By the mid-nineties, popular American rap had attained a stable form that persists, though subject to a continuous process of refinement and simplification, practically unchanged in its central features. This form, sometimes described by critics as rap's “formula,” essentially consists of two elements: the description of the speaker's money, and the development of a violently antagonistic relation between the speaker and a general, unnamed “you.” Consider the following examples. “I'll rip your torso, I live the fast life / Come through in the Porsche slow.” “I'd rather bust you and let the cops find you / While I be dippin' in the Range [Rover] all jeweled / like Liberace.” “I know you better not open your mouth when I ride by / And I know you see this Lexus GS on shine.” “Ain't shit changed, except the number after the dot on the Range [Rover] / way niggaz look at me now, kinda strange / I hate you too.” “Nothin' but bling bling in ya face boy.”

This catalogue of the juxtaposition of money with a threatening stance towards “you” could be multiplied by the lyrics from virtually any popular rap album released over the past decade. Indeed, the “street credibility” or “authenticity” widely recognized as essential for a rapper's commercial success is largely a function of her adherence to the form.