I may have a few new readers who aren’t familiar with my line of “Why Music Sucks Now” posts. The basic point is me passing judgment on songs I feel are detrimental to the music industry, and society as a whole.
Today’s post, however, while focusing on a single song, will cover an entire album of horribly digitized voices and what can only be described as sound effects from any number of CGI based movies.
I’m speaking of course of Kanye West’s “Yeezus,” featuring the song “I Am A God.”
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| The album cover reflects the contents: blank. |
There are some, I’m sure (probably Kanye), who will hail this the greatest album of all time, and demand that it be lauded from rooftops the world over.
I am not one of those people.
The album, which seems as if it’s about 15 minutes long, is probably the most narcissistic piece of media I’ve ever laid hands on, and I’ve laid hands on me, so that should tell you something. The name itself, “Yeezus,” is some sort of play on “Jesus,” and in the album he refers to himself as Yeezus repeatedly. This is not only excruciatingly blasphemous in my book, but is also just downright idiotic, unless I’ve gotten Kanye all wrong and he’s actually referring to himself as the local country club gardener.
So let’s take a look at the lyrics of “I Am A God,” and break them down.
I am a godHurry up with my d*** massageHurry up with my d*** ménageGet the Porsche out the d*** garageI am a godEven though I’m a man of godMy whole life in the hands of godSo y’all better quit playing with god
Soon as they like you make more money like youBut kissing people a** is so unlike youThe only rapper who could compare to MichaelSo here’s a few hating a** n***** who’ll fight youAnd here’s a few hating a** n***** who’ll bite youI don’t wanna hear why some n***** like youOld n***** mentally still in high schoolSince the tight jeans they never liked youPink a** polos and a f***ing backpackEverybody know you brought real rap backNobody else swag n**** we the rat packVirgil Pyrex that’s the snapback, diamond shotgun shiningUntil the day I get struck by lightning
I am a godSo hurry up with my d*** massageAnd a French a** restaurantHurry up with my d*** croissantsI am a godI am a godI am a god
I just talked to JesusHe said ‘what up YeezusI said “s*** I’m chillingTrying to stack these millions”I know he the most highBut I am a close highMi casa es su casaThat’s that cosa nostraI am a godI am a god
1. He doesn’t waste any time at all getting right into telling you he’s a god. Naturally, as a deity, the first thing on his plate is a massage and a ménage, followed by a ride in his Porsche. Since I’ve thought very little about what I would do as a god, I can’t say that he’s wrong here, I can only speculate on what I think I would do, which would be to make sure Duke never loses again and drive way better cars than a Porsche.
2. Kanye then lets us know he’s a man of god, which makes all of this okay, right? It’s like when you make a racist joke then say it’s okay because you have Alaskan friends.
3. I’m pretty sure he compares himself to Michael Jordan here. As in, “Hey guys, I’m the Michael Jordan of rap.” Let’s clear one thing up here. Tupac is the Michael Jordan of rap. And no, I didn’t say “was” the Michael Jordan of rap, I said “is,” because he’s clearly alive and dropping a new album in 2014. Just ask this guy.
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| Keeping the investigation hot. |
4. Shout out to Mike Tyson with the “biting” lyrics. I guess maybe he could be calling himself the Michael Tyson of rap, but somehow I don’t think anyone would call themselves the Mike Tyson of anything, unless it’s biting. Like, “My two-year old is the Mike Tyson of the daycare we take him to.”
5. I don’t understand what being in high school has to do with tight jeans and pink shirts. He has to be talking about hipsters or something and I’ve been out of the high school game too long to know about it. If he’s saying he hates hipsters, then Kanye and I finally agree on something.
6. I literally had to Google what Virgil Pyrex was. The first thing that came to my mind was a Roman glass baking dish. Turns out it’s a clothing line of some sort, no word really on if it’s Roman, and they also make “snapbacks,” which if you’ve been living under a rock, are those idiotic hats the kids are wearing these days where the bills don’t curve. It ain’t natural, and I don’t like it.
