Archive for the 'Hip-hop' Category

05
Oct
10

The Gangsta Rap Lyric Translation/Clarification Game

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To amuse myself, often times I will attempt to translate gangster and misogynist rap music lyrics into academically precise and excessively clinical language. The goal is to clarify the rapper’s intended meaning for the (imaginary) uninitiated, non-urban listener. I also engage in this word substitution game when I overhear people on the street employing urban slang or street talk¹.

Gangsta rap lyrics are immeasurably amusing to translate due to their depth of meaning and emotionally-charged content (often detailing acts of extreme physical violence and barbarous sexual assault crimes committed against women). The purpose of the game is to juxtapose the explicit savagery of the gangsta rap lyric against a sterilized and verbose restatement of the lyric’s content reworded to nullify the inflammatory tone.

As a way of contextualizing this mental activity, I pretend that I am a foreign visitor who is semi-fluent in English (but slang-ignorant). In order to comprehend what I am hearing, I must substitute a large number of the words in order to clarify the content of the gangsta rap lyric. Other times, I imagine myself as a pedantic English professor who is mentally critiquing the rapper. As the professor, I make it my duty to red-line the grammatically offending lyrics since they are an affront to all for which I stand. The professor then silently instructs the rapping dullard on the proper way that he or she should verbally express their tales of criminal exploits and women-hatred.

Below is an example of how I employ the rap music lyric word substitution/clarification technique.
The lyric below is from the Eazy-E song Still Talkin’ and is on the deceased Mr. E’s 1988 debut album, Eazy-Duz-It (the complete lyrics to Still Talkin’ and many other fine Eazy-E songs can be found here).

Psychopathic, but the hoes are attracted

Because, when I’m on hard, my dicks at least a yard

First line translation/clarification:

Despite the fact that I have a personality disorder characterized by an abnormal lack of empathy combined with strongly amoral conduct but masked by an ability to appear outwardly normal, prostitutes with little or no monetary focus find me sexually appealing.

Second line translation/clarification:

The aforementioned women find me sexually appealing for the reason that when the two tubular structures that run the length of my penis, the corpora cavernosa, become engorged with venous blood (due to a complex interaction of psychological, neural, vascular and endocrine factors occurring before and during exposure to sexually-arousing stimuli), the welling, hardening and enlargement of my penis results in an erection that measures a full three feet (thirty-six inches) in length.

ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ

¹ For instance, when I am in a bodega buying my daily lottery ticket and I overhear an urban outdoorsman request that the cashier “gimme a loosey”, I know that the gentleman is directing the store clerk to reach behind the counter and retrieve a single cigarette from a broken pack to sell him at an inflated price. Although this is an illegal act, the clerk recognizes that market forces of supply and demand in an underground economy will ultimately determine the store’s financial survival (and more importantly – his/her job security). The store clerk’s tacit agreement with the gentleman and his/her willingness to complete this illegal transaction occurs notwithstanding the minimal threat of a criminal conviction (with its attendant fines and/or period of incarceration).

Related posts:

https://dillsnapcogitation.wordpress.com/2008/11/08/in-loving-memory-of-eric-eazy-e-wright/

https://dillsnapcogitation.wordpress.com/2008/07/16/my-mind-is-playing-tricks-on-me-geto-boys/

31
Jul
10

Trotsky Was A Black Man…Step!

Lev Davidovich Bronstein (a.k.a. Leon Trotsky) and his adorable high-yaller child Nina (beautiful looks and kink-kontrol courtesy of Bronner Bros. Extra-Strength No-Lye Hair Relaxer)

08
Nov
08

In Loving Memory of Eric “Eazy-E” Wright

eazyI don’t drink Brass monkey, like the beat funky, nickname Eazy-E, your Eight-Ball junky

Eric Wright (Eazy-E) was a high school dropout, drug-dealing Kelly Park Compton Crip gangster, and founding member of the hardcore rap group N.W.A. (No Whites Allowed). Wright was a gate-crashing pioneer in the gangster rap genre, and later achieved critical acclaim as a solo artist. Eric is no longer with us as he passed into Heaven on March 26, 1995 (Year of our Lord).

Mr. Wright was a staunch supporter of the Republican party. He donated thousands of dollars to assist their efforts to rescue the impoverished Black community. Recognizing Eric’s contributions, he was invited to a lunch benefiting the Republican Senatorial Inner Circle hosted by President George H. W. Bush.

eazy-duz-it1Eric Wright was also an ardent supporter of law enforcement (the Los Angeles Police Department in particular). A smear campaign against Wright and members of his former N.W.A. posse was launched in the 80’s claiming that their anthem “Fuck tha Police” promoted violence against police officers. In early 1993, Eazy spoke out in support of Theodore Briseno, a LAPD police officer involved in the Rodney King beating.

