October 30, 2014

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Torii MacAdams once had Defari as a substitue teacher

Everything I’ve learned, I’ve learned from Gangsta Boo, the First Lady of Memphis Rap. Wait, that’s actually not true. I may have an English literature degree buried under books at my mom’s house, but, I swore that my education and edification didn’t have to stop when I graduated. Thanks to Gangsta Boo and Beatking’s new mixtape Underground Cassette Tape Music, I’ve learned some invaluable lessons about life and love.

Lesson 1: Routine is the key to a long, healthy life.

Gangsta Boo’s return to the near forefront of rap’s collective consciousness is somewhat incredible. Rappers’ careers rarely have a notable, dignified second act, and women’s difficulty in carving out a niche in rap music has been widely noted. A 35-year old female rapper putting out a successful mixtape and having a guest verse on perhaps the biggest rap release of the year (Run the Jewels 2) in the same month, is, to wit, unprecedented. So, what’s the secret to her longevity? According to “Ain’t Shit Changed,” a stress-free life of wealth and regular bowel movements– “Still gettin’ money, still gettin’ to the check/I’m still shittin’ on ‘em, you will never see me sweat.” Beatking’s approach is similar: “Still run the game, ain’t shit changed/Laid back in a Phantom getting brain/New money, gun the same/Still get paper, still ‘Fuck haters,’ ain’t shit changed.” Beatking should open a retirement home based on these tenets. I’d move in today.

Lesson 2: “If she old enough to bleed, then she old enough to breed.”

Actually, Lil’ Flip, that’s terrible advice. Moving on.

Lesson 2: The state of your bank account will only change the type of hate you receive. Hate is inevitable.

Gangsta Boo has led much of her career on the fringes of mainstream acceptance, and fluctuations in popularity have imparted her with some wisdom about the malintent of outsiders. “When you broke, they disgrace ya’/When you on, then they hate ya’.” Gangsta Boo has been “on” before– Chapter 2: World Domination sold over 800,000 copies– but her 2001 split with the Triple Six was reportedly over finances. Boo is “on” again, and her eye for haters remains, if not sharp, highly active. Last week she falsely accused me being a “#PartTimeHater” on Twitter.

Lesson 3: Love thy automobile, love thyself. Comin’ down cleanliness is next to Godliness.

I am surely a sinner in the hands of an angry SLAB God. Were I to pop the trunk (technically a hatchback), you wouldn’t see neon, TVs, or a subwoofer. You’d see two pairs of Nikes, and a tiny pair of FC Barcelona shorts I should probably stop wearing to the gym. 8ball and Paul Wall make respective guest appearances on “Slab Crusher” and “Roll Hard” to inform the unclean masses like myself that automobile maintenance is religious duty. Between high-pitched Pimp C samples on “Slab Crusher,” 8ball claims that, on the six screens in his car, passersby can “Watch TV when my trunk lean/During the week they show pornos, on Sunday they show Joel Osteen.” Paul Wall has a similar fervor: “Three times I done rolled SLAB of the year/ Fifth wheel bow down, time for prayer/ SLAB God in the flesh, I’m blessed/ Cadillac on the crest, nothin’ less.”

Lesson 4: Promiscuous women are untrustworthy.

This lesson is sure to elicit a cacophony of “Well, actually…” from the Jezebel crowd, and is similar enough to serial domestic abuser Chris Brown’s “Loyal” to the point that Gangsta Boo does a half-sung impression of him at the beginning of “Dirty Hoe.” Of course, unlike Chris Brown, when I listen to Gangsta Boo my mouth doesn’t fill up with vomit. Gangsta Boo and Beatking decry the type of dirty hoe to suck dicks (plural) and go home to her husband, or pop an ecstasy and grind on her man’s homie. Though she claims she’s “not judging you sluts,” Boo raps “You evil snake, I call you Eve– where yo’ apple at?/ Actin like a good girl–you ain’t shit.” Beatking takes a less biblical approach: “Never trust a dirty hoe, never trust a dirty bitch/ She fuck everybody, still ain’t got shit, and she’s 36.”

Lessons learned: Underground Cassette Tape Music as moral compass has worked wonders for my personal life. I’ve been shitting on haters with increased efficiency. I’ve soiled the interior of multiple Rolls Royce Phantoms with bodily fluid, and, as of writing, I’m putting whitewalls and ‘84 elbows on my subcompact. You may be wondering, dearest reader, have I ever trusted a dirty hoe? Hell the fuck no.

 

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