7. I’m calling bs on the diamond shotgun. Ten to one says he doesn’t have one, and if he does, I volunteer to let him shoot me with it, with the caveat that my wife and kids have to pry the embedded diamonds from my riddled flesh to pay for my dream funeral, which will include The Rock and Vin Diesel propping up my embalmed body while Paul Walker reads the eulogy and Ke$ha sings “Amazing Grace” as live eagles fly screaming through the building.
8. You keep talking like you’re a god, and that lightning strike is going to happen quicker than you think.
9. Then Kanye has a conversation with Jesus, wherein he curses and explains to the Lord Almighty that he’s trying to “stack these millions,” which is almost a direct contradiction to what Jesus ever said to do. Is Kanye tithing on that money? Or is he buying more diamond shotguns? Then he tells us Jesus is the “most high,” but he a “close high.” I can’t even began to deconstruct the grammatical ridiculousness of that analogy.
10. Roughly translated, the Spanish here says “I’m a douchebag, really, I’m a douchebag. I’m bitter because Kim got pregnant fat and had an ugly baby and I’m really just taking it out on everyone by calling myself Jesus and using movie sound effects from Transformers 3 to make music in the loosest possible sense of the term.”*
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| Pew pew pew, lasers pew pew! |
So if you were planning on buying the new Kanye album, don’t. Unless you feel sorry for him for the whole ugly baby thing.
And if you somehow made it to this site expecting an objective and on-topic review, AND you made it this far into the post, I should probably apologize, but I hope you at least chuckled a few times.
*This is a solid Google Translate translation, also I took a semester of Spanish in college. You may or may not be familiar with the running series on my blog called “Why Music Sucks Now,” in which I dissect a song that is responsible for the trepidation I feel when I actually have to listen to the radio and not my iPod. I understand not everyone agrees with my fine tastes in music, as evidenced by a recent commenter on my “Rack City” who thinks I was conceived during the big bang.
Today’s installment of “Why Music Sucks Now” will focus on the recent hit by Carly Rae Jepsen, “Call Me Maybe.” Before we get into the lyrics, I have to say that every single time I’ve heard this song, the following image has popped into my brain.
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| Seriously. Am I the only one? Also, if you don’t get this, just keep reading. |
Now to present the lyrics.
I threw a wish in the well,
Don’t ask me, I’ll never tellI looked to you as it fell,And now you’re in my way
I’d trade my soul for a wish,Pennies and dimes for a kissI wasn’t looking for this,But now you’re in my way
Your stare was holdin’,Ripped jeans, skin was showin’Hot night, wind was blowin’Where you think you’re going, baby?
Hey, I just met you,And this is crazy,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
It’s hard to look right,At you baby,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
Hey, I just met you,And this is crazy,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
And all the other boys,Try to chase me,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
You took your time with the call,I took no time with the fallYou gave me nothing at all,But still, you’re in my way
I beg, and borrow and stealHave foresight and it’s realI didn’t know I would feel it,But it’s in my way
Your stare was holdin’,Ripped jeans, skin was showin’Hot night, wind was blowin’Where you think you’re going, baby?
Hey, I just met you,And this is crazy,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
It’s hard to look right,At you baby,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
Hey, I just met you,And this is crazy,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
And all the other boys,Try to chase me,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
Before you came into my lifeI missed you so badI missed you so badI missed you so, so bad
Before you came into my lifeI missed you so badAnd you should know thatI missed you so, so bad
It’s hard to look right,At you baby,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
Hey, I just met you,And this is crazy,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
And all the other boys,Try to chase me,But here’s my number,So call me, maybe?
Before you came into my lifeI missed you so badI missed you so badI missed you so, so bad
Before you came into my lifeI missed you so badAnd you should know that
So call me, maybe?
Okay, now let’s break this stinkburger down, shall we?
