A Fly Girl
Thirstin Howl III Knows How 2 Hit That
I was thinking of something the other day, something Thirstin Howl said to me once. He really made me stop and think when he said, "Yo, I done fucked a ugly bitch before, just 'cause she was fly."
I've been reminiscing a lot lately about that ol' fly shit, thinking back to when it all began. Besides the magenta dress from India with the little mirrors all over it I had with the matching shorty-pants I used to rock when I was 2, my first recollection of being fly was standing outside of my auntie and uncle's house on Norton Ave. I was watching my cuz and his crew busting backspins and windmills on their square of linoleum in the front yard, the sun was shining, blue Cali sky, green grass and palm trees swaying in the breeze, Hip Hop bangin from the ghettoblaster - and there I was, a pre-teen beauty queen replete with long ponytail, t-shirt, lavender cords and matching lavender Nike Cortez over white and lavender pom-pom socks. You really couldn't tell me shit.
Junior high brought a new sort of flyness to the game, and even though it was hard playing Powder Puff football with 2" long curved acrylic nails, I was doin' the damn thing just the same. With my red or burgundy lips, black eyeliner, mascara AND liquid eyeliner, and stone-cold beautiful visage, there was only one way to call me in Spanish... La Muneca. China Doll. Back then, it was all about the face. It didn't matter that my clothes were cheap and basically just jeans, t-shirts and sneakers. Or that I hadn't yet discovered accessories, acoutrements, and all the little extras that would later raise the fly bar. I was young enough, and fine enough, and fly enough, so that my face was enough to get me in the place.
High school was all about the brands. I had to step up my gear game. And step it up I did, with the help of a wonderfully handsome and O.G. gangsta named Kenji. He never had a problem giving me a fifty dollar bill before school, and a c-note after school; plus buy me whatever I wanted to eat or needed to wear. With the aqua metallic flake paint job on his 'Lac, plus the dual exhaust and racing engine, he increased my need for speed and gave me a passport to a futuristic and fresh new sort of fly. Crip to the death, even Kenji couldn't be mad when I showed up in the 'hood in my red leather Gucci boots, matching handbag, Gucci watch, my teen dream body poured into painted-on Guess jeans, fly Calvin Klein bra and panties bursting at the seams; the only distant memory of years past still visible were my red lips. It wasn't long before he introduced me to 14K bamboos and shrimp, diamond tennis bracelets, and sapphire-and-diamond rings and studs. In high school most girls compete to fit in. There was no competition. I won with my hands down. And wasn't I the lucky one? I hardly had to play Jezebel to get what I got. At least not with him.
I've been blessed with a good set of Karma when it comes to flyness. I've always had it, always will. I never needed a magazine to show me how to do it, or some type of "make me fly" magic pill. Even today, about to be 31 in a few days, having been ousted from the fashionista-heavy NYC scene, banished from Brooklyn, and transplanted to the Midwest with nothing but my wits and my name - I'm still fly. Too fly to be exact. I don't wear makeup anymore, and my sneaker collection is somewhere floating around the east coast. All my fresh-dipped gear has been lost in the shuffle. Even my trademark hair-past-my-ass is gone, shorn away to cut the dead people and ex-boyfriends out of its locks. I've put on a few pounds, and it's possible my age is starting to show. But if there's one thing I know, it's that my beauty is irrefutable and untouchable, irrevocable and omnipresent. My mind, whether in a state or totally lost/found, is divine, refined, and can't be undermined. My energy is intoxicating, that's why they call me Mary Jane. To put it simple and plain, I've got it made.I'll put it like this, I'm the antithesis of that ugly bitch Thirst fucked 'cause she was so fly... I'm simply too fly to be fucked.
Fallin' on Your Head Like a Tragedy...>
From Grand Groove to Black Market Militia, not too many MCs are really fuckin' with Tragedy Khadafi. Srrrrrrrusly.
