It’s not what you say, but how you say it. And in hip-hop, great rhymes happen at the intersection of oral tradition and innovation. The best rappers are alternately storytellers, poets, motivational speakers, comedians, and braggarts—but, never forget, they are songwriters and vocal stylists too. In the culture, both the word and the rendition are revered. In looking back at a year of extraordinary releases, we thought it was only right to highlight the rappers who took rapping to its highest heights.

Jean Grae - “Zero”

Metaphors, similes, assonance, and alliteration—Jean Grae pulls out all stops in the first verse of “Zero” from her and Quelle Chris’ Everything’s Fine. Lest we forget that 42-year-old Jean has been outrapping her peers since the late-’90s, she engages in a lyrical exercise that sees her dubbing herself the “black Rachmaninoff,” referencing real American cannibals, and comparing herself to a Botticelli. Because if she’s to be a piece of work, then let that piece be a work of art. Even in the midst of the the bravado there's self-awareness as she ponders being one the nicest yet most slept-on in a music biz obsessed with the ingenue: “Glory, never/Not even when I’m salt and pepper?/You’ll go on and ignore me forever?” Now is the time to give Jean Grae her due praise. –Timmhotep Aku

Earl Sweatshirt - “Azucar”

In a recent interview with NPR’s All Things Considered, Thebe Kgositsile, professionally known as Earl Sweatshirt, described the refinement of his approach to songwriting: “Niggas be victims of overwriting, bro. You can hear when it switches from the heart to the head.” His new approach, where technique is only employed in service to the substance of the rhyme, is present throughout his album Some Rap Songs but it shines particularly bright on “Azucar.” In describing his own life spiraling out of control and the support system that pulled him back to center, he displays the technical gifts that hooked us on his flows years ago. But now, sounding calmer and more comfortable than ever, he conveys emotion through not just the words but their placement. He goes from the speeding imagery of “pedal to the medal” to the dramatic half-beat pause after declaring “It’s not a black woman I can’t thank.” From there he meanders from thought to thought and from to feeling to feeling, like scrolling through the IG feed of his mind. –Timmhotep Aku

J. Cole - “Once an Addict”

On his concept album, KOD, J. Cole examines addiction and its collateral damage from numerous angles. Going beyond the topic of drug addiction, he looks at many of the vices that hold people prisoner with the understanding that our addictions often take root when love is not present. “Once an Addict” is one of the album’s most personal moments, as he flashes back to his youth and witnessing his mother’s drinking as an escape from heartache. He laments his own selfish avoidance and use of drugs to escape when she needed him most. As Cole describes the scene, you can hear the somber Marvin Gaye song playing and smell the Newport smoke in the air. –Timmhotep Aku

Saba - “PROM/KING”

Saba’s seven-minute-plus opus, “PROM/KING,” is a masterclass in storytelling. In two sections, the Chicago rapper tells the winding and tragic tale of his cousin John Walt, who was murdered at age 24. In the song’s final verse, Saba feverishly rushes toward a cliffhanger ending as he spits out memories of how Walt was always narrowly avoiding death—a circumstance that Saba attributes to the violent reality of living in Chicago. The tension here is built both lyrically and musically; as his delivery gets more frantic and breathless, the accompanying jazz drums ramp up in intensity to resemble the sound of rapid gun fire. Saba never explicitly says what happened to Walt, but he doesn’t need to—because when the song reaches climax, it’s already crawling with the feeling that something bad has happened. As Saba withdraws abruptly from the mic, a posthumous recording of Walt’s voice floats to the foreground: “Just another day in the ghetto.../Just hope I make it till tomorrow.” –Michelle Kim

J.I.D - “151 Rum”