- The first four lines speak volumes. The lady makes a wish, tells us she won’t tell us what the wish was, looks at this dude, who is presumably what she wished for, and then gripes about him being in the way. It’s not, “Oh! Hey! You’re in my way that’s so awesome let’s do it!” It’s, “Oh, and now you’re in my way, great.”
- She’s trading her soul for a wish. I feel like Delmar in O Brother Where Art Thou? “For that you traded your everlastin’ soul?” Then she goes on to say “she wasn’t looking for this,” WHEN IT’S EXACTLY WHAT SHE WISHED FOR. Carly, sweetheart, you have to make up your mind. Then of course she complains about him being in the way again.
- The man is staring at her. I want to go out right now and stare at a woman and see what happens. What do you think would happen? I know what would happen. I’d get slapped. Or beat up by her boyfriend. Also, dude needs to patch his jeans. Then, Carly has the nerved to ask him where he’s going. She JUST told him that he was in the way. Now he’s trying to move, and he can’t do it because he’s probably stumbling over things, what with him staring at her and all, and she’s upset about him moving. Forgive me ladies, but this has “typical woman” written all over it.
- When we arrive at the chorus, Carly does three things for us. First, she tells us that there has been a short amount of time since they’ve seen each other, but she wants him to call her. Then she explains that it’s not her fault she can’t tear her eyes away from him, and she wants him to call her. Then she actually has the gall to brag about the fact that other guys are practically standing in line to holla at her, but again, she wants him to call her.
- After the chorus, Carly explains that ol’ dude takes a long time to call. In reality, I think this might have been half a day, tops, just because of her sense of time when it comes to giving dudes her number. You can’t tell me that if this was a guy, and he was singing the same lyrics, that he wouldn’t get put on stalker mode. And apparently, the dude isn’t really into her, possibly because of her forcing herself onto him all crazy like. Then, once again, she gripes about him being in her way. If he is STILL in her way, then the amount of time that has elapsed in this song is about thirty seconds, and it brings the whole “you took forever to call” line into stark, stalking reality.
- Apparently here, Carly is stealing something. This could be why the man isn’t that into her, because he doesn’t want to be called as a material witness.
- Chorus again, she asks him to call four more times. That’s eight times, and they’re standing right in front of each other still.
- Now Carly is telling this ol boy how much she has missed him, after only knowing him literally for only about thirty-nine seconds. I would like to, once again, ask you ladies how you would feel about a man singing these words to you. What would you say? What would you do? I think I can answer those questions. You’d mace the fool, kick him in the stones, run away, and tell your friends how terrified you were that time when you almost got raped.
- We go into the chorus again, she asks be called four more times, bringing the total up to twelve times in one meeting. Doesn’t Carly know that desperation is a stinky cologne? I feel like at this point she’s simply channeling her inner Andy Bernard.
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| Words to live by. That’s how I got married. |
In closing, this song has one redeeming quality, and that’s all of the tribute videos it has spawned. I’ll leave you with my favorite two, and my sincere wish that you never have to hear this song ever again after today.
| Photo credit |
A few months ago, The Youngest came over to my house to hang out, play some Call of Duty, and probably try to talk me into buying him booze.
The usual.
However, on this particular occasion he came in repeating the same phrase over and over.
“Rack city chick, rack rack city chick.”
If he said this once, he said it a hundred times that evening. He said it when he killed a guy in COD, he said it when our children talked to him, he used it to creatively answer questions, etc. At some point during the evening I finally took the bait and asked him what it was from.
“It’s this new song, man. It’s awesome.”
“Is it about boobs?”
“Yeah man. Boobs.”
As ridiculous as it sounds, that was all it took for my interest to be piqued. I mean, a song about boobs? Right? C’mon.
So the next day I queued it up on Spotify and had a listen. I picked the unedited version, and the following substance flowed into my brain and temporarily put me into some sort of catatonic state.
