The Best Kendrick Lamar Songs

Image via Complex Original

Producer: T-Minus

Album: good kid, m.A.A.d city

Kendrick's most successful single to date also happens to be one of his best conceptual cuts, with “Swimming Pools (Drank)” homing in on the effects of alcoholism. T-Minus, producer du jour for Young Money at the turn of the new decade, does a remarkable job masking the narrative with a beat that perfectly sets the tone for a slow-motion panorama in a dimly lit nightclub. Bottles popping, asses shaking. You get the picture.

Once you cut through the mood, Kendrick hits you with the realness: “Some people like the way it feels, some people wanna kill their sorrows/Some people wanna fit in with the popular, that was my problem,” a line that pretty much resonates with 99.9 percent of the youth today. Kendrick sees the hurt behind those bloodshot eyes. What makes “Swimming Pools” so effective is that there’s a finesse in K-Dot’s delivery, as he takes his own personal experiences with alcohol and reflects them on the listeners, who can then choose to use his lyrical wisdom as they please. “I wanted to do something that felt good, but had a meaning behind it at the same time,” Kendrick told us of “Swimming Pools” back in 2012. A message in a bottle, if you will. —Edwin Ortiz

Producer: Adrian Younge, Ali Shaheed Muhammad

Album: untitled unmastered. 

To Pimp a Butterfly went full jazz lounge, but it doesn't have anything quite as Sunday morning smooth as this. CeeLo Green's voice over this flowery beat could literally part the clouds in the grayest of skies to create maximum sunshine. That this comes just one track before Kenny goes hard-edged again, daring his foes to levitate on his level, further showcases untitled unmastered.'s ability to blend sounds and vibes a bit more seamlessly than the otherwise superior Butterfly. —Frazier Tharpe 

Producer: Ahmir Thompson, Ray Angry

Album: Overly Dedicated

Kendrick's final mixtape, Overly Dedicated, opens with a darkly optimistic quote from departed art world wild-child Dash Snow (“What keeps me alive? Shit. Music…”) and a sample of 2010's Roots/Dirty Projectors powwow “A Peace of Light” before the Bompton brawler steps into the booth to burn it down. Part two of Lamar's “Heart” series hints at the hoarse-throated desperation of “His Pain II” and “u” as well as the breakneck speed trial technicality of “Rigamortus” as Kendrick weathers a rough come-up to get to his silver lining, starting out strong but steadily picking up speed until the rapper's lungs give out on a frantic double-time flow. It's as if he'd rather rap than breathe. —Craig Jenkins

Producer: Canei Finch, J. Cole

Album: N/A

Can we have that Kendrick/Cole album sooner than later? Cole blacked on the beat, and Lamar set fire to the booth. Fresh off releasing the critically acclaimed good kid, m.A.A.d city, K-Dot had a message to his fans and skeptics, most notably the line about Shyne's "trash" comments. Kendrick isn't worried about sales; he's more worried about making good music with a message. The jig is up. —Angel Diaz

Producer: Canei Finch

Album: N/A

TDE loves the fans, a sentiment they so graciously made clear to us with an Appreciation Week back in 2012 that saw loosie releases from each artist on the roster at the time, culminating with this song. Talk about saving the best for last. This smooth, soulful cut just sounds like California sunshine on wax (between this and “Grew Up Fast,” Canei Finch is a must if Cole and Kendrick ever get around to that collab album), while Kendrick glides over the beat with an assist from Jeezy. There's still room for sober commentary on his city (wow AK-47s are really cheap in L.A.), but overall it sure is nice to hear the tortured poet sound lively and “so turnt.” —Frazier Tharpe

Producer: Cardo, Yung Exclusive, Frank Dukes, Egypt Dean

Album: untitled unmastered. 

Kendrick Lamar's "Untitled 7" showcases the rapper's colossal versatility. The song is an eight-minute rollercoaster ride with three distinct movements. Kendrick begins  with the "levitate" portion before smoothly transitioning into a menacing verse where he reminds you that there's not really anyone touching him when it comes to this rap shit.