Possessing a powerful libido, and eschewing the normal conventions of sexual morality, Wright spread his seed far and wide. He fathered seven beautiful children from six different women. Wright was a lover of his female groupies, but warned those of the male sex “to get the hell off.”

wrightWright was diagnosed with AIDS and his health deteriorated rapidly. He spoke openly about the God-directed plague sent to strike down sodomites, sexual debaucherers, and homosexuals. He warned his legions of fans about the dangers of unprotected anal sex with hood rats and intravenous drug users. In making his affliction public, Wright claimed his purpose was “to save their asses before it’s too late.”

In memory of Eazy-E, here is a sample of his lyrics from the song “Boyz in da Hood.” This song crystallizes the artistic essence of the legendary rap pioneer.

Left to get ma girl to rock that body
before I left, I hit the Bacardi
Went to her house to get her out of the pad
Dumb hoe said something that made me mad
She said something that I couldn’t believe
so I grabbed the stupid bitch by her nappy-ass weave
she started talking shit, wouldn’t you know
Reached back like a pimp, slapped the hoe

8ball1Eazy, I know you up there in heaven cruising your ’64 Impala to the liquor store to get another 40oz. of Eight-Ball. If you wreck that six-fo, I know you will throw it in the gutter and God will provide another. Lil-Eazy (The Prince of Compton) is carrying on your message of gangster hope and redemption. We got a West-Coaster (Hawaiian) in the White House too. You are missed dear friend – peace and love.

30
Jul
08

Ludacris: The Lyrics of Hope or Hate?

The marginally talented rapper Christopher Bridges (stage name Ludacris) has just unleashed a vitriolic attack on women, senior citizens, and the disabled. The song is titled Politics: Obama Is Here, and stands as a constant reminder to all decent Americans that rap music should be censored in the name of human decency. A few disgusting lyrics from the song:

Hillary hated on you, so that bitch is irrelevant

Can these type of misogynistic attacks be allowed in the post-Imus era? So Hillary Clinton roughed up Barry a bit on the campaign trial, so that makes her a bitch? I thought we had come far enough with respect to gender relations to put these hateful words to rest.

The Ludacris invoked bitter and painful memories of historical racial violence to instill fear in the hearts of White Americans. Why does the Ludacris want White people terrified?

The threats ain’t fazing us, the nooses or the jokes
So get off your ass, black people, it’s time to get out and vote!
Paint the White House black and I’m sure that’s got ’em terrified

Next, the rapper denigrates the senile pudding-brained U.S. Senator John McCain. He also manages to insult the mentally disabled by including Jorge Boosh in their ranks. The word handicap is a disparaging term that refers to physically and mentally disabled individuals who had to beg on the street corner with their hat in their hand. The Ludacris’s blatantly insensitive choice of words reveals a man with a depraved heart and no conscience for the afflicted.

McCain don’t belong in ANY chair unless he’s paralyzed
Yeah I said it cause Bush is mentally handicapped

Ludacris even went as far as requesting preferential treatment, in the form of a pardon, from a president Obama if he finds himself incarcerated. It seems that the Ludacris thinks that if a Democratic front-runner listens to your songs on the I-Pod, than you are guaranteed a VP slot on the ticket.

Well give Luda a special pardon if I’m ever in the slammer
Better yet put him in office, make me your vice president

Please boycott the Ludacris by refusing to buy his albums or see any of his movies. He is a wanna-be gangsta rapper, a mama’s boy crybaby punk, and was pathetic in the movie “Crash.”

16
Jul
08

My Mind Is Playing Tricks On Me

Kicking it straight from Houston’s 4th Ward, now comes da Geto Boys. Their track “Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta” was featured in the hilarious comedy cult classic Office Space. The Geto Boys’ 1990 album was denied distribution by their record label due to the graphic depictions of rape, murder, and necrophilia in the song Mind of a Lunatic. The record was salvaged by the filth purveying Warner Bros. Records, ensuring that young impressionable minds would be forced to endure the Geto Boys soul-destroying lyrical onslaught.

“My Mind is Playing tricks on Me” is a Geto Boys classic. The track is a powerful sketch of inner-city hustling life, and its attendant psychosis-inducing effects. A young man struggling with his conscience is tortured by an imaginary (?) assassin. In the final stanza, a one-eyed rapping midget (Bushwick Bill) bloodies up his little paws on the concrete after mistakenly attempting to rob a kid of his Halloween candy.