[Intro:]
Rack, rack, city b**ch, city b**ch
Rack, rack, rack city b**ch, city b**ch, rack
Rack, rack, rack city b**ch, city b**ch
Mutha on the beat
Hah!
[Verse 1:]
Rack city b**ch, rack, rack city b**ch
Ten ten ten twenties on ya titties b**ch
100 deep V.I.P. no guest list
T-Raw you don’t know who you f***ing with?
Got my other b**ch f***ing with my other b**ch
F***ing all night nigga we ain’t celibate
Make it sound too dope I ain’t selling it
Bar fresher than a motherf***ing peppermint
Gold Letterman last kings killing s**t
Young money young money yeah we getting rich
I Got ya grandma on my peepee (ha ha)
Girl you know what it is
[Hook: x2]
Rack city b**ch, rack, rack, city b**ch [x3]
Ten, ten, ten, twenties and them fifties b**ch
[Verse 2:]
I’m a motherf***ing star (star)
Look at the paint on the car (car)
Too much rim make the ride too hard
Tell that b**ch hop out, walk the boulevard
I need my money pronto
Get it in the morning like Alonzo
Rondo, Green got cheese like a nacho
If you ain’t got no @ss b**ch wear a poncho
Head hancho got my seat back
Nigga staring at me don’t get bapped
Got my shirt off the club too packed
It’s too turned going up like gas
God d**n pulled out my racks
Mike Mike Jackson nigga yeah I’m bad
Rat T-T-T-Tatted up on my back
All the hoes love me you know what it is
[Hook: x2]
Rack city b**ch, rack, rack, city b**ch [x3]
Ten, ten, ten, twenties and them fifties b**ch
[Outro:]
Throwing hunnids, hunnids
Hunnids, hunnids
Throwing hunnids, hunnids
Rack city b**ch, rack, rack city b**ch
Hunnids, hunnids
Throwing hunnids, hunnids
Hunnids, hunnids
Rack city b**ch, rack, rack city b**ch
(Rack, rack, rack, rack, rack…)
As you can see, I’ve had to do quite a bit of work on the censoring front, if only to protect the eyes of some of my younger readers. That aside, I counted about fifteen actual words throughout the whole song. Most of the time it just sounds like the singer, a Mr. TYGA, as it were, has a severe stuttering handicap that is triggered by the thought of a woman without a shirt on. Great stuff, this music of the younger generation.
Let’s break this thing down, shall we?
1. In the intro, we are introduced to this place called “Rack City,” which I have deduced to be a strip club somewhere close to Tyga’s place of residence. I’ll explain that later. It’s also when we are introduced to the artist’s speech impediment. At this point, I truthfully thought the whole song was just “rack city b**ch” over and over again.
2. “100 deep V.I.P, no guest list.” There are more or less one hundred people “in da club,” and everyone is a V.I.P. There are also no guests allowed, which won’t bode well for Tyga’s best friend “Lyon,” who is an up and coming music producer that has latched on to Tyga like a Lexington, KY resident on their favorite sectional.
3. Apparently at this point there are two ladies, both of which are his, performing some sort of sensual act on each other. This is where he points out that he is excellent at marathon love-making, which would be easy to do if you were never involved in the fore-mentioned tryst. He then tells us how fresh the bar is, which he likens to a peppermint, so I guess he means sticky. That makes sense. Then he moves on to tell us about having “relations” with your grandmother. Just seems an odd thing to talk about when there are a couple of ladies in front of him obviously willing to try anything once.
4. In the next verse, he tells us about his stardom, which is evidenced by the paint job on his vehicular conveyance. After that, he gives us a bit of practical advice by explaining that “too much rim make the ride too hard.” This is a proven fact, if your rims are too big, then your vehicle’s performance over rough terrain will be awful. He then immediately kicks a young lady out of his car and makes her become a prostitute.
