than a year later, he was dead, done in by someone else's bullet.

Because he was so content to let others take shine that might have otherwise been his, Proof didn't always get the recognition that he deserved. Even in death, he remains overshadowed by the likes of Biggie, Tupac, Big Pun and now Heavy D.

Ask anyone in Detroit, however, and they'll probably tell you without hesitation that I didn't rank Proof high enough. They might be right.

No. 41: Fat Joe

For some reason, my tremendously massive bias against fat people doesn't really apply to rappers.

I had plenty of love for Chubb Rock and the late Heavy D, both of whom narrowly missed the cut for this countdown, and I forgave the ferociously talented Big Pun for pilfering a hook from me back in the day (for a cut on the Tony Touch mixtape...it's almost impossible to write it off as coincidence).

And I've got room in here for the man who brought Pun out — Joseph "Fat Joe" Cartagena — despite a blatant period of sell-the-fuck-outism a decade or so ago.

Joe released his first solo LP, Represent, in 1993, and immediately earned a place as one of the most respected emcees in hip hop. After a solid second album, Jealous Ones Envy, he made an appearance on one of the last relevant LL Cool J tracks ever, 1995's "I Shot Ya" remix.

Ahh yeah...you brought that cheeseburger, right?

Around that same time, Joe dropped a "freestyle" (why they try calling them that I'll never understand) for the first Funkmaster Flex album alongside his protégé Big Punisher, and it could almost be viewed as a mistake in terms of how it shaped Fat Joe's legacy. As respected as he had been, he inadvertently gave away his spot as the best Latino rapper on the planet to his more talented friend. The two collaborated multiple times, most notably on Pun's "Deep Cover" remake, "Twinz," and as dope as Joe was you couldn't help but think about how much he was being overshadowed by the monster he created.

Even being outdone by Pun, though, Fat Joe could probably have ranked at least 10 spots higher on this list had he not made the mistake of releasing Jealous Ones Still Envy in 2001. Produced by the loathsomely wack Irv Gotti, the album was chock full of radio-friendly songs featuring the likes of R. Kelly, Ashanti and the joke formerly known as Ja Rule. It was a blatant attempt to sell out, and in terms of respect, it was damn near a career-killer.

True hip-hop heads usually rebound, though, and Joe managed to win back a few of his real fans with the banger "Lean Back" (a track recorded with his underlings Terror Squad) in 2004. He's kept busy since, seemingly going back and forth between attempts to sell records (cuts with Lil' Wayne) and make quality hip-hop tracks (such as the DJ Premier-produced "That White").

As with some others on this list, Fat Joe's money-grab disappointments keep him lower on this list than he could have been, but when he wants to be good, his talent is undeniable. It's enough to get him here.

No. 42: GZA

When the Wu-Tang Clan first bum-rushed the show in 1993, everyone in the group had made it more or less clear that everyone deferred to Gary Grice, better known as The Genius or GZA. He had the cleanup verse on the group's debut street single, "Protect Ya Neck," one that earned instant Hip-Hop Quotable honors from The Source way back when The Source actually mattered. Any hip-hop fan worth a shit can rip off the last few bars in their sleep...

...First of all, who's your A&R?A mountain climber who plays the electric guitar?
But he don't know the meaning of dope when he's looking for a suit and tie rap that's cleaner than a bar of soap
And I'm the dirtiest thing in sight/matter of fact, bring out the girls and let's have a mud fight...

Your lyrics are weak like clock radio speakers.

Unfortunately — perhaps in part because he had already had a largely ignored solo release (Words From The Genius) before Wu-Tang blew up — GZA had to wait while the crew churned out solo projects for Method Man, Ol' Dirty and Raekwon before we finally got Liquid Swords at the very end of 1995. Though it wasn't radio-friendly by any stretch, lyricists were not disappointed with the finished product, which included solid tracks like "Cold World" and "Labels."

The next solo release, 1999's Beneath The Surface, enjoyed similar commercial success by going gold, but the album title aptly describes GZA's career since. None of his subsequent three solo LPs even managed to crack the Billboard top 50, and aside from a few versees on other Wu-Tang projects, he hasn't branched out much otherwise, apparently content to rest on his laurels.

