It was released on May 11, 1993, by JMJ Records and Rush Associated Labels as the second single from Onyx’s debut album, Bacdafucup.
The song introduced slamdancing into hip-hop.
“Slam” was Onyx’s breakthrough single, making it to number 4 on the US Billboard Hot 100 and was the group’s second straight single to make it to number 1 on the Hot Rap Singles for two weeks.
The single was first certified Gold on July 7, 1993, before being certified Platinum on August 10, 1993.[1]
According to group member Fredro Starr, the song has sold about 5 million copies.[2]
Here is the description for the videos above:
Provided to YouTube by Universal Music Group
Slam · Onyx
Slam: The Alternatives
℗ 1993 The Island Def Jam Music Group
Released on: 1993-01-01
Producer: Chyskillz Producer: Jam Master Jay Studio Personnel, Mixer: Rich July Composer Lyricist: Jason Mizell Composer Lyricist: Kirk Jones Composer Lyricist: Tyrone Taylor Composer Lyricist: Fred Scruggs Composer Lyricist: Chylow M. Parker
Auto-generated by YouTube.
SONG: Slam (Album Version (Edited)) ARTIST: Onyx ALBUM: Slam
LICENSES: UMG (on behalf of Def Jam Recordings); LatinAutorPerf, LatinAutor – SonyATV, Audiam (Publishing), LatinAutor – UMPG, SOLAR Music Rights Management, UNIAO BRASILEIRA DE EDITORAS DE MUSICA – UBEM, BMI – Broadcast Music Inc., AMRA, UMPG Publishing, LatinAutor – PeerMusic, Audiam Canada, Sony Music Publishing, and 13 Music Rights Societies
Lara Croft Vs Indiana Jones. Epic Rap Battles Of History.
Here is the description for this video:
Lara Croft vs Indiana Jones. Epic Rap Battles Of History.
Install Raid for Free ✅ Mobile and PC: https://clik.cc/bmUuV and get a special starter pack 💥 Available only for the next 30 days 💥 Take part in Halloween event at https://trickortreat.plarium.com (new players only).
The song will appear on all good audio streaming sites soon! Huge thanks as ever to all of our wonderful patrons. You’re the best! To join our crew, go to: https://patreon.com/erb
Epic Rap Battles of History: Indiana Jones vs Lara Croft Two of the biggest names in pop culture – Indiana Jones and Lara Croft – go head-to-head in a rap battle.
This matchup has been suggested for years, and it was always an ERB we’ve wanted to do one day.
Written by Nice Peter, EpicLLOYD, Zach Sherwin, Frak, Dan Bull, Croix Provence, Random Cushing, Landon Kirksey, MyVerse, Marv Wonder, MC Damint, Archduke Redcat and the many most excellent contributors of our Patreon Writers Crew. Thank you!
Director of Photography: Jon Na Assistant Camera: Jon Wong Dept. Head Makeup and Hair: Lian Uritsky Wardrobe and Props: Nice Peter & Morgan Christensen Playback: Landon Kirksey Production Coordinator: Andy Sandoval DIT and Health & Safety Manager: Atul Singh Additional Artwork: James Parallel
Video Editors: Nice Peter, Ross Fearnley, Javi Sanchez Blanco & EpicLLOYD VFX and Compositing: Nice Peter, Javi Sanchez Blanco Music Mixed and Mastered by: Nice Peter
Directed by: Nice Peter and EpicLLOYD Produced by Atul Singh
Shot on the ALEXA Mini Edited in Adobe Premiere, After Effects and Unreal Engine 5 Recorded and mixed in Pro Tools
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Sponsor: Plarium Global Ltd. Administrator: JMG Brands & Talents GmbH.
Animation Directors: John Summerson & Dermot Lynskey
Production Company: Little-Giant
Based on filming by: Michael McCloud
Skateboarding by: Emile Laurent, Enzo Kurmaskie, Anthony Del Togno Armanasco, and Silas Baxter-Neal
LYRICS:
I’m a slow burn, crawl around the road work, something from the other side clawing at the known world, cough up all your cookies with the autumn air incarnate, he all-city by the time your eyes adjusted to the darkness, in parts uncharted, always found the corners cozy, you can send your fastest riders,
I return the horses lonely, controller, the locals only note the lucky charms and army jacket, when your addy’s in the heart of thar be dragons,
I know, no solicitors, waves away his visitors, from 10 minutes in front of a tainted energy signature, still bullseye-ing womp rats from the scenic route, sugar in his coffee like a seance in the tv room, the cheek swab came back half-amazing, half of what he make end up on his lab apron, if quieter than most,
I’m mostly mastering the science of, keeping one’s composure while the limbic system’s lighting up.