5. “Get it in the morning like Alonzo, Rondo, Green got cheese like a nacho.” I wish I could tell you what that meant. Apparently Alonzo Mourning, Rajon Rondo, and this Green fella have a particular affinity for cheese like that on nachos. I also like nacho cheese. Assuming I’ve not missed any allegorical meaning here, I’m going to say that I’d get along well with those three guys.
6. The next line advises all the young ladies who don’t have a big rear end to wear a poncho to cover it up. I’d like to go ahead and tell you not to listen to that. To quote the amazing John Mayer, your body is a wonderland. Also, Tyga is obviously a boob guy, so what does her care about the rear end for? He then tells us not to get “bapped.” Upon consultation of Urban Dictionary, the act of getting bapped is to be hit harder than a thwap, but not so hard that it causes any real lasting injury.
7. “It’s too turned going up like gas.” This is the only part of the song I understand. Gas is high. Gas is real high, and it keeps going up. This is why I assume the club is close to Tyga’s house. He seems to be concerned with the increasing cost of travel, and when you combine that with strip club tips, he’s on the fast train to bankruptcy.
8. I think after all this is done he’s getting a Michael Jackson tattoo. I’m not 100% on that though, I may have mistranslated something. Seems as if the stuttering problem attacks again at this point.
9. Throughout the song, the amount of money that he’s been throwing at these young ladies has been steadily increasing. One can only assume that this is directly related to the amount of alcohol imbibed. The first time is was tens and twenties. Then he started throwing fifties. Now, at the end, he’s throwing “hunnids,” which is a one hundred dollar bill. Assuming that every mention of a denomination of money indicates what he’s thrown at the ladies, and assuming that “twenties” and “fifties” means two of each bill, then at the end of the evening he’s spent $1,610 at “Rack City.” Also assuming he just turned out the one prostitute at the beginning of the night, and the average nightly take of prostitute is around $615, and a pimp’s cut is around 25%, which equates to around $154, then the amount of money Tyga actually spent on this particular evening is $1,456.
10. The end of the song is just the word “rack” about six thousand times. Many artists choose to end their songs with a clever twist, a beautiful piece of poetry, or a sympathetic word. Tyga went the other way.
To sum up, the song is terrible. I won’t get into the whole “it’s degrading to women” argument, because that’s the music industry in general, with the exception of Adele, and she’s so depressing she doesn’t count. But seriously. “Rack City” is just one more example of why music sucks now. I started hearing about it sometime last week. “Rebecca Black this, Rebecca Black that. She’s going to be on the news, she’s started her own Twitter account, she’s taking the nation by storm.” Last week was a busy week, so I immediately filed her name under the portion of my brain marked “Things to Google,” along with the earthquake in Japan, the last person Chris Brown punched, and those pole dancers for Jesus.
When I decided I wanted to know a little more, I talked with Mandy about it. She said, and I quote: “Once you see it, it can’t be unseen.” So I pulled up youtube, settled back in my chair, and allowed the following lyrics to wash over me in a see of auto-tuned and mono-rhythmic chaos.
(Yeah, Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ark)
Oo-ooh-ooh, hoo yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Seven a.m., waking up in the morning
Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs
Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal
Seein’ everything, the time is goin’
Tickin’ on and on, everybody’s rushin’
Gotta get down to the bus stop
Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)
Kickin’ in the front seat
Sittin’ in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?
It’s Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin’ down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin’ forward to the weekend
7:45, we’re drivin’ on the highway
Cruisin’ so fast, I want time to fly
Fun, fun, think about fun
You know what it is
I got this, you got this
My friend is by my right, ay
I got this, you got this
Now you know it
Kickin’ in the front seat
Sittin’ in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?
It’s Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin’ down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin’ forward to the weekend
Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin’)
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today
Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after … wards
I don’t want this weekend to end
R-B, Rebecca Black
So chillin’ in the front seat (In the front seat)
In the back seat (In the back seat)
I’m drivin’, cruisin’ (Yeah, yeah)
Fast lanes, switchin’ lanes
Wit’ a car up on my side (Woo!)