I sit alone in my four-cornered room staring at candles
Oh that shit is on? Heh
Let me drop some shit like this here real smooth

At night I can’t sleep, I toss and turn
Candle sticks in the dark, visions of bodies being burned
Four walls just staring at a nigga
I’m paranoid, sleeping with my finger on the trigga
My momma’s always stressing I ain’t living right
But I ain’t going out without a fight
See, everytime my eyes close
I start sweatin, and blood starts comin out my nose
It’s somebody watchin’ the Ak’
But I don’t know who it is, so I’m watchin’ my back
I can see him when I’m deep in the covers
When I awake I don’t see the motherfucker
He owns a black hat like I own
A black suit and a cane like my own
Some might say “take a chill, G”
But fuck that shit, there’s a nigga trying to kill me
I’m poppin’ in a clip when the wind blows
Every twenty seconds got me peeping out my window
Investigating the joint for traps
Checking my telephone for taps
I’m staring at the woman on the corner
It’s fucked up when your mind is playing tricks on you

I make big money, I drive big cars
Everybody know me, it’s like I’m a movie star
But late at night, somethin ain’t right
I feel I’m being tailed by the same sucker’s head lights
Is it that fool that I ran off the block
Or is it that nigga last week that I shot
Or is it the one I beat for five thousand dollars
Thought he had ‘caine but it was Gold Medal Flour
Reach under my seat, grabbed my popper for the suckers
Ain’t no use to be lying, I was scareder than a motherfucker
Hooked a left into Popeye’s and beared down quick
If it’s going down let’s get this shit over with
Here they come, just like I figured
I got my hand on the motherfucking trigger
What I saw’ll make your ass start giggling
Three blind, crippled and crazy senior citizens
I live by the sword
I take my boys everywhere I go
Because I’m paranoid
I keep looking over my shoulder and peeping around corners
My mind is playing tricks on me

Day by day it’s more impossible to cope
I feel like I’m the one that’s doing dope
Can’t keep a steady hand because I’m nervous
Every Sunday morning I’m in service
Praying for forgiveness
And trying to find an exit out of the business
I know the Lord is looking at me
But yet and still it’s hard for me to feel happy
I often drift when I drive
Havin fatal thoughts of suicide
BANG and get it over with
And then I’m worry-free, but that’s bullshit
I got a little boy to look after
And if I died then my child would be a bastard
I had a woman down with me
But to me it seemed like she was down to get me
She helped me out in this shit
But to me she was just another bitch
Now she’s back with her mother
Now I’m realizing that I love her
Now I’m feeling lonely
My mind is playing tricks on me

This year Halloween fell on a weekend
Me and Geto Boyz are trick-or-treating
Robbing little kids for bags
Till an old man got behind our ass
So we speeded up the pace
Took a look back and he was right before our face
He’d be in for a squabble no doubt
So I swung and hit the nigga in his mouth
He was going down, we figga’d
But this wasn’t no ordinary nigga
He stood about six or seven feet
Now, that’s the nigga I’d been seeing in my sleep
So we triple-teamed on him
Dropping them motherfuckin b’s on him
The more I swung the more blood flew
Then he disappeared and my boys disappeared, too
Then I felt just like a fiend
It wasn’t even close to Halloween
It was dark as fuck on the streets
My hands were all bloody from punching on the concrete
God damn, homie
My mind is playing tricks on me

20
Mar
08

Warning to the Racist White Devils

This post is in response to comments left on my blog by two sub-human racist shit-heels. Your numbers, like your brain-cell counts, have been rapidly depleting since your reign of human terror was officially defeated.

You will not be able to hide under your slime-covered rock when the race war commences. You will be the first ones hog-tied, beaten, and hung from your neck until you are dead. Your miniature genitals will be severed with a rusty hack-saw and stuffed into your mouths. But first, you will suffer your final moments as the Black man’s urinal.

WHO WILL PAY REPARATIONS ON MY SOUL? (White Devils with their life)

Ignorance and fear of the unknown defines your hate. Soon, you will be a distant memory – a painful reminder of human failure. White Supremacists will have no final spiritual resting place. Their souls will rot in a vat of pig feces after they are violently expunged from the ranks of the living.

THE REVOLUTION WILL NOT BE TELEVISED

Respect me, or put me to death ~ Malcolm Xon will be live.e revolution will be live.

18
Mar
08

Party For Your Right To Fight: Public Enemy and Black Nationalism

pe.jpg

Freedom is a road seldom traveled by the multitudes

Despite being a White middle-class teenage skater punk, I was hip to the Black Nationalist cause. Even before I had heard of Malcolm the Tenth, I wanted true justice for the oppressed dark-skinned folks that I often saw shuffling about in my city’s housing projects. I even fashioned myself a nifty red, green, and yellow African pendant in my junior high shop class. I attribute the awakening of my latent African-American consciousness to the prophets of rage – Public Enemy.

