July 21, 2005

Discussion Question: 50's "Patiently Waiting" is the only good song ever produced by Eminem, and this is only because the hook cleverly rides the cookie-cutter "this-is-what-it-would-sound-like-if-a-string-quartet-was-also-an-army-regiment-and-they-marched-in-a-vaguely-menacing-but-also-tedious" Em-produced beat. Okay, that wasn't really a question, but I urge discussion nonetheless.

Further 50 musing: when I googled the lyrics for "In Da Club" to fact-check my last entry, several of the lyrics sites (like this one transcribed the lyrics in the bridge as:

My flow, my show brought me the doe
That bought me all my fancy things
My crib, my cars, my pools, my jewels
Look nigga I got K-Mart and I ain't change

There's a couple fun things going on here. The first and more forgivable one is the misspelling of "dough," which leads us to imagine that the whole goal of getting shot a bunch of times and cooking crack and polishing his flows in prison was so that he could one day have a couple of G Unit boys present him with a big-eyed nubile female deer. Just the image of Lloyd Banks and Young Buck stumbling through the woods, led by the trucker-hatted crusty old white hunter they've paid to be their guide, as he lowers his rifle and turns to them and says "You boys want this deer for what again?" makes it all worthwhile.

Then: Look, homie, I got K Mart and I ain't change. The real lyric is I done came up and I ain't change, but that's not important right now.

What is important: 50 Cent in the backseat of the family car, age eight, driving through Long Island on the way back to Queens after visiting some relatives upstate. They pass a KMart, and the little boy is entranced by the big red K and by how much delicious merchandise must be packed inside a place that huge, entranced by the signs promising ridiculous discounts, obsessed with cold hard economics even at that young age. He thinks: I will have you, KMart. I will have to shoot a lot of people and sign to a record label founded by an elder-statesmen producer god and his controversial white protege and I will have to get an absurd amount of groupie blowjobs, but I will have you.

Cut to the present day: 50 has his KMart. It's in Utica. Modern day bullet-proof-vested jacked-beyond-belief 50 is lecturing a stockboy on the proper technique for facing the products to acheive maximum consumer appeal, in the smooth, half mumbled cadence that has made him a millionaire many times over, not to mention won him this flourescent barn/shrine to consumerism and his darling pet deer Tec-9: C'mon, Kyle. You can do better 'n this, Kyle. Label facing out, man, simple as that. I ain't playin' with you, Kyle. Perception equals reality, man, and if people perceive that 50 Cent runs a crappy store, then you tryin' to tell me that's reality, Kyle? You fuckin' up my paper, Kyle, and when you fuck with how a man eats--

Around this time the store intercom crackles to life and The Game proceeds to diss 50 mercilessly for thirty-two perfectly composed impeccably delivered bars. Thirteen bars in 50's deserted Kyle and is on his way to find Game, but not without stopping to direct a woman in a kitten sweater to the Housewares section and swinging by the Sporting Goods department to get a crossbow. There he sees Young Buck, Lloyd Banks, and the hunter, who have all become close friends and are planning their next wilderness sojourn. Banks insists the hunter has a HOT demo, perhaps 50 would like to hear him freestyle, his demo has this ILL line where he compares wack MCs to the plane Skynyrd went down in, but 50 isn't listening.

He's simultaneously drawing an arrow back in the crossbow and on his walkie-talkie, calling in advance for a blood clean-up on Aisle Hater.

Posted by DC at July 21, 2005 01:58 AM

buy clonazepam

Posted by: buy clonazepam online

Your website is very the most informative. I loved your website a lot. Thank you.

Posted by: loan

Designer Handbags

Posted by: omega watches

fake rolex watches

Posted by: watches

replica omega

Posted by: fake watch
Post a comment

Remember personal info?