(C’mon) Passin’ by is a school bus in front of me
Makes tick tock, tick tock, wanna scream
Check my time, it’s Friday, it’s a weekend
We gonna have fun, c’mon, c’mon, y’all
It’s Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin’ down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin’ forward to the weekend
It’s Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin’ down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun Lookin’ forward to the weekend[ From: http://www.metrolyrics.com/friday-lyrics-rebecca-black.html ]
Upon hearing the song AND watching the video, I came to the following conclusion. Anyone under the age of 15 that tries to make music should be shot in the face. The ONLY people I’d let slide on that law would be Taylor Swift and that Billy what’s his nuts kid that was big in country music until he hit puberty. You know, the one that sang about bullying before it was cool to kill yourself over being bullied. The “One Voice” kid. He was a mother lovin lyrical genius, and he made you THINK. Taylor Swift speaks for herself, and she does it beautifully. What is she now, 13? 14? Has to be that, she’s still an A-cup.
Anyway, I’m going to do sort of a lyrical breakdown of the song “Friday,” and once again explain to you just why music sucks so much now.
1. “Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs.” – This has to be blamed on the bombardment of vaginal cleansers on the market today. There’s no other explanation for it, and now these young girls are feeling pressured. It’s sad, really. Unless of course I’m misinterpreting that whole phrase.
2. In the video, she’s gonna have to ride the bus, but apparently she has some legal driving age buddies that pull up right behind the bus. Like they’re just following the bus to school, just to torment the kids getting on the bus because they can drive and the other kids can’t. That’s bullyin, y’all, and I won’t stand for it. Neither would that little Billy kid. Anyway, she’s got this dilemma. Should she take the bus or hop in her friend’s overcrowded convertible? In my opinion, if she spent more than 1 second or syllable thinking about it, I’m out. I’ll leave her in the dust, and hopefully the bus driver would too. Shoot, then she’s singing while she’s walking, and that’s tough.
3. All I have to say about the chorus is this: She ain’t lyin. I sing this song every Friday, and I can tell you that I am personally looking forward to the weekend. It’s Saturday right now, I was singing the chorus all day yesterday. The only difference between her and I is that I haven’t made a music video about it…yet. She sorta beat me to the punch on that one. Freakin creative teenagers these days, I’m still with The Groom, and blaming it on the hormones in the chicken.
4. Also during the chorus, she sort of teaches you about the days of the week. This makes me think it would be a good song to play in both Kindergarten and old folk’s homes. You know, to keep em up to date on the days of the week and their progression. There is a 93 year old man somewhere, all sexual excitement aside, that would love to watch that video just for it’s memory retention powers. I say that because once you hear the song once, as Mandy said, you can’t forget it. Not even Alzheimer’s can take it from you, which leads me to believe that Miss Black has stumbled onto some sort of cure.
5. She got a black dude to do a rap solo, a rap solo that will go down as possibly the whitest rap solo since the last time Wayne Brady did…well, anything. Turns out, this dude produces music videos for a bunch of little rich white girls that have daddy’s money but are not yet old enough to sleep their way to the top. In other words, he’s a got dang financial genius. If I was black and seemed harmless to white people, this is EXACTLY how I’d prepare for retirement in today’s crumbling economic development. Dude is probably set for life, and he’s probably banging the moms of all these rich white girls on the side. That’s win win.
6. Finally, I’d like to address the fact that she’s “partyin.” In all seriousness, how lame are 14 year old’s parties? If I ever have to go to one of those when I’m raising kids, I’ll probably fake sick. You can go to exactly 2 places. The skating rink or Incredible Pizza. (For the record, if the party in question is at Incredible Pizza, I’ll go.) All these hormone riddled teens stare awkwardly at one another while the girls talk about how cute the boys are except for that one kid with the acne who’ll later go on to build a space shuttle, and all the boys try not to stand up too quick because they’ve gotten a surprise erection while staring at little Kimmie’s C-cups. I’m telling y’all, IT’S THE CHICKEN. Meanwhile they’re all talking about how lame stuff is, and what they’re going to do on spring break, and how that one kid’s mom is too strict to be a chaperon.