"You niggas fear me like y'all fear God/You sound frantic, I hear panic in your voice/Just know the mechanics of making your choice and writin your bars/Gefore you poke out your chest, loosen your bra/Gefore you step out of line and dance with a star/I could never end a career if it never start." Like, for real? Ignore the obvious shots at Jay Electronica for a moment and just appreciate the warning he sends to the game. He's letting everyone know what it is and they can't do anything about it. —Zach Frydenlund 

Producer: Tommy Black

Album: Section.80

Before he begged you not to kill his vibe, there was this Section.80 less aggro, but still universally relatable, plea. We all love conscious Kendrick, but boy is it great when he relaxes a little and just zones out. The smooth beat is more fire than a track sampling both “4 Page Letter” and “Big Pimpin” (Pimp C's legendary verse chopped and screwed, to be precise) has any business being. This is that cruising down the block in a doors-free jeep on a sunlit day at 5 mph music. RIP Aaliyah. —Frazier Tharpe

Producer: Flying Lotus, Ronald "Flippa" Colson, Sounwave, Thundercat

Album: To Pimp a Butterfly

Much has been said already of this song's first 20 seconds, at the expense of what follows: an uptempo funk session that casts Kendrick Lamar alongside motherfucking George Clinton; and so To Pimp a Butterfly begins and ends with bold salutes to the legacy of Tupac Shakur. True to Parliament's funk signatures, “Wesley's Theory” lays a gurgling, intestinal bass line as the platform for depraved, extended fantasy of the power and practical upshots that come with his being famous. “At first I did love you,” Kendrick sings at Butterfly's onset. “But now I just wanna fuck.” In jarring terms and with the loudest possible delivery, “Wesley's Theory” sparks the onslaught of temptations and spiritual static that define To Pimp a Butterfly, Kendrick's most divisive album yet. —Justin Charity

Producer: Scoop DeVille

Album: good kid, m.A.A.d city

Ah, the sensual, innocent times when Kendrick and Drake could co-habitate a song without hint or rumor of tension between them. In 2012, “Poetic Justice” was a quiet storm of throbbing synth claps and shower-misted chimes, the sort of this-one-is-for-the-ladies jam that rebukes the derision that's otherwise implied by that term. Scoop DeVille nailed this Janet Jackson flip, Drake nailed that sundress line, and Kendrick rounded out his major label debut with a romantic slapper so tender and mild. —Justin Charity

Producer: LoveDragon

Album: To Pimp a Butterfly

The most tender song off To Pimp a Butterfly is all about modesty and realness at-ease: “I could see your insecurities written all on your face/So predictable your words, I know what you gonna say/Who you fooling?” An anti-fronting PSA as reprieve from the chaotic thanatos of an album that's otherwise bloodshot and insecure in more than half of its grand pronouncements. “We live in the Laugh Factory every time they mention your name” is the sort of compassionate sonning that endears Kendrick Lamar to old heads, good kids, parents, and street preachers alike. —Justin Charity

Producer: Sounwave, Teddy Walton, Dacoury Natche, Anthony "Top Dawg" Tiffith, Greg Kurstin

​Album: Damn

It’s still surprises that Kendrick Lamar—the most ambitious, uncompromising, and complex rapper of his generation—is a commercial force. Conventional logic dictates that a rapper who makes no concessions to making pop music, but Kendrick flies in the face of that, time and time again. “Love” holds the key to how. It’s a crawling song, the chorus (as it were) is a choppy, knotty affair, and the song’s fundamental structure shies away from anything you might hear on the radio. And yet. It’s seemingly impossible to hear “Love” and not hear it again, echoing in your head, until you give in and play it again. In its own strange way, it’s Kendrick Lamar’s catchiest song to date. A love letter that asks the tough questions, and declares “I’d rather you trust me than to love me,” it’s Kendrick’s version of a pop hit—challenging, heartfelt, and proof that he can pull off whatever he damn well pleases. —Brendan Klinkenberg

Producer: Tabu

Album: good kid, m.A.A.d city

It's hardly as dramatic as the shift on, say, “m.A.A.d city,” but at the 90-second mark of “The Art of Peer Pressure,” shit gets real. Up until then it's airy, relaxed, despite increasingly foreboding lyrics (“One day it's gon' burn you out”) then boom: You're in the midst of one of Kendrick's most insanely vivid stories on wax ever. You're in the backseat, with him and the Homies, bumping Thug Motivation, as they make a right then a left then a right then a left. You tense up when the sirens come as if you're about to get bumped with a trunk's worth of burglary goods too. It's on this song (fourth in the sequencing) that good kid, m.A.A.d City's impressive narrative begins to really take shape. How apt that Kendrick's rollercoaster of a tale starts with peer pressure-fueled exploits and bad behavior. The homies, indeed. —Frazier Tharpe