Here's some spit from his new project with Killah Priest, Timbo King, and Hell Razah, Black Market Militia - the song's called Dead Street Scrolls
I write novels like Claude Brown
Manchild in a Promised Land
All the hood children gather round
Sun Tzu gave me The Art of War
Robert Greene gave me The 48 Laws,
The Art of Seduction is nothing
Assata told a life story,
Alex Haley showed me some Roots
My ancestors, those who came before me
Elijah taught me how to eat to live, not to live to eat
From the pig intestine, deduction of feet
King David gave me the book of psalms
Huey Newton taught me how to a man, stand up and bear arms
Learned the the ways of the prophet, from Kalilda Brahm
Mohammed Alai Salam, from the Qu'ran
Iceberg Slim taught me how to move like a don
William Cooper showed me the pale horses I studied with John Bay
Secret sciences and forces Exist all around us
My soldiers never fold
Black Market require readin' the Dead Street Scrolls
Cop it here
Trag, if U out there somewhere, get at me.
Love is Love
Damn, LL just hit me back. I think I pissed him off, he told me to...
Dear Yvette VS. I Need Love: The Dichotomy of LL Cool J
Dear Yvette Vs. I Need Love: The Dichotomy of LL Cool J
I won’t lie. The 5:10 am pickup and 2-hour tour of L.A.’s most cracked-out neighborhoods culminating with the arrival of me at school every morning in the ugly yellow bus with the click-click-click drop-down windows was made bearable by only one thing. And one thing only. LL Cool J records playin on 1580 KDAY. I Need Love. Dear Yvette. And the unforgettable Kanday. It was really that beat, then the I – Feel – Good….About Kandaaaaay. I – Feel – Good. I almost felt like he was speaking to me, or about me,
She's the talk of my room whenever I'm in my room
My little brother loves her more than his favorite cartoon
Her body's bad, the girl's built, skin like silk
Wet, steamy and warm just like a hot cup of milk
She's all the way live, keeps me satisfied
I don't go outside, I like to stay inside
Her ways are like a angel, with bright white wings
And I'm crazy 'bout the way Kanday shakes her thing
Wouldn't leave her for nothin, only a crazy man would
That's why I had to tell ya that (I - feel - good)
And since I was always hated-on, from day one, and always the one girl in the crew or the gang, I heard something of myself in Dear Yvette as well…
B-Boys are hard on the boulevard
The Reverend at the church said you was barred
Homeboys on the block love you a lot
You're a real famous freak whether you like it or not
So before you start walking and your beak starts squawkin'
let me explain to you who is talkin'
I'm L.L. Cool J from around the way
You boogie down to my records almost every day
Go a hundred miles an hour when you're standin' still
You're faster than my Caddy when it's goin' downhill
But I’d say it was I Need Love that set the bar, and gave all us fly young ladies a false hope for the future. Hope that a boy as fine, and fly, and sexy, and with as nice of a body as LL Cool J (then, now he scares me with all those muscles) would one day say things like this to us. The promise he made is like a dream deferred, like a raisin in the sun. It’s like a young Muslimah’s dream of all the gifts under the non-existant X-mas tree. He planted a seed of discontent in all of our young lady minds when he said:
See what I mean I've changed I'm no longer
a play boy on the run I need something that's stronger
Friendship, trust honor respect admiration
this whole experience has been such a revelation
It's taught me love and how to be a real man
to always be considerate and do all I can
Protect you you're my lady and you mean so much
my body tingles all over from the slightest touch
Of your hand and understand I'll be frozen in time
till we meet face to face and you tell me you're mine
If I find you girl I swear I'll be a good man
I'm not gonna leave it in destiny's hands
I can't sit and wait for my princess to arrive
I gotta struggle and fight to keep my dream alive
I'll search the whole world for that special girl
when I finally find you watch our love unfurl
I need love
It was around this time I first experienced heartache/heartbreak, and I really got to see some of the evil that men do live and in living color. (I was still too young to realize that my Daddy already had given the worst example of all.) I started to realize, there is no middle ground – it’s either pimp or man-hoe, suave or geeky, strong or weak, love or hate. So by the time Walking With a Panther came out, I was hardened, devoid of my previous naivete. Still, nothing could have prepared me for this…
I was at the mall, sippin' on a milkshake
Playin' the wall, takin' a break
Admirin' the girls with the bamboo earings
Baby hair and bodies built to swing
That's when I seen her
Her name was Tina
