Yeah, I know I look like an insane alcoholic serial killer, but where is the love for insane alcoholic serial killers?
The i.C.’s are hard at work as you read this, bringing their steez to the hardscrabble NYC streets. Well actually, more well-maintained cobblestone than hardscrabble, but we are back on our grizzly while my grizzly (Adams) is still on me.
I won’t be touching my hair until Obama sends me my stimulus check. And this time it better be on some reparations type level and none of that little bitty hundred dollar nonsense. In the meantime and in between time RAFI, CAS and I will investigate exactly who is winning in this economy.
Do I need to get myself an apple cart, or I guess a pretzel cart would be the 2009 equivalent? Don’t get it twisted though everybody isn’t a fiscal sadsack right now and we need to meet the people that are winning when the media says that dark clouds are coming. Just try not to be frightened when I run up on you in the streets.
Billy X. Sunday finds the elusive truth in rap music lyrics.
If I have learned anything from all my years on this planet, it is to believe absolutely nothing I hear from the mouths of preachers or politicians. Now I am going to have to add peddling poets to that list.
The feel-good song for 2009 appears to be the Jay-Z remix verse for Young Jeezy’s ‘My President Is Black’.
Let me just say off the top that I was truly disappointed that negro Jeezy does not have a ‘Z’ anywhere in the song title when he knows good gotdamn well there should be at least one.
“What recession?” – (c) Young Jeezy
Once again Jay-Z brodies another person’s song and with the talent that he has shown us over the years he creates an anthem both simple and insipid as a sign of our times…
My president is Black
My Maybach too
And I’ll be goddamned if my diamonds ain’t blue
My moneys dark green
And my Porsche is light grey
And I’m headed for DC, anybody feel me? My first question is how does someone becomes YOUR president when you didn’t even vote?
My president is Black, in fact he’s half white
So even in a racist mind, he’s half right
If you’ve got a racist mind, you be aiight
My president is Black, but his house is all white WTF?!?
Rosa Parks sat so Martin Luther could walk
Martin Luther walked so Barack Obama could run
Barack Obama ran so all our children could fly
So I’m a spread my wings, you could meet me in the sky Martin Luther, the founder of the rap music reformation, or Martin Luther, the leader of the Black rock reformation? Anyhoo…
Already got my own clothes, already got my own shoes
I was hot before Barack, imagine what I’m gon’ do
Hello Miss America, hey pretty lady
Red white and blue flag, wave for me baby Uggh, and BeYonce taught him that.
Never thought I’d say this shit, baby I’m good
You can keep your puss, I don’t want no more bush
No more war, no more Iraq
No more white lies, my president is Black Obama won’t complete his term as president if any more of these songs are made
Jay-Z’s rendition is metrically built similar to Young Jeezy’s in that simple words are inserted with literal lightweight comparisons and contrasts. Jay-Z says no more Iraq, but you have to wonder where he plans on getting the fuel for his Porsche and his Maybach. The genius of the composition is that it is the rap music equivalent of chanting “U.S.A.”
Yeah, Barack Obama lives in the White House. “U.S.A.”
Rosa Parks, Martin Luther (King Jr. we’ll assume). “U.S.A.”
Miss America. “U.S.A.”
Four years of Black lies? “U.S.A.”
Let’s be clear, I’m not looking to hear something with the depth of the 95 Theses, or even the Letter from a Birmingham Jail because these are great and everlasting pieces of literature, you know, shit people took the time to write down. But if you really thought you had arrived at a moment in history that was truly important, why wouldn’t you use your talent to create something that is transcendent? Anybody can put some shit together that tells me what the color of their car is, and frankly, as rich as Jay-Z purports to be, I’m embarrassed that he thinks his money is still green and not something that is colorless, odorless and totally electronically manipulated. Seriously, do you think really wealthy people even sully their fingers with cash?
I’m not hating on Jay-Z either, as some of the lower life form so-called brains might utter in kneejerk unison. If there’s anyone I would want to hit the ball 450ft. over the centerfield fence, it would be the Jigga Man. He would redeem himself in my eyes from the man who created the anthem ‘Jigga My Nigga’ that I listened to a six year old sing while I stood on Fulton Street across from Albee Square Mall waiting for the B52 bus. Instead mighty Jay-Z struck out. I suppose it is equally fitting that Albee Square Mall has also been reduced to rubble. It also makes me wonder what has become of that child.
From the inauguration of what could be the first Hip-Hop president (bigger than African American), we are left wanting from everyone that was all too happy just to be at the party.
I just hope that someone will come to the artform again who respects the pad and the pen so that the true legacy will be recorded for history.