Producer: Astronote

Album: N/A

True, this song, first performed on The Colbert Report, became a studio record on untitled unmastered., but the live performance remains the best version. Terrace Martin shooting dice, Kendrick with his wild hair and electric energy, Anna Wise's sensual voice, the live instruments, and it being one of the very last episodes of The Colbert Report made this an undeniably special moment. With his words, Kendrick dissects race in America from the perspectives of an Asian, Indian, black, and white man as he tries to stay true to himself. “Tell 'em we don't die, we multiply.” —Angel Diaz

Producer: Sounwave

Album: Section.80

Many of Kendrick’s best songs are challenging and thought-provoking, crafted with diligence. More than just his mic skills, it’s his willingness to tackle heavy subject matter that makes him special. But when you’re as technically proficient on the mic as Dot, well, sometimes you just want to hear some fly shit. “Hol’ Up” is exactly that—quite literally as he proclaims it was written “30,000 feet in the air.” The song finds Dot surveying an airplane, playing out fantasies of smashing stewardesses as he reflects on getting accustomed to going through customs. But it’s all about the delivery. When we spoke to the song’s producer, Sounwave, for our 2014 cover story on Kendrick, he told us, “Sometimes we have a song complete and [Kendrick] is like, ‘Nah, my tone on that…. Redo the whole thing.’ He redoes it and it’s like a different song now just because of the tone that he switched up.” The song he gave as an example? “Hol’ Up.” —Insanul Ahmed

Producer: Cardo, Yung Exclusive, Thundercat, Mono/Polo  

Album: N/A

Kendrick’s first performance of “Blue Faces” on The Tonight Show was an event akin to “Untitled” on The Colbert Report, meaning the world collectively gasped and talked about it for days to come. 

Listening to “Blue Faces” now, you can hear that this performance is a Frankenstein-esque creation. The first verse eventually landed on “Untitled 08” (and was also featured on Funkadelic’s “Ain't That Funkin' Kinda Hard on You?”), while the other three verses can be found on “Untitled 02" 

But this performance—the energy, the passion, the emergence of Cornrow Kenny—set itself apart from your normal late-night appearance. “Yes, I’m the one,” Kendrick declared as the performance came to an end. There was no doubt. — Edwin Ortiz

Producer: Mike Will Made-It

Album: Damn

“Humble” kicks off with a discordant record scratch—the same one everyone imagines when they use the “yup, that’s me” meme on Twitter—before Kendrick Lamar embarks on three minutes of not being particularly humble at all. He even gets an Obama brag in there. Which is cool, because it’s not like he’s aiming at himself. As the opening salvo to Damn, it wouldn’t prove to be the album’s best track. Shots, though? They fired. Sit down. —Russ Bengtson

Producer: Sounwave

Album: good kid, m.A.A.d city

It’s kind of easy to forget that “Bitch, Don’t Kill My Vibe” doesn't really fit the overarching story of good kid. It’s the second track, so the narrative isn’t fully established at that point. (Conspiracy theory: The song replaced “Cartoons and Cereal” once sample clearance issues forced it off the album.) It doesn’t matter anyway, as the song has an undeniable groove and heartfelt lyrics to match. Kendrick proves an adept songwriter as he internalizes his increasing struggles with fame and the phonies who come along with it. The song was originally meant to be a collaboration with Lady Gaga but was thankfully scrapped. However, Jay Z later hopped on the remix in a passing of the torch moment. But what was more revealing than Jay’s 16 or Kendrick’s updated verses was the song’s cover art: An aging Jordan playing alongside a young Kobe—a testament to Kendrick’s newfound status as a legend in the making. —Insanul Ahmed

Producer: Sounwave, Terrace Martin

Album: To Pimp a Butterfly

Sounwave and Terrace Martin went the fuck in on this beat. By this time the funk has probably taken over that vessel you call a body. Let it grab hold and take control of your soul. Kendrick is talking slick on here, too. He calls out rappers and their ghostwriters without naming names. We wonder who he might be referring to. It doesn't matter, though, because all we want is more funk. Keep that beef shit. That shit is played out. —Angel Diaz