Grace and poise kinda like a ballerina
I said, "How you doin', my name's Big L
Don't ask me how I'm livin', 'cause, yo, I'm living swell
But then again I'm livin' kind of foul
'Cause my girl don't know that I'm out on the prowl"
To make a long story short, I got the digits
Calls her on my car phone and paid her a visit
I was spankin' her and thankin' her, chewin' her and doin' her
Layin' like a king on sheets of satin
That's what time it is, you know what's happenin'
She had a big ole booty, I was doin' my duty
I mean, yo, I admit that my girl's a cutie
But Tina was erotic, Earl's my witness
With the kind of legs that put stockings out of business
When I went home, I kissed my girl on the cheek
But in the back of my mind it was this big butt freak
I sat my girl down, I couldn't hold it in
And said to her with a devilish grin...
TINA got a big ole butt
I know I told you I'd be true
But TINA got a big ole butt
So I'm leavin' you
TINA got a big ole butt
I know I told you I'd be true
But TINA got a big ole butt
So I'm leavin' you
THEN, after leaving his girl for Tina, this knucka go ‘head and cheat on Tina with Brenda!!
Tina busted in my house while I was eatin'
You know what I said
Too bad you caught me cheatin', but...
BRENDA got a big ole butt
I know I told you I'd be true
But BRENDA got a big ole butt
So I'm leavin' you
Now Brenda, that man-stealing bitch shoulda known that karma was fixin’ to jump bad with her, but she still fucked with Cool James…
I walked in the place, everybody was lookin'
And shrimp and steak wasn't the only thing cookin'
I sat down to eat, ordered my food
I said to the waitress, "I don't men to be rude
But I'll take you on a platter"
She said, "You got a girl," I said, "It don't matter
You look like you're tastier than a pipin' hot pizza
What's your name?" She said, "My tag says Lisa"
I said, "O.K., you're smart and all that
But when you get off work, yo, I'll be back"
She looked at me and said, "Make yourself clear
L, where we going?" I said, "Right here"
She looked kind of puzzled, I said, "You'll see"
I pulled up at ten on the D.O.T.
When she walked out the door, I threw my tongue down her throat
Pushed her back inside and pulled off her coat
Laid her on the table and place my order
And gave her a tip much bigger than a quarter
On and on to the break 'a dawn
All over the restaurant, word is born
I heard somebody coughin', I checked my watch
I couldn't believe it said nine o'clock
I grabbed my pants, put on my Kangol
Who did I see, Oh, yo, it was Brenda
Yo, she worked at Red Lobster but I didn't remember
LISA got a big ole butt
I know I told you I'd be true
But LISA got a big ole butt
So I'm leavin' you
Still, as always, LL sent a confusing, baffling, and often mixed message with One Shot in Love. Since he’d had four shots on Big Ole’ Butt, it was really a conundrum…
Did you ever notice - everytime you fall in love
and it seems like you finally met the perfect match
Everything is perfect, it seems divine
but for some strange reason, there's always a catch
It's a one-way relationship, it hurts inside
One person smirks while the other one cries
Butterflies in the stomach of the one whose in love
It cuts like a knife, the truth mixed with lies
Physical and mental, those are two different loves
Physical's a moment, mental is forever
If the physical fades and gets weak, all of a sudden
Remember, it's the mental love that keeps you together
You gotta be strong and endure the hard times
Cause af-ter hard times, good times, always follow
And when you're kissin and huggin and makin love
treat that person like there's no tomorrow
One shot at love (One shot at love)
Flash forward to modern-day LL, and I’m over it. My heart is cold. My high school sweetheart (who cheated on me with a nasty, blue-eyed, scraggly lookin’ flat ass, no tittie havin’ chick named Marika) committed suicide by hanging himself in his estranged baby’s mother’s parent’s garage. I’d been hurt eight ways to Sunday, nine times out of ten. By this time, I’D even done some foul shit to some good men. I finally realized that my love affair with LL Cool J was over. I realized that whatever he had under his hat, it wasn’t for me. He’d tricked me with psalms of love, caresses of sensuality, and a promise of something Bigger and Deffer. But in actuality, LL was just like a lot of dudes. He knew deep in his heart that he needed love, but the external manifestation of that need ‘caused him to have ego trips. So he flipped the script, taking his internal feelings of caring, warmth, and understanding into an overt persona full of quips, tricks, licks, flips, dicks, chicks and hips. He said he needed love, but all he wanted was sex. So LL, I bid you adieu, and just to let U know, you’ll never ever get to taste my flava Apple Cobbler. Believe that!