My crash-course introduction to Chuck D, Flavor-Flav, Terminator X, and Professor Griff was in the form of the ground-breaking 1988 album It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back. That record provided me with the authentic story of the Afro-American experience, effectively obliterating the lies I had been force-fed in my (His)tory textbooks.

The U.S. government doesn’t want the people (especially Black folks) knowing about Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X, The Honorable Elijah Muhammed, Louis Farrakhan (NOI), H. Rap Brown, Eldridge Clever, Bobby Seale, or Nat Turner. These cats represent a clear and present danger to the Establishment (White oppressors). By excising their stories (and just causes) from the historical record, they seek to politically lobotomize future generations of liberation-oriented truth soldiers.

yo-bum-rush-the-show.jpg fear-of-a-black-planet.jpg

Public Enemy came correct on the political tip like no other rap recording artist had done before. They railed on J. Edgar’s Hoover’s FBI shenanigans (wiretapping MLK), modern day Black slavery (the U.S. penal system), and the media empire’s soul-corruption campaign designed to destroy the Black female (She Watch Channel Zero?!). It took years for me to fully absorb all of the messages PE was throwing at me back in the 80’s, but the slow digestion allowed for a greater understanding of the African-American’s long struggle in slave-land America (1619-2008).

I saw Public Enemy in a concert during their “Nations of Millions” tour in ’88 or ’89. Although I was one little salt speck in a sea of pepper brotherhood, there was a communal spirit in the air. For years the Black Panther Party (and the Black Nationalist movement in general) had been maligned as a violent band of gangster thugs who were desperate to murder the entire White race and rape all they bitches. That was just another one of the many White Devil’s lies.

The Weathermen, and offshoots of the Students for a Democratic Society, worked with the Black Nationalists to usher in the Age of Aquarius, usually preferring non-violent means. The U.S. government continues to perpetuate a knee-jerk response of fear and panic when a strong Black man or woman (i.e., Angela Davis, Harriet Tubman, and Sojourner Truth) steps up to challenge their lies, abuses, and racist arrogance. It is the government that should fear the people, especially those who have been intentionally targeted for physical and mental slavery. The Revolution will not be You-Tubed bitches!

I have uploaded two of my favorite Public Enemy songs for your viewing and listening pleasure. For the uninitiated, both of these artistic masterpieces succinctly encapsulate the PE experience.

The first track is Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos. This rap is about a Black man who refused to fight the White oppressor’s war, and consequently, was thrown in a jail cell. The intro to the track has a Bull Conner-esque bastard ordering the protagonist to “get in that cell nigger”. That sample is from one of my favorite Stevie Wonder songs, “Living for the City“. In “Black Steel”, the hero recounts his escape from the White Devil’s cage and motivates his people to join the liberation cause.

Here a few choice lyrics:

I got a letter from the government
The other day
I opened and read it
It said they were suckers
They wanted me for their army or whatever
Picture me given’ a damn I said never

To understand my demands
I gave a warnin’ – I wanted the governor, y’all
And plus the warden to know
That I was innocent –
Because I’m militant
Posing a threat, you bet it’s fuckin’ up the government
My plan said I had to get out and break north
Just like with Oliver’s* neck I had to get off

* Oliver North pleaded the 5th Amendment’s right against self-incrimination in order to protect the Ronald “Raygun” political machine from being jailed for war crimes. Ollie brokered a deal with Manuel Noriega providing that the U.S. government would import Panamanian cocaine into the country if Manny used his goons to kill Sandinistas in Nicaragua. This agreement jump-started the crack cocaine epidemic in the 80’s that intentionally brutalized the Black community in many American cities.

Party For Your Right to Fight” details the Black Nationalist struggle in the 60’s. There was a time where I was afraid of the content of this message, but not anymore. (His)tory almost managed to brainwash me, but I have successfully rejected the government’s manacles of fear and false panic.

Power equality and we’re out to get it, I know some of you ain’t wit’ it
This party started right in ’66, With a pro Black radical mix
Then at the hour of twelve, Some force cut the power and emerged from hell
It was your so called government that made this occur
Like the grafted devils they were

J. Edgar Hoover and he coulda’ proved to ya’, He had King and X set up
Also the party with Newton, Cleaver and Seale he ended, so get up
Time to get em back ( You got it )
Get back on the track ( You got it )
Word from the honorable Elijah Muhammed
Know who you are to be Black

To those that disagree it causes static for the original Black Asiatic man
Cream of the earth and was here first
And some devils prevent this from being known
But you check out the books they own
Even Masons they know it but refuse to show it, yo
But it’s proven and fact
And it takes a nation of millions to hold us back

I think governments are the cancer of civilization ~ Chuck D.




Johnny Peepers

----> is a socio-pathetic degenerate with a penchant for cheap booze, ruphy-laden broads, and dim sum soup.

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