Concluding my look at the albums of 2005…
I’m wrapping up my look at 2005 with one of the year’s best rap albums. No, not Kanye West’s Late Registration, which is indeed a great album but one by an artist I’d rather not give the airtime.
Instead, I’m featuring The Cookbook, the last full-length studio release by Missy Elliott. This was Elliott’s sixth album and, according to many critics, her best.
It’s hard to believe an artist as creative and successful as Elliott just stopped releasing records in her early 30s. She focused instead on producing others, and has dabbled in new material here and there, including a 2019 EP.
The Cookbook showcases the electric party atmosphere of her most memorable work, a cacophony of sounds that coalesces into pure ear candy. Smart samples (like the one from The Sugarhill Gang’s ‘Apache’ on today’s song) support innovative beats and Elliott’s impressive flow.
Her lyrics are boastful and sexually frank, but somehow modestly so. She’s one of the great hip-hop personalities, and that infectious charisma shines through in every track.
The Cookbook sent Elliott out on a high note, her sixth straight Platinum album and her highest on the charts. I guess there’s something to be said for going out on top.
Hope you’ve enjoyed this trip back to 2005. My next Decades posts, likely a couple of months from now, will take us back to 1976.
My style can’t be duplicated or recycled
This chick is a sick individual
Sicktape, Volume Two
Believe it
Ho, ho
Let me switch up the game
[Verse 1]
I drink that cognac
Step back ’cause I might put it on you (Put it on you)
I go deep, so deep ’til you sleep
Count sheep, wake you up from **** all week (Holler)
You don’t want me have to show you
How a freak bitch act when I ain’t sober
What up? I’m tore up, sure ‘nough
Ain’t scared to take it off, tell a freak to take it off
Tipsy and I feel good (Feel good)
Black dudes got big woods
Into it, I do it, I did it
If you really, really want it, then nigga, stop frontin’ (Stop frontin’)
Ayy, boy, you know I’m your type (Your type)
5’2”, I wear my jeans real tight
Yeah, my curves, they swerve, so superb
My word is my word and I came to serve
[Chorus]
We run this (Run this)
We run this (Run this)
We run this, oh, oh, oh
It don’t matter where you’re from, it’s where you’re at
And if you came to freek-a-leek, better bring your hats, nigga
East Coast, West Coast
Down South, represent your coast
Yeah, we run it, and yeah, we run it
Y’all don’t want it ’cause my coast run it
Oh, we run this shit
Uh, we run this shit (Wicked)
[Verse 2]
Wanna pull my hair, break my back
For the right money, might sit in your ‘Llac
Back to back, you can’t even keep track
It’s a fact the freaks love to get slapped
Suck my toes, I need a backrub
I don’t come to do it, I just wanna be touched
Look at how y’all makin’ me blush
I’m enough to go around, so people, don’t push (Don’t push)
When I run that tush in the bush
Don’t my diamonds look real good?
And they shine so hard that he glitters
So many carats, they look like critters (Come on)
And we can do it all night
Take a flashlight to see up in my windpipe (Uh)
I like to keep a nigga hype
I wanna know, can you handle my mic? (Oh)
[Chorus]
We run this (Run this)
We run this (Run this)
We run this, oh, oh, oh
It don’t matter where you’re from, it’s where you’re at
And if you came to freek-a-leek, better bring your hats, nigga
East Coast, West Coast
Down South, represent your coast
Yeah, we run it, and yeah, we run it
Y’all don’t want it ’cause my coast run it
Oh, we run this shit
Uh, we run this shit
[Verse 3]
Any hustlers in the party, y’all? Hell yeah
If you’s a pimp, let me see you party hard, hell yeah
Oh, strippers, take your clothes off, hell yeah
Y’all superstars, y’all don’t need no bodyguards, hell yeah
****, I bogart
A lot of rappers fakin’ way too hard
Pull up at the club in a rental car
Where them freaks at? the freaks at the bar
Where the hard drinks are
Don’t start
You don’t want beef, don’t take it that far with a superstar
I got my foot on the clutch, see me bounce my butt
Misdemeanor too much and I don’t give a fuck (Uh-huh)
[Chorus]
We run this (Run this)
We run this (Run this)
We run this, oh, oh, oh
It don’t matter where you’re from, it’s where you’re at
And if you came to freek-a-leek, better bring your hats, nigga
We run this (Run this)
We run this (Run this)
We run this, oh, oh, oh
Represent your coast and act like you know
Know how to act ‘fore you step your two feet in the door
[Outro]
Volume Two, holler
Wicked
This shit is sick
Big shoutout to Mobb Deep
G-Unit
Meet Me In Montauk 
One of my favorite Missy Elliott moments was when she popped up in the back seat on James Corden’s Carpool Karaoke to join in with Michelle Obama rapping “Get Your Freak On.”
https://fb.watch/u-ub1EtiAJ/?