Turn that hair 'round, buck them hips
Love when your hair get stuck to your lips
Apple cobbler sweet and thick
I'm gon' eat you 'til I'm sick
Yo' dessert is worth a grip
I admit you make me trip
Make me wanna run to the mall like I'm a trick
I can't believe you're makin a baller have a fit
Trippin, switchin past my clique
Lick that juicy, ask my clique
Stretch them jeans girl make them fit
Make me go outside and pit
You know me, my cake is sick
Me and Timbo makin hits
Apple cobbler, thick and rich
Just how hot can one girl get?
Left to Right - Christie Z Pabon (Tools of War owner and wife of Popmaster Fabel), DJ/cratedigger Ms. Shing-A-Ling (from Japan), Miz Miranda Jane (Journalista/Editrix/Vocalist), Pri the Honey Dark (MC, Producer, member of the Anomolies and Hip Hop Mom), and DJ Kuttin Kandi (5th Platoon, Anomolies). Chillin' at RockSteady Anniversary...>
When I was coming up, a B-Girl was just that, a breaker, a dancer, someone who could pop, lock, tut, and freak the same moves the B-Boys was bustin on the dance floor. In L.A. where I went to school we had 2 opportunities to see B-Girls rock - the lunchtime dances DJ'd by the L.A. Dream Team and KDAY, or our every-other-Friday field trips to World on Wheels (which would be The Skate Key, if it was in the Bronx instead of South Central). A B-Girl named Asia One moved to L.A. and really got it poppin', setting off an event called B-Boy Summit which spanned 10 years (www.bbboysummit.com). L.A. MC Medusa was one of the illest poppers, it's amazing how much talent one woman can have.
I could go on and on, but the point I'm trying to make is that nowadays, women have been marginalized in Hip Hop and bitchified/hoeified so much in Rap - now we're ALL B-Girls. Anyone reppin' in any of the elements, even Bambaataa's "5th" element, Knowledge; or some of the secondary or tertiary branches on Hip Hop Culture's family tree - Hip Hop journalism, visual/graphic art, the music business, fashion, filmmaking, etc. We're all here, doing our thing, but we're united because of one thing. We all have a pussy, we all have a period each month, and we all have pain and pleasure in our lives. We're the mothers, aunties, sisters and grannies of this shit. If we don't do it, no one will. The next time you see a little girl who's mama lets her watch too much TV start to drop down and get her eagle on, think about this. A bitch is a bitch, but a B-Girl's the only one who can save the world.
SEEKING: DIGITAL IMAGES > GRAF GIRLS
SEEKING: DIGITAL PHOTOS OF GRAF WALLS PAINTED BY WOMEN AROUND THE WORLD
for B-Girl Be: A Celebration of Women in Hip-Hop VISUAL ARTS EXPO,
opening April 22nd at Intermedia Arts. The gallery and event run April
- June 2005. I am producing a projection of walls (and buses, trains,
planes, any public spaces) painted by women around the world that will
loop in the gallery for the two-month long event. High resolution
images preferred (300 dpi, but will accept 72dpi and up). There is no
limit on the number of submissions per artist.