Producer: Willie B

Album: Section.80

Here we have the earliest hint of Kendrick's direction on To Pimp a Butterfly, foreshadowed all the way back on Section.80—and with Sounwave behind the boards, no less. On “Rigamortus,” Kendrick slays over a rocky jazz riff with unbreakable staccato, the sort of rap parlor trick that, at this early stage of Kendrick's career, had him sounding hungry enough to eat Eminem and Royce Da 5'9''s respective lunches. The lively alto sax loop is the song's most prominent feature, yet just as important are the ringing 808 taps and Kendrick's characteristically tenor flow, which, I think, is what Robert Glasper means when noting that Kendrick's flow “reminds [him] of different instruments,” much like Q-Tip indeed. —Justin Charity

Producer: Tae Beast, Sounwave, Thundercat

Album: To Pimp a Butterfly

Kendrick is at his best when he regresses and speaks through his younger self. “Hood Politics” takes that no-filter POV and lays it out widescreen, like he’s in the hull of a panopticon and shit is bananas: “Slow motion for the ambulance, the project filled with cameras.” Petty beefs turn perilous, popo is everywhere, Kendrick’s in the cut doing his thing—until he gets caught up. The hook here is a taunt—ya mans, ya ends, ya girl, they’re all “booboo”—except Kendrick knows hood politics is a distraction, so he takes it macro and names a common enemy, the “DemoCrips and ReBloodlicans.” We last heard Kendrick blowing “booboo” raspberries on Overly Dedicated’s “Cut You Off (to Grow Closer),” a song about clawing your way out of onerous circumstances. “Hood Politics” is both wry victory and a stylistic feat—he starts with a single pixel before pulling back on the whole, brilliant canvas. —Anupa Mistry

Producer: The Alchemist, Bēkon

Album: Damn

Freedom is a dream. It’s how you move under the pressure of restraint that takes the measure of your true capability. At various moments on Damn, Kendrick Lamar imposes a particular framework on his writing and then flexes against it. “Fear” is not only the best example of this on the album, it’s one of the best written songs of Kendrick’s career, period. 

With a spacious beat from the Alchemist and Bēkon that flips a sample of 24-Carat Black’s funk opus “Poverty’s Paradise,” Kendrick steps to the lip of the stage and proceeds to work and shift inside the straitjacket of three verses that restrict him in content and form. The first verse is delivered in his mother’s voice, with many of the lines beginning (or at least incorporating) “I’ll beat your ass.” The second verse comes from Kendrick’s 17-year-old self and each line begins “I’ll probably die.” Both verses are claustrophobic and push the listener into a place where the verbal freedom glimpsed in the third verse should feel all the sweeter. Aged 27 years by verse three, it seems like Kendrick is finally expressing himself with unrestricted language but—another gutpunch—he raps exclusively about his paralyzing fear. His vocabulary has expanded but the fear remains. There’s no escaping the feeling; it haunts him at every stage of his life, stays close like his own shadow—not even success and money can force fear to relinquish its grip. And through Kendrick’s careful songwriting, the listener is trapped along with him. You grow up afraid alongside him. 

My friend Damien told me that the song made him “think about what people talk about when they talk about black music. If there is such a thing, it can’t be a genre, but a type of music that speaks to experiences and feelings and fears and hopes of black people.” “Fear” is a recollection of a black experience. Writing about Damn for Mass Appeal, Kris Ex wrote that the song is “complex like the way too many of us who grew up Black and poor or Black or poor find this to feel like home, and how home feels like fear.” Kendrick translated the feeling to song by sacrificing some of his abilities, to show you what he’s truly capable of. —Ross Scarano

Producer: J. Cole

Album: Section.80

Kendrick Lamar may have dropped the blackest album since Watch the Throne in 2015, but it was the same year of Kanye and Hov’s release that the seed for To Pimp a Butterfly was planted by the Compton native. “HiiiPoWeR” evokes this mindset of black transcendence, with Kendrick referencing Malcolm X, Marcus Garvey, and Martin Luther King Jr. while rapping his ass off over J. Cole production fitting for the moment. “I'm standing on the field full of land mines/Doing the moonwalk, hoping I blow up in time,” he spits, determined to achieve success while doing it on his own terms. There’s also the imagery of Black Power, with lines like, “I be off the slave ship/Building pyramids, writing my own hieroglyphs,” as well as “three fingers in the air” symbolizing Kendrick’s own take on the raised fit.

