A Tribute to Sean Price (1972-2015), Brownsville’s Finest

Rest in Power, P!
By    August 10, 2015

Art by Jnforte

Zilla Rocca doesn’t speak French, but he knows how to pronounce Leflaur Leflah Eshkoshka

First name Sean. Last name Price.

There’s power in names. When an MC uses his government name for his rap alias, you have to think about how much confidence and strength is needed to pull that off. Real name, no gimmicks. With no stage name, there’s no shield between Rapper and Person. As Ruck, Sean Price was another soldier in the Boot Camp Clik, the other guy in Heltah Skeltah, one fifth of the Fab Five.

But Sean Price as Sean Price was impenetrable. He embraced every side of himself and shared it with us. He made his name a trademark adlib. He made one letter a mission statement. P!

He talked about being bummy, riding the 2 train, getting his cable cut off and then became more successful than ever. He was generous, intelligent, funny, and a lover of comic books. He hated skinny jeans but loved new rappers. He was Biz Markie with fists like The Hulk. He was hilarious on Twitter. He had classic albums in a group and as a solo artist. He was in his third decade of rapping professionally when he passed with no signs of slowing down. He was the most infectious rapper who would dent up your dome.

Sean P was equally beloved by backpackers, Carhartt girls, Mac Miller, Narduwar, Don Cheadle, and Ryan Phillipe.

He rapped about punching people through buses.

He namedropped Lavar Burton and Benjamin Banneker.

He gave Method Man a confidence boost.

He named his daughter Shaun Price.

He was fresh since Brandy was fucking with Wanya.

And his left hook would shatter your chin.

Who the fuck rhymed better than P? NOBODY.

He kept the lights on at Duck Down Records for a decade plus, almost singlehandedly.

He was a dad and a husband.

He was a former drug dealer.

He was an indie rap god.

Peep his words, words. Heavenly words.

First name Sean. Last name Price.

He did construction jobs when his rap group fell off.

He was meta–he had songs called “Title Track” and “Fake Neptune Song”.

“Fuck you, pa”

He loved Mary J Blige and rhymed over Alicia Keys’ “You Don’t Know My Name”.

At the height of his popularity, he once told me over the phone that he needed to get better at writing hooks.

He sold verses for a G on MySpace.

Boot Camp for life, Decept to death.

He was the motherfucking all time great.

His music soundtracked a million hours at boxing gyms worldwide.

He was the brokest rapper we knew.

He rhymed about nothing and made it sound like something.

He feared no man but God.

Matter fact, duke, was the God.


He was one of the best, you one of the worst.

He was Kimbo Price, Mic Tyson, Donkey Sean Jr, P Body, Sean John Rambo, and Jesus Price Superstar.

He was a bully and a clown.


He was more comfortable in his own skin after his rap career stalled out.

He was 6’1 weighing an even 200.

He had the best smokers laugh.

His gift to gab was a gift from God.

He would get you stabbed and get you robbed.


You could memorize a Sean P verse after 2 listens.

His son was like “They can’t fuck with you, dad.” True.

His alliteration was unmatched.

He never left Brownsville.

He never left Duck Down.


Best in the game.

Allow us to tell these onion heads what’s your name.


We love you. Rest in peace.

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