>> Please LABEL IMAGES (or note in body of email) - artist name and
location of wall (city/state/country).
>> EMAIL images by APRIL 1 to: email@example.com
or mail a CD to:
Attn: B-Girl Be / Rachel Raimist
2822 Lyndale Avenue South
Minneapolis MN 55408
For more info on the event check www.intermediaarts.org/bgirlbe.html
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B-Girl Be: A Celebration of Women in Hip-Hop
Multimedia Expo - April 22 - June 12, 2005
B-Girl Summit: June 3-5, 2005
@ Intermedia Arts, Minneapolis
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~http://blog.lib.umn.edu/raim0007/RaeSpot/
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Takin' it Back to the Essence...Waaaaay Back
From the dearly beloved (web)pages of Urban Expose... Circa 1990-something
Okay are y'all ready for a feminist tirade, B-Girl style? If not, skip to the next post. I am SO SICK of these fucking magazines and websites. I don't wear makeup. I wrap my hair in a bun or wear a headwrap. I wear mens shoes, mens clothing, and women's undergarments. I KNOW for a damn fact I am not the only female who gets down like this. I want a magazine that represents for Queens, Earths, B-Girls, etc. I want to read interviews with Kuttin Khandi and DJ Pam and DJ Lazy K. I want to read interviews and Q&A's with Medusa, and Bahamadia, and Sarah Jones. I want a publication - print or online - that deals with family. Father and Mother and Children. I want a magazine with vegetarian recipes, and home gardening tips, and essays about refinement, culture or polygny. I don't want makeover tips. I don't want gossip. I don't want lil kim or foxy brown. I don't want weeve advertisements. I don't want acrylic nail coupons.
I want a magazine that calls Jennifer Lopez out for having no knowledge of self, and for having no political involvement (Hey Jen, learn about Vieques, okay?). I want a magazine that is not afraid to dis lil kim for her blonde wigs and blue contacts! I want to read about positive women in the industry like Zenobia Simmons (publicist and writer representing for longer than most of y'all been listening to Rap music), Mona Lisa Murray (one of the few women putting it down in Marketing and Radio Promotions), Rachel Raimist (director and filmmaker of the film about women in Hip Hop "Nobody Knows My Name", Christie Z-Pabon (B-Girl and former events coordinator of the DMC World Championships), Asia One (B-Girl and organizer of the B-Boy Summit), and the like. Am I the only one who feels this way? If there are any VC's reading this, hit me on the email - I'm down to be the managing editor for such publication. On this one, I will work for free and for the upliftment of my gender. Word.
The Illest MC U Never Heard...>
Just to let U know it's not all woosty, femistaisms up in this piece...
Check this kid, TRUNKS. I don't have too much audio on him but if U wanna hear more email me 4 sho.http://www.hieroglyphics.com/sounds/the_prose/
Scroll down to third song "Pole Position"
He's also on this albumhttp://www.bigdada.com/release.php?id=708&search=trunks#1
Hit link for Track # 10 "LOCKJAW"
Don't say I didn't warn U.
Native to the Americas?
How many years has it been since ya'll stole their land?
How many years did you think it would take
He kept telling me “Be easy, Ma.” So I made it real hard for him. I played hard to get. I wouldn’t let him hit it, even though I was wet. I’d just sit there, buck naked, and let his ass sit there and sweat. He was soft inside, acting like he was cold. He told me “Stay on your toes, I’m hard on hoes.” I told him, “Well, I’ll let you know if I see one of those.” It was a whole lot of push and pull, a tug of war of words. After awhile I just said, “Don’t push me, ‘cause I’m close to the edge.” “Yeah, well, I’m tryin not to lose my head,” he said. I gave him a lot of ands, ifs, maybes and buts. He told me he was really just out for the guts. But I wouldn’t give him none, and it drove him nuts. Besides, I knew if I kept my eyes on the prize, one day he’d finally realize.