So in closing, did this song need to be made? No. Does it suck harder than a single mom of 3 in a strip club? Yes. But seriously, leave this girl alone. She made a music video. I’ve been planning on making a music video for over a year now, and I haven’t done it. She not only has one upped me in the “gettin stuff done” department, she also probably has already blown my music video out of the water in both quality of the video and quality of auto-tune. Also, she totally had a better music video than you, unless of course you’re any band from the 90’s.
Rebecca Black, you’ll never read this, but if you do, I commend you for what you’ve done. Now. Please stop doing it.
Thanks.
I heard it the other day in my truck because I forgot my iPod and I was being forced to listen to the radio.
“Travis, you know you don’t have to turn on the radio when you’re in your truck.”
Yes, yes I do. Because with absolute quiet, my thoughts start to get loud, and that’s not good for anyone on the road. Trust me.
So the beat starts out alright, kind of a booty shaker, with a little techno pop thrown in, which is currently all the rage and is typical of music since 2005, but I don’t mind it sometimes. Sometimes you need to dance, right? And sometimes when you dance you need to be naked. Sometimes that helps you get through college. Sometimes that’s how you justify having low self-esteem. But all that is okay with me, because you’re dancing naked and I’m throwing dollar bills at your face. /tangent
Then the lyrics start. I’ve taken the liberty of copying and pasting them below, then providing you with some funny observations, which is what I do in these posts.
The song is called “Like a G6” and it’s sung by Far East Movement.
Lyrics to Like A G6 :
(feat. The Cataracs & Dev)
Hook
Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard
When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard
Sippin sizzurp in my ride, like Three 6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Like a G6, Like a G6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Verse 1
Gimme that Mo-Moet
Gimme that Cry-Crystal
Ladies love my style, at my table gettin wild
Get them bottles poppin, we get that drip and that drop
Now give me 2 more bottles cuz you know it don’t stop
(808) Hell Yeaa
Drink it up, drink-drink it up,
When sober girls around me, they be actin like they drunk
They be actin like they drunk, actin-actin like they drunk
When sober girls around me actin-actin like they drunk
Hook
Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard
When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard
Sippin sizzurp in my ride, like Three 6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Like a G6, Like a G6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Verse 2
From http://www.lyricsmania.com/like_a_g6_lyrics_far_east_movement.html
Sippin on, sippin on sizz, Ima ma-make it fizz
Girl i keep it gangsta, poppin bottles at the crib
This is how we live, every single night
Take that bottle to the head, and let me see you fly
(808) Hell Yeaa
Drink it up, drink-drink it up,
When sober girls around me, they be actin like they drunk
They be actin like they drunk, actin-actin like they drunk
When sober girls around me actin-actin like they drunk
Hook
Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard
When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard
Sippin sizzurp in my ride, like Three 6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Like a G6, Like a G6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Bridge
Its that 808 bump, make you put yo hands up
Make you put yo hands up, put yo, put yo hands up
(You can’t Touch this)
Its that 808 bump, make you put yo hands up
Make you put yo hands up, put yo, put yo hands up
(You can’t Touch this)
Hell Yeaaa, Make you put yo hands up, put yo put yo hands up
Hell Yeaaa, Make you put yo hands up, put yo put yo hands up
Hook
Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard
When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard
Sippin sizzurp in my ride, like Three 6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Like a G6, Like a G6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Okay. For those of you that are still with me after reading that nonsense, I’m here to help you make sense of some of it. I can’t possibly define every “word” used or give you the correct spelling of everything in one blog post. But I’m going to at least try to help you walk away with a little bit more of an understanding of why this song makes your butt shake but your eyeballs twitch and gives you a headache.