Nothing gets a rap dude more emo than his jewelry or his momma. I’m no rap dude, and I don’t own too much jewelry to get sick over, but I am blessed to still have my moms. Homegirl is situated in the ‘A’ right now and even though we are a million miles away we are still connected – psionically umbilical.
Almost two weeks ago I awoke on Sunday and I couldn’t walk. I literally could not get out of my bed. My right hip was in mind-numbing pain. It reminded me of being in a car accident. What the fuck?!? I’m as grown as any grown ass man when it comes to dealing with physical pain, but the onset of this was so sudden and so wrenching that I’m pretty sure I called out to my mom. I needed her to take the pain away with her mom magic. She is in Atlanta though and unfortunately, as much as I have read my X-Men comics, I could not teleport to her. I fell back in the bed and slept the entire day.
Later that evening, after I had reawakened, I did my normal weekend routine: urinate, open the ‘frige door, sit down to my computer and then check my phone. I noticed on my phone that I had missed a call from the lovely Chocolate Snowflake, and my cousin Jennifer from Atlanta had called me twice along with another unrecognizable number with a 770 area code. Two missed calls from Jenni is kind of like the ruh-roh, so I called up cuzzo without even listening to any of the messages beforehand.
DP: Jenn what’s up?
Jenn: Darry did you hear the msg?
DP: No, what happened?
Jenn: Your mom fell and broke her hip!
DP: Damn!
So that was what I was feeling earlier in the morning. I was hurting because my mom was crying out to me. I got the details from Jenni on what had happened. Dukes was making her post-Sunday services Wal-Mart run and fell down in the parking lot. She was stabilized in the hospital, but because of all the pain she was given morphine.
Damn.
You don’t ever want to eff with morphine, even if you eff with morphine. I swear that it’s like being outside of your body and watching the rest of the world pass you by.
I told my cousin that I needed her to make sure that my mother signed nothing without my consent. You need to have a security guard alongside your bed when you are in a fucking hospital. You could be in pain or trauma and one of those staffers or a doctor will hand you a clipboard that says you will donate your eyeballs to them while you’re still alive. Jenni and my mom’s BFF were on the case and they weren’t going to let her get the guinea pig treatment that happens to folks without an advocate.
When I spoke to Dukes the next day, her voice could not belie her misery. My mom is normally a bit anxious and concerned about minutae that isn’t important in the moment. So naturally, even though she’s laid up in the hospital, she’s worried about my younger brother.
Fuck him! Your shit is fucked the fuck up right now!
Of course I didn’t say that to my mom. That’s her baby. My eyes roll, but then we get to the business at hand, which is her surgery. We both agreed upon the replacement of the hip as needed, instead of the less remedial nuts and bolts job. Surgery is some serious shit though party people, especially when you are put under general anesthesia. Thank GOD my mom pulled through the procedure. She is in a rehab clinic now in Smyrna and I am getting my shit together to go see her.
I had planned on getting back to Atlanta in March for her birthday, but this circumstance has pushed the date forward, not unlike the release date for KanYe West’s 808’s & Heartbreak. So I am calling this trip multiple sclerosis and hip break. The theme will be to see if I can give Dukes the spirit and the courage to get back up on her own two. She is telling me that her multiple sclerosis is preventing her from rehabbing effectively. I don’t buy that shit. My mom is pissed that my dad got on the spaceship without her. She has family and friends in Atlanta but she is ultimately alone for the first time in damn near forty years.
Being alone is scary and depressing. Except for me. I’m a loner in my own right. Poor C.S. has to deal with my mood swings and my temper tantrums a lot too. She is a sweetheart of a woman. I hope I don’t lose her, but I lose them all eventually. In the meantime and between time I have to focus on getting my paper up to jump to the ‘A’. Sadly for me this means no sneaker acquisitions for a couple of months. I will need to be in a fucking rehab myself. What I also need is a little help from my friends.
Some of you have been very generous and kind to support this website by clicking the PrA’li button over to the right. I appreciate that from my heart and I kindly need you to touch that button again. I need to drum up the scrilla for a ticket to leave New York City on or around the 12th of February. The prices right now are approximately 2 bills so that should be something that we can all muster. I am not asking you to donate any more that $5 because this economy is fucked the fuck up for all of us. At the end of the day it is PayPal who wins since those bitches will take $.45 from the five spot.
I thank all of you folks for investing in this website with your money and also your time, because time is money. If you could do me another favor and leave me a note in the memo section about which drops you favor on this site and I will make sure that I create a post for you. Please don’t be shy either. Go into the archives and find something that you fux with. I have over 3100 drops here at DP dot com. There has to something that makes you spend your time with me.