Then one day, he called me from jail. The next day I got the kite he had sent in the mail. Now if this ain’t the greatest love of all, I don’t know what is. I put up my house for his bail. When he came home, I finally gave him some tail. When he was on house arrest with the ankle bracelet, I let him pass me work over the fence. When I brought back the money he kept the dollars, but I kept the sense. He only remembers that night in the hole, I just keep hoping he don’t violate his parole. He was playing me with some other bitch, I was just playing the role. He slay me with that shit. For real though. He wanted me to be his kitchen slave. I told him if I didn’t love him so much, I’d microwave. Everyone’s doing it, it’s all the rage. “Well if everybody jumped off a bridge, would you jump off one too?” he asked me. He called me his boo. I told him go jump off a bridge, and stop acting new. “I know about them other chicks, the ones on the lollipop, trying to get in their licks,” I told him. “I ain’t about that,” I said.
Then I showed him. I met up with money he cop weight from, and I blowed him. Hit him off something lovely, as a matter of fact. “Where were you baby?” he asked when I got back. Now if I told him the truth he’d catch a heart attack. So I just said, “Are you hungry darlin’? Let me get you a snack.” Later that night, when we were in bed, I was just trying to dream, but he woke me up instead. We were burrowed under the covers, fire crackling in the hearth. He said “Woman, let’s get married.” I couldn’t say it, but I thought it, “I wouldn’t marry you if you was the last knucka on Earth.” You won’t catch me nine months knocked up with his child, about to give birth. He’s just temporary, something to pass the time. To him I’m very necessary, something too divine. In the beginning, he knew he wasn’t winning. He should have bounced out before we started sinning.
Now I just tell him, “Do what you want, be what you are.” I know I should break out, before this goes too far. But love don’t live here anymore, I’m just wishing on a star. All this heartbreak, it was just in the cards. See papa was a rolling stone, he showed me the evil that men do, how they leave you alone. He left my mama the house, but she said “It’s not a home.” Now we standing back to back, instead of soul to soul. We both know we’re losing, but we keep on movin’. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, you feel so good.” It’s always the same thing, he’s got money on his mind and sex on the brain. If I thought he’d listen, maybe I’d explain how my love is a gun. That he’s gonna need a bulletproof soul. I’ve still never seen a man cry, and long ago I stopped asking why. I have a gift, to overlook the whatifs. If a man ain’t a hardcore killer, he’s a punk and a sissy. If I looked more like Jada, then maybe he’d kiss me. If I hadn’t did him so dirty, then maybe he’d miss me. If I wasn’t a stranger, I’d be pissed how he dissed me. If I was one of them bitches, I’d be acting all prissy. If I was one of them hoes, he’d be like “get on your knees and please me.” But I ain’t, so he think “all this bitch do is tease me.” And he know I don’t, he just talkin real greasy.
But he ain’t got nothin’ to say, besides, “Damn, Ma, be easy!”
I look in your eyes, and I see the beauty. How could anyone do anything negative to you? They see that beauty and they say, hmmm…what can I do to bring negativity?