The sole verse on J.I.D’s “151 Rum” is a wind sprint. Crammed inside his heady, heavily alliterative, sentence-splicing flows are quick-cutting snippets of poverty (bugs in cereal boxes, getting your brother’s brother’s hand-me-downs), violence (he was standing next to Lil Tay when that bullet hit him), and its psychological impact (ever since, he’s been living with it like a sickness). Blink and you’ll miss something. His tumbling verse, which slashes through at a blistering pace, is presented as a technical exercise but is really a revelation in disguise. As J.I.D’s ideas unspool and he finds himself thuggin’ and knuckin’ and buckin’ for those closest to him, he sees there’s love in the struggle. –Sheldon Pearce

Maxo Kream - “Roaches”

All of Maxo Kream’s songs trace heart-stopping scenes, but there isn’t a verse in his discography more gripping than the closer on “Roaches.” It’s like something out of organized crime cinema, full of high stakes drama and involuntary introspection, delivered with the huffed demeanor of someone resigned to a life full of complications. Hurricane Harvey struck Houston, Maxo’s hometown, while he was in Vegas celebrating the Floyd Mayweather fight; he watched helplessly from afar, in the lap of luxury, as his city was consumed by the storm with his family still inside. Everyone survived, but not without loss, and when it was all over he was still saddled with RICO charges for a family criminal enterprise. These harrowing situations, the way their written about and sequenced, present Maxo’s gray world in just a view tiny but potent vignettes. –Sheldon Pearce

JAY-Z - “What’s Free”

The economics of being JAY-Z have regularly changed over the years, but what hasn’t is the Brooklyn mogul’s ability to translate those numbers into State of the Union speeches for the culture. His rare calculus is one that makes even the simplest forecasts seem like not just hypothesis but prophesy. His awesome, expounding verse on Meek Mill’s “What’s Free” tweaks his near-annual appraisal to overlay the stats of his own success story with slave allegories, comparing a life outside the rap industry debt machine (as cognac and champagne owner, label owner, and streaming platform owner) to a life off the plantation, continuing a conversation about financial freedom that he started on 4:44. Being truly free, he argues convincingly, means working without any restrictions. –Sheldon Pearce

Pusha-T - “Infrared”

Pusha-T’s “Infrared” verse is delivered in a wicked near-whisper—a tone that makes him sound like a Marvel movie super villain calmly plotting a nefarious scheme. That voice added to the malevolence of Pusha’s “Infrared” when he released the track in May, just as Drake was ramping up to drop Scorpion, and the digs at Drake were enough to make the most popular rapper alive break from his album rollout to respond. The verse was “surgical”—as Pusha would describe his approach to dismantling his opponent’s psyche on follow-up diss “The Story of Adidon”—as he hit Drake in his soft spots by invoking the name of ghostwriter Quentin Miller and likening the Toronto rappers’ reign over hip-hop to Trump’s presidency. The personal and beef-reviving verse made it sound like Pusha was possessed by an owl-slaying demon. –Alphonse Pierre

Young M.A - “Freestyle w/ the L.A. Leakers”

The modern radio freestyle requires a different skill set than recording in a vocal booth. In the age of viral video, visually communicating one’s self-assuredness with hand motions and eye contact is as crucial as the bars. Young M.A always comes equipped with the punchlines and humor, but her swag is her secret weapon. She begins the verse laid back, flirting with the camera. But when she sends her threats, her demeanor changes, and she sneers while grinding her grills together. In just one verse, Young M.A illustrates the full range of her charisma. –Alphonse Pierre

Roc Marciano - “Consigliere”

Once Roc Marciano opens his mouth to calmly spit the second verse of “Consigliere” the slick talk, cockiness, and lack of respect for his detractors pour out. Roc’s verses are about the particulars, describing every single minute detail, because he’s blessing the listeners by allowing them to have a peek into his day-to-day. “Ralph Lauren draws on but fuck the horseplay.” Every line is dripping with personality. Even when he’s doing something as simple as shopping, he says it with an attitude, as if everything is obvious: “I went to get the Pat Ewings, the new ones.” Whether he’s spitting about his style, whips, or good eats, Roc commands attention. –Alphonse Pierre