Life goes on for us all, my internets family.
And I won’t stop the bodyrock until I am on that spaceship my damn self.
Yay for Saigon and Joe Budden. Much like the Gaza strip, rap music was going to be a bloody wasteland this first quarter. Fools were getting axed left and right as record companies were reeling from the effects of this bullshit economy. I was wondering if there was even going to be any label around to put out an album. Thankfully Amalgam and Koch are still around. These two labels are like the rats and roaches that will survive the nuclear armageddon. Animals small enough to just burrow into a hole and hardbody enough to eat any fucking thing they find. Good shit.
Round 3 of the Saigon vs. Joe Budden internets rap battle kicked off with Saigon’s ‘Pushing Buddens‘. Saigon finally took the advice from his corner to start matching the Budden body shots. Saigon was failing in the first two rounds by swinging wildly for the head and also for throwing low blows. In this round Saigon has targeted the body of Budden’s career output. This is a risky and dangerous move for Saigon since in the grand scheme of rap music he still doesn’t technically have an album. The good thing about rap music battles is that hearsay also has the weight of truth in the minds of most fans. So the hearsay that ‘Greatest Story Never Told’ will have amazing music from Just Blaze does count for something.
The fact that Saigon chose to get at Joe Budden using ‘Pump It Up’ was the weakest part of his round. Budden pwns that song outright. No one who puts any rhymes to that song will ever eclipse Budden’s verses. It Just ain’t possible (puns always intended – no Big Pun). Still and all Saigon turns in his best round so far in this battle and proves that he belongs in the ring with Budden. This fight is reminiscent of a great middleweight fight I saw years ago when Tommy Hearns fought Sugar Ray Leonard. Both these boxers were no longer in their primes but they put on one of the most entertaining fights I ever saw.
I see Budden as being a flashy Sugar Ray type boxer. [ll] to the name Sugar Ray internets. While Saigon is definitely more like Hearns, who had a devastating right hand when it connected. The best thing about the contrast in style from Saigon to Joe Budden is that just like this 1989 rematch between Leonard and Hearns it helped bolster a flagging sport. Boxing at the time had one legit superstar, the soft-spoken, downward-spiraling, maniacal Mike Tyson (Lil’ Wayne or KanYe West?) and the rematch up of these two veterans was a 12 round bout for the ages. Hearns wanted to repay Leonard for the TKO he suffered eight years prior (word to Aaron Pryor, natch).
Hitman Hearns (Detwah stand up!) was a beast, and early on he wore out Sugar Ray with punishing inside shots. He even knocked Ray down a couple of times. But Ray was the former Olympic gold champion and he had the heart and mettle to match the medal. Only several years earlier sonn had to have surgery because his eyeball was detached. This is hardbody shit my niggas. These two dudes banged for the entire 12 rounds. Baltimore vs. Detroit. Philadelphia Camden vs. St. Louis. Not the football teams my niggas. The cities. I don’t expect the rap music battle between Joe Budden and Saigon to actually result in a boxing match, and frankly I hope it doesn’t because that shit would be gheyer than a shopping bag full of cocks. The nigga that would want to see musicians knuckle up would secretly want to kiss them too.
At the end the fight concluded with a draw which pissed everybody off at first because we all wanted the judges to render a final decision and confirm whatever our positions were. Being unsatisfied I think me and my boys left the bar (everlasting shouts to Wiley’s) and went to wreak havoc in the city by stealing cars and doing whatever dumb ass teenagers do. If I had realized at the time that I was witnessing a classic I might have appreciated the judges decision that night. Now that I am old enough to look back at that moment I am better able to enjoy this competition now going on via .mp3 files. All I want is for the nature of competition to bring out the best in the competitors. Most of you witnessed that with Jay-Z and NaS. Here’s to hoping we get another one for the ages.
Shouts to the SFU crew 40 Diesel, Encyclopedia Black and HowFresh. From midtown Manhattan to the outer rim [ll] of NYC, Jamaica Queens and all points in between like Corona and Jackson Heights. All in pursuit of the freshness.
Diesel coined it “The thrill of kicktory, and the agony of defeet”. Big Diesel went in for real and copped a pair of retro Air Max 95’s in the OG colorway. Encyclopedia Black did his thing too. HowFresh wasn’t as impressed with the kicks we came across as much as he liked the Clarks we uncovered on Jamaica Avenue. I beasted out for the entire crew by copping four(4) pairs that were all Dunks.
HowFresh bristled.
Stay tuned for the nest Sneaker Fiends Unite NYC tour. NYC got it for cheap.
