Al-Ashraf Sayf-ad-Din Barsbay was the ninth Burji Mamluk sultan of Egypt from AD 1422 to 1438. He was Circassian by birth and a former slave of the first Burji Sultan, Barquq.
He was responsible for a number of administrative reforms in the Mamluk state, including the consolidation of the sultanate as a military magistrature and securing for Egypt exclusive rights over the Red Sea trade between Yemen and Europe.
His Red Sea activity included the final destruction in 1426 of ‘Aydhab, a once important port which had been in decline in the previous century.
His mausoleum, which included a madrasa and khanqah, was built in Cairo's Northern Cemetery, and has survived to this day.
Al Ashrāf is a village in Makkah Province, in western Saudi Arabia.
Müslüm Akbaş (born May 7, 1953), better known as Müslüm Gürses (pronounced [mysˈlym ɟyɾˈses]) is a Turkish folk singer.
He was born in 1953 in Şanlıurfa, Turkey. He married Muhterem Nur in 1983.
He mostly sings Turkish folk and Ottoman classical music, with an arabesque style. His talent and his special style have put him to a different place among other folk singers. In his songs he mostly expresses sorrow and painful feelings. He is considered a cult figure in Turkish folk music and has a very dedicated group of fans, most of whom being young, low-income urban people. He is mostly called Müslüm Baba (means 'Papa Müslüm' in Turkish) among them.
Sen Olmayinca - Gönül Teknem
Sandik
Topraktan Bedene
Usta Ne Yazar
Garipler
Vay Canim
Sadece
Sultanim
Muslumce 92
Paramparca
Agur Yarali-Gurbert Geceleri
Muslum' Ce Turkuler 2001
Nerelerdesin
Biz Babadan Boyle Gorduk
[Chorus: Quasimoto]
Big Perce, keepin it hot
Raw heat, cause a nigga gotta eat
It ain't funny when a nigga gotta get money
A nigga still doin this cause we hungry
Step into the spot, ladies drop it like it's hot
Reppin the block, make the brothers pop their knots
It ain't funny when a nigga gotta get money
A nigga still doin this cause we hungry
[Percee P]
Copycats is done when tracks are done and my style of rap is sung
At the maximum, it collapse your lungs
I'm dead up, nigga batter up, you outta luck
I scatter ducks with shit that'll fuck yo' head up
Figure you fuckin with-a, bigger nigga, that'll rip-ya
That nigga switch your tone now sit your butt down and get the picture
I'm capable to scrape your crew
Put it on pay per view to make a few mill' an estate or two
You hurt up, or get smashed, quick fast if your shit's trash
You better skip past because I kick ass, word up
Splash it, burnin bastards like sulphuric acid
My jurassic classic styles are just mastered to crash ya
Don't push a Beemer, a Montero through my borough too thorough
Come through the ghetto get blasted like Hiroshima~!
The underrated one that made it, guns are traded
for my style cause they leave lungs deflated
Percee P rap is worship me they idol
Takin titles with vital rappers sided since nursery jeweler
Zoological ya, can accumulate what's in my medulla
Your molecular structure ruptured with tumors
[Chorus]
[Percee P]
What I state's a blessing, can't make a session, tape the lesson
Scrape the best and give 'em hard times like the Great Depression
Adversaries bring your crew I do vary stingers
Leave every finger broke like guests on Jerry Springer when I write
Hit you like, Ripple, hard like your wife nipple, chocolate icicles
Fisher Price fit you when those on the mic switch you
Believe me you see me up like I'm a graffiti
Artist hot as Tahiti, rapper tail the streets of Cabrini (are dimes near?)
I step up like you climb stairs if the sign's clear, all lines here
Get across East to West like shuttles at Times Square
Turf BX, strong kids leave they borns with birth defects
Uhh, mics fell from my delivery of soliloquoys
I'm deadly as killer bees but more iller G, got you feelin me like braille
The ebony, one that's ever thee branded never need melodies
Cleverly I drop bombs heavenly like I'm Lebanese
Cop and tap, overseas shockin Japs, I'm toppin that
Whack shit you poppin blunt droppin wraps the heads as tight as stocking caps
I hit thighs and rip guys, clones bit my, styles to get by
Gimmicks limited thoughts and resort to get hotter than lah
See what? You versus me? Go first G
Disperse B, you like Hershey's mixed with Percee P nuts
[Percee P]
Check it out... You hit me, hit me with a little something...
Check it out, check it out... Check it out...
Yeah, yeah, yeah, check it out...
I'm a innovator, eliminator of imitators
I intimidate 'em disintegrate 'em with demonstratin'
Poetical skills whoever gets healed better 'll field
And they better at building mind's rhymes that never get killed
If you're clever never play me close champ
When I kick it I get wicked I'm lickin' it stickin' it like a post stamp
It takes six, I can make hits accapella
I should sell a million of and livin' like Rocafella
Battle me? I gotta see m'originality of strategy
Or that'll be another fatality
Rap and I like the sport and I write with thought
On the mic record adversaries 'll put 'em on life support I
Heard your soundtrack, lyrics sound wack to me
Actually I'm the best around black
T-Ray make beats, others take beats
Abuse 'em use 'em to death but they'll never level the breakbeats
Those with audacity tryina smash the P
Won't last with me using their full capacity
If you wanna get deep, I made a big leap
From corners, now I'm on a label called Big Beat
Percee P's unforgetable
Writin' recitin' incredible shit no-one else could ever do