Some try to combat any kind of odd force trying to make contact, nah, let it in, let it in,
Some try stonewall any kind of woo-woo trying to make a phone call, nah, let it in, let it in.
Ring around the revenant, let it in, said he wasn’t ready yet, he never left the Etch-a-Sketch, stuck around for more than just a parlor trick or flickering fluorescents, had a couple still to visit with a million pressing questions like –
Where were you the night of?
What are you traversing earth in spite of?
How are you adjusting to the triumph?
I’m asking for a friend who caught a loss and never surfaced, simply curled up in his cubby, shutting down the central nervous, look, float up into urgent care, a checkerboard of blurry squares, flowers in the lobby shrivel back into the earthenware, humans in the lobby holding crosses up,
I understand the caution but, some of you just wanna see the coffin jump, until the coffin jump, then it’s what I call a punk, didn’t even get to where he coughing blood and talk in tongues, not to mention once you hassle the horde, it doesn’t matter how much furniture you stack at the door, yea.
Hand drawn map, cross over, cross back, calling from the flight deck,
I collect dog tags, tall grass, asphalt, or salt-flat, it’s all jazz, like an alphabet to Saul Bass, bratty to the basic anatomy of a death stare, passing through the old Manhattan, ectoplasm everywhere, pack a second teddy bear,
I’m headed for the panic, take a second for some bacon, take his head off when in transit,
I don’t co-exist,
I don’t exist, even J.C. miss him with the loaves and fish, you feel dementia getting closer like the devil getting over, now his antennas are roaming for radio terra nova, going “ksht! Ksht!
Sir, I think we’ve got a signal, it’s fuzzy, but they’re playing one that wasn’t from the hymnal,”
I’m a faint scent of sulfur,
I’m the source of the ooze,
I’m security tape of a glowing orb in the room, sup.
I’m a slow burn, crawl around the road work, something from the other side clawing at the known world, cough up all your cookies with the autumn air incarnate, he all-city by the time your eyes adjusted to the darkness, in parts uncharted, always found the corners cozy, you can send your fastest riders,
I return the horses lonely, controller, the locals only note the lucky charms and army jacket, when your addy’s in the heart of thar be dragons,
I know, no solicitors, waves away his visitors, from 10 minutes in front of a tainted energy signature, still bullseye-ing womp rats from the scenic route, sugar in his coffee like a seance in the tv room, the cheek swab came back half-amazing, half of what he make end up on his lab apron, if quieter than most,
I’m mostly mastering the science of, keeping one’s composure while the limbic system’s lighting up.
Some try to combat any kind of odd force trying to make contact, nah, let it in, let it in,
Some try stonewall any kind of woo-woo trying to make a phone call, nah, let it in, let it in.
Ring around the revenant, let it in, said he wasn’t ready yet, he never left the Etch-a-Sketch, stuck around for more than just a parlor trick or flickering fluorescents, had a couple still to visit with a million pressing questions like –
Where were you the night of?
What are you traversing earth in spite of?
How are you adjusting to the triumph?
I’m asking for a friend who caught a loss and never surfaced, simply curled up in his cubby, shutting down the central nervous, look, float up into urgent care, a checkerboard of blurry squares, flowers in the lobby shrivel back into the earthenware, humans in the lobby holding crosses up,
I understand the caution but, some of you just wanna see the coffin jump, until the coffin jump, then it’s what I call a punk, didn’t even get to where he coughing blood and talk in tongues, not to mention once you hassle the horde, it doesn’t matter how much furniture you stack at the door, yea.
Hand drawn map, cross over, cross back, calling from the flight deck,
I collect dog tags, tall grass, asphalt, or salt-flat, it’s all jazz, like an alphabet to Saul Bass, bratty to the basic anatomy of a death stare, passing through the old Manhattan, ectoplasm everywhere, pack a second teddy bear,
I’m headed for the panic, take a second for some bacon, take his head off when in transit,
I don’t co-exist,
I don’t exist, even J.C. miss him with the loaves and fish, you feel dementia getting closer like the devil getting over, now his antennas are roaming for radio terra nova, going “ksht! Ksht!
Sir, I think we’ve got a signal, it’s fuzzy, but they’re playing one that wasn’t from the hymnal,”
I’m a faint scent of sulfur,
I’m the source of the ooze,
I’m security tape of a glowing orb in the room, sup.
The Neptunes had it going in the 2000s with their good simple beats and music collaborations, somehow this song with Justin Timberlake and The Neptunes and Clipse got lost in my music collection, and so I had to add it back.
John Jr's Blog 