Also of note: The beginning of the video for “HiiiPoWeR” recounts a vision of 2Pac in Kendrick’s dream, one that would prove to be a significant factor on To Pimp a Butterfly, bringing the prophecy full circle. —Edwin Ortiz

Producer: Taz Arnold, a.k.a. Ti$a, Whoarei, Sounwave

Album: To Pimp a Butterfly

Kendrick Lamar recalls an on-the-road, hotel room breakdown again and again on To Pimp a Butterfly. On “u,” one of the most harrowing songs in his entire catalog, he stages that scene, subjecting  himself to some of the most painful criticism a person could hear from a close friend or family member. “I place blame on you still/I place shame on you still,” the first things he tells himself. What happened? His teenage sister is pregnant, a failure of his influence, and he left his Compton friends and loved ones as they were dying in the street, in the hospital. Saxophone, the reed instrument that comes closest to mimicking the range and tone of the human voice, wails mournful behind Kendrick’s words. Taz Arnold and Whoarei, with help from T.D.E. regular Sounwave, produced “u,” and the drumming is funereal. If you’ve ever had a drunken argument with a family member, say a meltdown on Christmas Eve, you know how much it can hurt to hear (and believe) “I’m fucked up, but I ain’t as fucked up as you.” This song crushes you, like being trapped between a boot and the floor. —Ross Scarano

Producer: Pharrell Williams, Sounwave

Album: To Pimp a Butterfly

During the meeting in which we hammered this list out, my esteemed colleague Justin Charity described “Alright” as solely existing to placate the “Fraziers of the world.” Inherent shade, I know, but hey Justin, you're gotdamn right. Place me firmly in the camp of listeners who can appreciate the hell out of To Pimp a Butterfly but also quietly bemoan Kendrick's apparent disinterest in packaging deeply thoughtful bars and subject matter into actual songs with mainstream appeal, i.e. BANGERS. Welp, “Alright” is like one of maybe three bones on TPAB tossed to us Philistines and, boy, does it deliver. Armed with a Pharrell beat that alternates between Sunday cruise vibes and a more lit situation, Kendrick turns spiritual reassurance (“if God got us”) into a certified jam. Try getting Skateboard P's infectious refrain out of your head during the day, then try not jumping up and down to it at the nighttime turn-up. Thanks for thinking of us, Kendrick. —Frazier Tharpe

Producer: 9th Wonder, Bēkon

Album: Damn

Kendrick has a knack for painting pictures, drawing vivid lyrics from his reality. But the final track on Damn is as gripping as a beach read, only better written. He chronicles the real-life serendipitous encounter between Top Dawg and Kendrick’s dad. Through this tale he reveals more about the inner-workings of his Compton environment and family structure. With each bar the story builds—and so does his legend—until the last few lines that thread the needle of fortune to the present day. At the end, Kendrick grabs the listener by the shirt, rapping: "Whoever thought the greatest rapper would be from coincidence?/Because if Anthony killed Ducky, Top Dawg could be servin' life/While I grew up without a father and die in a gunfight." No lie, at the end of the album I just sat there stuck, like, "Damn." —Brandon "Jinx" Jenkins

Producer: Sounwave

Album: Section.80

Despite hailing from Compton, Kendrick’s outlook on society's ills has often been more on the the conscious side than the gangster side, more Native Tongues than G-Funk. But unlike some of Native Tongues’ descendants, he’s always been keenly aware that it’s all too easy to come off preachy. That comes in handy on songs like “A.D.H.D.” where he explores rampant drug use amongst his peers who are all about light blue pills, Bay Area Kush, and “sipping cough syrup like it's water.”

On “A.D.H.D.” he never looks down on users and abusers, an approach he later reused on “Swimming Pools (Drank).” He inverts his perspective, offering empathy rather than blame. Even if he doesn’t partake in the festivities himself (he doesn’t smoke and rarely drinks) at least he understands, “You know why we crack babies? Because we born in the '80s.” (Fun fact: The music video for this song was shot in what would later become Complex’s offices in the Flatiron District of New York City.) —Insanul Ahmed

Producer: Hit-Boy

Album: good kid, m.A.A.d city

On “Backseat Freestyle,” Hit-Boy laced Kendrick with the kind of beat we imagine playing in a garage while aliens repair a crash-landed spaceship. In turn, Kendrick morphs into an extraterrestrial ready to bite your head off. Dot blacks out, splitting his third verse into a double-time and then a triple-time flow. Still, he maintains supreme control, stopping the track just to belt “Beeotch!” on occasion. It’s a straight-up rappity rap song, but the title gives it a setting within the larger narrative of good kid. So whether you listen to it as a piece of a larger puzzle or as a standalone track, Kendrick is still off to the races. —Insanul Ahmed