1. Defining the word “slizzard:” UD gives several definitions for this word, but the funniest by far has got to be “a very slutty lizard.” When I first read it, I thought maybe there was a blizzard somewhere, only with a lot of ice. Like a slippery blizzard. Then I thought slippery blizzard might be a type of drink. Kind of like a Slippery Navel and a White Russian put together. Then I thought about what goes into each of those drinks separately, and immediately wanted to throw up. Then I kept reading. Turns out, “slizzard” means getting drunk. Not just any kind of drunk though. According to one UD definition, it means “Getting toe up from the flow up.” I’m assuming that the correct spelling of that phrase is “tore up from the floor up.” But for all I know it could be a new dance move. Listen folks, if we want to get through this, we’re going to have to keep moving.
2. Sizzurp: This is a drink that consists of a Codeine based cough syrup, any fruit flavored soda, and a Jolly Rancher. This is a popular drink amongst idiots and high schoolers who hear idiots on the radio singing about drinking it. Thanks for the example there, Far East. Can we just go back to country music stars singing about getting whiskey drunk and beer sober? Please? Also, what do you think would be the best Jolly Rancher for something like that? I would think cinnamon would be the worst choice.
3. The first verse is all about consuming copious amounts of various liquor, (I’m assuming the sizzurp has been put away for the drive home) and then ordering more liquor. The second part of the verse goes on to discuss the fact that “sober girls act drunk” around them. That’s all it says. 4 lines of song, that’s all it tells us. They must be either a.) Really hot girls, or b.) Really not drunk but acting like it so techno music stars will take them home and have crazy sizzurp sex with them so they can get pregnant on purpose and have their babies so they can say, “You remember the song Like a G6? Yeah, my baby daddy is one of the people in that group. I don’t know which one. It was sort of a sizzurp gang rape party thing.” And then her friend can say, “Oooooh Gurrrrl! You so crazy!” Seems to me like a lot of people lose in that situation. But hey, do what you do I guess.
4. The second verse is pretty short and it basically talks about how they do this every night. Drinking and promiscuous sex every night. Then they glamorize that kind of lifestyle by putting it in a song with a catchy beat and hot women shaking their butts in a video. Speaking of, where do they FIND these chicks for these videos? Is there a factory in Akron somewhere? Anyway, I’m pretty sure that drinking every night is bad for you. I’m also pretty sure I can get medical science to back me up on that. Also, all that sex with different ladies means that someone is going to catch the HIV, and that’s not good for you either, unless you’re rich. Then HIV will make you look GREAT.
5. Finally I answer the question. What is a G6, and why is it so fly? First off, I’ll tell you what it isn’t. It isn’t a bird. It isn’t a car made by GM in 2004 bearing the surname Pontiac. It isn’t a type of can opener. It is this:
That’s right folks. It’s a plane. A plane that is very fancy I guess. The Gulfstream website says “it is quite simply, the gold standard in business aviation.” You can check out the specs on the plane here. You know, in case you’re interested in obtaining one of them. Because hey, you’ve already had your sizzurp, you’re gettin kind of slizzard, you got a bunch of sober broads around you actin like they drunk, and you have about 60 million that is burning a hole in your pocket.
Or is that the chlamydia?
P.S. I wrote this post because The Ginger that is Mandy asked me to. When I tweeted that I was going to do it, she acted a tad ungrateful and kind of sort of demanded I make the whole post about how awesome she is. While she is a very awesome person who lives in Detroit and spent a lot of time moping about how her boyfriend went to London lately, she is not the whole topic of the blog post today. She is, however, the whole topic of the P.S. So there, Mandy. Enjoy.
P.P.S Mandy is not psycho. I just wanted to clear that up. She’s a very nice person. She also didn’t ask me to write this.