Monday, June 4, 2012

Lil' Beef


I bomb atomically
Socrates’ philosophies and hypotheses
Can’t define how I be droppin’ these mockeries
Lyrically perform armed robbery
Flee with the lottery
Possibly they spotted me
Battle-scarred shogun, explosion when my pen hits
Tremendous, ultra-violet shine blind forensics
I inspect you, through the future see millennium
Killer Bees sold fifty gold sixty platinum
Shaklin’ the masses with drastic rap tactics
Graphic displays melt the steel like blacksmiths
Black Wu jackets queen B’s ease the guns in
Rumble with patrolmen, tear gas laced the function
Heads by the score take flight incite a war
Chicks hit the floor, die hard fans demand more
Behold the bold soldier, control the globe slowly
Proceeds to blow swingin’ swords like Shinobi
Stomp grounds and pound footprints in solid rock
Wu got it locked, performing live on your hottest block

Obviously, this is lyrical annihilation, one of the greatest rhymes ever put to music, and its presence here eliminates the potential for a reader to consider whether or not he who copied and pasted this gem appreciates the garbled goat mouth stylings of Drake or Lil’ Wayne or Kanye West.

Fuck. And. No.

Today I read a story about Lil’ Wayne trying to get courtside seats to an OKC home playoff game. He was denied. The Lil’ one claims it was a result of racism, says that he’s in Forbes (however that’s relevant to NBA tickets). The OKC front office claims there were no seats available. OKC players offered him tickets after the “incident”, but he says those tickets were offered by black players and that the tickets are not the point, and I’m confused about the point, so I’m going to make my own point:

See the above verse? That’s Inspectah Deck, member (not even the best, mind you) of the Wu-Tang Clan, the central heating to Lil’ Wayne’s tiny fireplace, the racing engine to Lil’ Wayne’s pinewood paddle, the complete sentence to Lil’ Wayne’s apostrophe. The article I read makes the point that fame brings expectation, and that the famous are flabbergasted when not bent over backwards for. Valid.

But I’m neither famous nor financially capable of purchasing a courtside ticket to anything, much less permitting or denying someone else’s presence courtside. I’m also not claiming that Inspectah Deck would’ve received tickets. I’m simply claiming that poetic justice exists, and I’m thankful for it.

See, if I ran into Lil’ Wayne at Monk’s and the ketchup on my table was the last ketchup and his fries were bone dry I wouldn’t give it to him. If he were in the ocean I’d chum the water. If someone gifted me backstage passes to Lil’ Wayne I wouldn’t even sell them because I’d immediately forget I had them. Given the option of meeting Lil’ Wayne or taking a nap I’d…

Sorry. Passed out for a second. Where was I?

Oh yes, irrelevance. Here’s the point: people don’t give a shit or don’t do your bidding for a number of reasons. No tickets are available, or you’re a terrible emcee, or they genuinely don’t know who you are, or they don’t read Forbes. It’s not because you’re black. It’s because when you rap it sounds like a dwarf is strangling Chris Broussard. It’s because when you released The Block Is Hot that phrase was 20 years old, and you weren’t referencing it as an homage. It’s because A Milli and Got Money MEAN THE SAME THING! It’s because you were in the gifted program and the drama club growing up, not in the streets, not in a gang, and not “bangin on the corner” unless you accidently “banged” your knee on a neighborhood watch sign hustling to the ice cream truck. It’s also Oklahoma City. You didn’t get the tickets. Charlie Pride wants those tickets, he gets them. Darius Rucker wants them, done and done.
"Lil' Wayne, we love you
cuz our daddies hate you!"

Some things are because you’re black, though. The fact that 70% of your fan base consists of white sorority girls at southern universities? That might be because you’re black, and because some people think neck tattoos are tough, even on a grown man who weighs 87 lbs.

And please believe, I don’t even begin to claim to somehow understand the black experience, or in your case the black male experience. I acknowledge my privilege everyday and admit it was granted without merit. But make no bones about it, I dislike your music, and the empty rhetoric of “that’s RAYCESS” without proper cause regardless of who leans on the crutch. Racism exists. This ain’t it. When I read that article I immediately became a fan of the OKC front office. Good for you, you hicks. Fuck you for stealing the Sonics from Seattle.

Update: Just saw highlights from said playoff game, and Kevin Durant’s mom was courtside. I beg  you, Lil’ Wayne, let someone else write a song about it.

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