Producer: DJ Dahi​

Album: good kid, m.A.A.d city

Kendrick sets the table with his raps about his Uncle Tony and wanting to keep it ghetto on his road to success, while Rock uses his chance to reach the masses wisely. And let's not forget Anna Wise's bridge before Jay's verse. Her voice over that beat is pure heaven. Everything about this song is beautiful. Especially this line: “Gang signs out the window, ya bish. Hoping all of them offend you, ya bish.” Because you always have to keep it ghetto. —Angel Diaz

Producer: Mike Will Made-It

Album: Damn

A lot has been said about Damn, but TDE member Ab-Soul perhaps broke it down best. “I think he was trying to get back to K-Dot,” he said an in interview with Montreality. “Get back to his roots, sag his pants, really roll through the hood.”

If that’s the case, “DNA” is the manifesto of a young and hungry Kendrick Lamar Duckworth. Someone who has let time in the hood educate him on how to win. Who’s secured the bag but isn’t afraid to lose it in a moment's notice (“You ain't sick enough to pull it on yourself/You ain't rich enough to hit the lot and skate”). “I wanted it to sound like he's battling the beat,” Mike Will Made-It said of creating the production for the second half of the song. K-Dot absolutely bodies it.

Damn showcases Kendrick’s impeccable storytelling (“Duckworth”), slick delivery (“Element”), and seamless play for radio (“Loyalty”). But don’t fuck up and test K-Dot. Because when he shoots from the hip, and the heart, he never misses. —Edwin Ortiz

Producer: Pac Div, Skhye Hutch, Sounwave

Album: good kid, m.A.A.d city

“I'm Dying of Thirst” is easily my least favorite song on GKMC; inversely, “Sing About Me” just might be my favorite. Pac Div's Like blessed K-Dot with a beautiful, contemplative beat that finds the Compton storyteller at his most cinematic, mournfully reflecting on the responsibility and consequences that come with being a hood poet, reflected through two of his subjects taking first-person duties on the first two verses. It's a toss-up between which hits harder: Kendrick's homie getting audibly gunned down right after he says “If I die before your album drops” or Keisha's sister's mix of righteous fury and stubborn ignorance leaving Dot no choice but to walk away as her voice trails off. I get why the two tracks are connected—any of these all-too-real horror stories would send a religion-inclined person running to be saved—but when Kendrick himself returns on "Sing"'s third verse to reflect, answer for his actions, and admits his own desire to be someone's subject when he's gone? And over those gorgeous strings? The song's already hit its peak. —Frazier Tharpe

Producer: THC

Album: N/A

This entire track is a glimpse into the world of two people who grew up in similar situations but chose different paths. Kendrick remembers shootouts while watching cartoons and eating cereal while Gunplay spent most of his life doing the shooting. Both perspectives play off each well over THC's hectic production. This song is seven minutes too short. The structure and songwriting are phenomenal, and this is why the song is one of the main tracks people bring up when discussing Kendrick's song-making ability. —Angel Diaz

Producer: Sounwave, THC, Terrace Martin

Album: good kid, m.A.A.d city

“m.A.A.d city” is easily the most lyrical and most cinematic song ever recorded by one of rap’s latest, greatest storytellers. Running nearly six minutes long, it’s carefully detailed to feature just about every hallmark of Kendrick’s music; spitfire rapping, a song that turns into another song, autobiographical details splintered across a larger narrative, nods to West Coast OGs like MC Eiht and Ice Cube, and vocal effects courtesy of TDE’s go-to engineer, MixedByAli.

The first half is the superior half—it sounds like the soundtrack to running through Compton’s alleyways being chased by police in the middle of the night. Kendrick raps frantically recalling the “Warriors and Conans” of his teenage years over THC and Sounwave’s pulsating beat.

The nightmarish two-and-a-half minutes would have been more than enough to make this list, but instead of waking up screaming the song restarts sounding like yet another day in the lives of Compton’s Most Wanted. On Kendrick’s final verse, he reveals that the acronym of “m.A.A.d” is Me, an Angel on Angel Dust (he’s also said it stands for My Angry Adolescence Divided) as he reveals he once smoked laced weed, which is why he doesn’t smoke now. There are also tales of staged robberies, days spent playing basketball, and the question of whether or not a 16-year-old Kendrick could actually commit a murder. With so many vivid escapades packed in, this is the only song that fully encapsulates the scope of Kendrick's vision and talent. —Insanul Ahmed