Never thought of my self / As spiritual / Until I met a man / Without a soul / Til that day / I didn’t know / Floating on my clouds / Playing my heavenly role / Today it ain’t no mystery / I recognize the God in me / Appreciate my energy / Long for our synergy / To be your symmetry / That one day / My soul just opened up / Like petals on a flower / The truth that holds the power / Right before dawn / Is the darkest hour / Even today / Sometimes they float by me / In my dreams / Things are not as they seem / My mind fills with the silence / Of their screams / And I awaken, shaken / So cold it seems / Until I open my eyes / To the sunbeams / And your warm caress / And your tenderness / Erases the marks / Of their soullessness /
You see I never / Though of my self / As spiritual / Until I saw a man / Without a soul / All those emotionless faces / No friends / Just high places / Sick from too much money / Devoid and racist / I seen a sea of empty faces / Eyes without a soul / Eyes without pain / Dark clouds inescapable / Incapable of releasing their rain /
I was just looking out / For one of a like mind / When I stopped looking / You were easy to find / My eyes touched yours / In another place / A deep soul and mine / Intertwined / My completeness of spirit / A new world born to me / Completely divine / Oh, how refined / Solid as rock / Yet sweet as honey / Finally brought to fruition / Everything my minds eye / Said I would see / Finally the proof / Of my intuition / Inescapably / Now my spirits fly free / Only if I look closely / Can I still see / Those without a soul / But now they can’t see me / You see, they can’t see me…
Wake up baby…talk to me…open your eyes…I’m here now
(U know who U are)
Aight, I said it, I meant it, I'm here to represent it. If I'm meant to be seen not heard, so be it. But holla if U hear me...http://kfai.org/features/iwd_2005.htm
Scroll on down to B Girl Radio, put your headphones over your ears, and chill the fuck out, B. What's your aural fantasy?
Mama - The Prequel
In the beginning, mama gave birth to the soul children. And the blues children. And the jazz children. Be-Bop, Rock N Roll, Soul, Rhythm and Blues… Then one day, mama gave birth to the Hip Hop generation. She said, ain’t nothing wrong with holdin a spray can in your hand, chile. Go ‘head baby, uprock, jump bad, backspin and windmill til your soul feels free. It’s alright with me baby. Rock steady, now. Put that good black vinyl record in your hand, and cut, scratch, transform til the break of dawn, sugar. It’s alright with your mama, now go on. You just pick up that microphone and say them rhymes puddin’, it sho’ nuff sounds good to me!
Well, it’s been a few decades, and Mama ain’t quite in the same selfless mood when it comes to Hip Hop. It’s not Mama’s fault, Lord no, you know that woman loves the babies and the grandbabies, and even the great grand babies, that’s Ma Dear for you. It’s just that she come up in a time when all this dis-re-spect wasn’t called for (well it still ain’t) and she frankly just ain’t used to that language, Baby. All those bitches and hoes and well what does a damn garden tool and an old tired female dog got to do with Hip Hop no how? Maybe some of that good hoe cake bread to go with that fried fish and them good greens…
So around came a cold winter ‘round about 2005? Yeah, sometime around that time. There was a whole lotta snow, and a whole lotta cold. And mama had some time to her self to just marinate and think on this whole situation. So she called up Granny, and she called up Auntie, and she called up Cousin Lady, and Ma Dear, and Baby Girl and she said, babies, we got to have us a little talk. A little sit-down just amongst us women folks. But let’s wait til June, it’ll be a little warmer then, maybe some sunshine will ameliorate the situation.
Now, mama ain’t playin. She just wanna hear all the ladies reach a consensus, then it’s time’s up. Play time is over. You on some serious punishment. Go outside and get a switch. And get your ass ready for that whuppin’, ‘cause you been had it comin’ and if you don’t know, now you know.
It’s a new day. A new dawn. Father Time’s been actin’ up a storm, and Mother Nature’s just about had it up to here. She’s on some real “Ladies First” shit right about now. Seriously, Mama gave birth to the Soul Children. Buddy’s fine and all that, but a pussy ain’t nothin’ but a cat. And you don’t beat on nothing but a ball with a bat. Now, ya’ll KNOW better! You was tryin’ to get over on Mama, and you had your turn. Now playtime is over, and suckas burn to learn. You’ll get no easy props over here, and you’ll get up on the good foot to give her some R-E-S-P-E-C-T when she get home. Papa’s got a brand new bag, and it’s a man’s world, but always remember this – it wouldn’t be nothing, NOTHING, without a woman or a girl. So take it back to the old school, you B-Boy and we’ll B-Girl. When we’ve finally found Peace watch a Love unfurl. Face it…you need love. Thugs need hugs, not drugs. Tricks are for kids, but this is grown folks music…so if you’re ready, come go with me. I hope that we can be together soon.