Based on what he accomplished in the mid-1990s alone, that's more than enough to earn a place here.

No. 43: Queen Latifah

It's funny now, seeing Dana Owens on Cover Girl billboards and getting Academy Award nominations and shit. The young generation has no clue what life was like 20 years ago, when hip-hop music was entering its absolute peak stretch and Queen Latifah was an icon of an entirely different sort.

There were a number of different female emcees right on the edge of making this top-50 list but missed for various reasons. You had the rapid-fire verses of Monie Love (too one-dimensional), the vicious lyricism of The Lady Of Rage (not enough product), the cocksure flow of Eve (too commercially watered-down) and the precocious all-around talent who burned out too quickly in Lauryn Hill (ummm...burned out too quickly).

(Speaking of burning out, another R&B chick might've trumped them all had she stuck around just a little longer. I still say Left Eye was as tight on the mic as any woman who ever lived. Sadly, she was left — barely — on the cutting room floor.)

Who you callin' a bitch?

None of the ladies mentioned above would've been able to shine nearly as brightly had Latifah not cracked the shit out of the glass ceiling for them. Following MC Lyte out of the gate, the 19-year-old made her presence felt immediately with All Hail The Queen in 1989, then took it to another level in the early '90s with the smash "U.N.I.T.Y." off her third solo LP, Black Reign.

In 1995, she dropped another cut for the classic New Jersey Drive soundtrack ("Jersey") that remains one of my personal favorites. Latifah was one of the few emcees capable of ripping your head off on one track and keeping it completely smooth and laid-back on the next. It's a gift that not too many folks this side of Kane and LL were blessed with.

Eventually, she blossomed into a TV and movie star, going from little-ass cameos in House Party 2 and Juice to big-time roles in flicks like Chicago (which earned her a shot at an Oscar). Owens has also dabbled in singing in recent years, but her roots will always be in hip hop, where she proved long ago on cuts like "Roll With Tha Flava" that she's capable of ripping a mic with the best of them.

No. 44: Inspectah Deck

I was debating the merits of various Wu-Tang Clan members with my people recently, and they looked at me like I had three heads when I stated that Inspectah Deck was, at least lyrically, the best emcee in the group.

While he's not the highest-ranked Clan member in this countdown, I'm not backing away from that statement.

The group's classic debut, 36 Chambers, would somehow prove to be a solo star vehicle for Method Man first, then Ol' Dirty Bastard, Raekwon, GZA and Ghostface Killah — but it was Deck who quietly stole the show with his vicious verses on bangers like "Protect Ya Neck" and "C.R.E.A.M." Line for line, no one else in the Wu matched the Inspectah on that first LP.

He kicks the truth to the young black youth.

In a way, Deck was doomed to a similar fate to that of the man directly below him on this countdown, Kurupt — lyrically superior to everyone in his crew but overshadowed by more charismatic cohorts. It was Meth and Ol' Dirty who shone brightest first, much like Snoop wound up becoming the original megastar on Death Row.

The lack of star power, though, isn't necessarily what holds Deck down on this list — after all, Method Man and ODB didn't make the cut. (Don't bitch about spoilers...these should not be surprising revelations.) The apparent inability to make listenable music is what crippled the Inspectah. Perhaps things would have been different if that flood in RZA's basement hadn't wiped out the original beats for the delayed (and then slept-on) Uncontrolled Substance, Deck's solo debut which dropped in 1999 after at least a two-year wait. But we can only go on what we've heard.

Aside from his much-neglected solo projects (the fifth one is reportedly on the way) and five Wu-Tang albums, Deck has blessed countless other records over the years, dropping solo joints on the Tales From The Hood and High School High soundtracks back in the mid-1990s while also collaborating with the likes of Gang Starr, Big Pun, Mos Def and 7L & Esoteric. He's still going, too — Deck is slated to appear on the upcoming release from current underground battle heavyweight Illmaculate.

There's a reason so many others on this list keep requesting his services, even if the masses ain't trying to hear what he's kicking in their ear.