That prompted reactions from readers who offered their own favorites, including a few who rapped me on the knuckles for having ignored Jules Dassin's "Naked City".
Marcella Hazan may rap me on the knuckles with her cheese grater for this, but I am crazy about Randazzo's shrimp parmigiana.
Kool Kid Kreyola's rap, Me and my shark fin, was made to highlight the brutal practice.
Father rapped me on the head and said softly, "You little imp, how did you know your mother's name?" I looked up into his swarthy, sombre face.
"I could die, I'm so mad, you little bastard.... ..... Father rapped me on the head and said softly, "You little imp, how did you know your mother's name?" I looked up into his swarthy, sombre face.
I had first started learning the violin, but didn't get on very well with that, possibly because the nun who taught me used to rap me over the knuckles with a pencil.
One time just as she was walking in, I had been having troubles with the touch and the teacher was rapping me across the knuckles with a ruler.
(There was no turning back after Ol' Dirty Bastard rapped "Me and Mariah go back like babies and pacifiers" in the remix of "Fantasy").. Destiny's Child, and particularly Beyoncé, was a part of that musical education for me.
His raps remind me of what a great jazz bass player once told me about that instrument: that it stands on the borderline between melody and percussion.
In "360degrees," Mr. Brown, a k a Browndogg, raps: tell me, God why do I exist?
