I spent a significant portion of fourth through sixth grade, which spanned 1985-1988, reading Marvel comic books. My main source for reading material was my classmate JJ, who had two or three much older brothers, which meant he had a library of comics that covered some of the 60’s, mostly what was available as reprints, and all of the 70’s and 80’s. I read them as often as possible during class, keeping them hidden beneath my desk and ready to slip into the storage area under the hinged top in case of an emergency. It is difficult to convey how steeped I was in the Marvel Universe without inciting incredulity, but among the comics I read included: some Fantastic Four, Alpha Flight, Punisher, Captain America and Master of Kung Fu; a lot of Spider-Man, especially the Venom suit saga; the bulk of Thor, The Incredible Hulk and The (East Coast) Avengers (all of which were already long-running titles) and virtually the complete works of X-Men, both the “Classics” written by Stan Lee and the more familiar revamp mostly authored by Chris Claremont, Silver Surfer, Daredevil, West Coast Avengers, Iron Man, Moon Knight, The New Mutants, X-Factor, Excalibur and, of course, Wolverine. I asked the art teacher if she could teach me how to draw super heroes and she suggested I might be better suited at being a comic book writer. Chris Claremont was my favorite writer but it seemed obvious to me that the penciller had the superior job, and John Buscema and Frank Miller were my favorite artists. Bescema was a pioneer who had established the typical style of the time, but Miller did his own heavy, high-contrast inking that would set the tone for the future.
Something hard-wired into my nature, which would take me, oh, about 35 years to realize is not a trait ingrained in everyone, is a compulsion to be loyal. I am passionate, some would say to a fault, about the things and people I enjoy. I stand by my convictions, which fortunately prioritize the importance of conceding to logic and humility, and don’t do ambivalence well. Once I start on a course, I tend to see it through to its completion. I don’t jump ship and never make alternate plans. One thing that highly irritates me is when others start second-guessing or changing plans. I always try to keep my word, even when I know doing so will be detrimental to me, because from my perspective, my word is more important than myself. In my worldview, this is known as integrity, which, if I am to be frank, is a thing few others seem to understand.
Anyway, it should go without saying that I didn’t read DC comics… that is, until Frank Miller wrote and drew their Batman: The Dark Knight Returns saga. It was good; really good. This created not only a moral but practical dilemma, because the only person I knew who had DC comics was a junior high kid named Jay, whom I had never personally spoken to, although I often stood beside JJ while they quickly traded comics between backpacks. Jay had a quirk of being highly secretive about his comic book reading habits, which I found strange. Beyond that, discussing comics with him was complicated by the fact that I have always been and probably always will be uncomfortable engaging in conversations with people I don’t know well.
I went to a Kindergarten-12th grade school which had 100 students total, so we all ate lunch at the same time. One day during lunch, when I was in sixth grade, the cafeteria was disrupted by a kid in the table behind me loudly taunting another kid. The latter, I discovered when I turned around, was Jay. Suddenly, and without speaking a word, Jay slammed down his fist onto the other kid’s lunch tray and smashed the unopened milk carton with a loud pop that exploded white liquid all over everyone in the vicinity. Then, Jay stood up and walked straight into the principal’s office. This was a highly-unique and therefore memorable event. In other words, it was basically the coolest thing I had ever seen. Without ever knowing the full story, I egocentrically assumed Jay was being mocked for reading comic books and milk-smashing was his Marvel-esque way of defending his honor. I resolved to always defend my comic book-reading ways no matter how old I got.
I never did speak to Jay. After sixth grade we moved, and I found myself in a school where nobody read comics. I wouldn’t pick them up again until several years later, when I was 16 and armed with a driver’s license. There were three comic book shops in Des Moines, and I started a routine of driving from one to another, getting caught up on X-Men and Wolverine as well as discovering Frank Miller’s Sin City and Neil Gaiman’s Sandman. Along the way, I would also read the current issues of those same comics at Barnes & Noble. In this fashion, I could read 10-12 comics in a day while paying only for gasoline, although I did occasionally purchase Wolverine back-issues. I also began reading Shakespeare’s plays precisely because they had been a sub-plot in several Sandman issues. Even after college, Sandman and Frank Miller’s 300, as well as Howard Zinn, inspired an interest in world history that I had never had while in school.
When I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area in 2000, I got a part-time job as a barista at Borders Books and began reading Japanese manga while there. Eventually, I once again started hanging out in comic book stores to discover more manga and even got into playing sanctioned Yu-Gi-Oh tournaments until the cards got too expensive and I sold my two decks for a profit. I still read manga occasionally today, religiously refusing any edition that doesn’t read right to left. A couple weeks ago, I found myself correcting a random lady in a thrift shop calling it “anime.” I watch a lot of anime, too, but it should go without saying that graphic novels and television shows are vastly different mediums. One advantage of comics is the pace of the story’s development is dependent upon the reader. Instead of passively watching the characters, you move alongside them, discovering as they do. Another difference is instead of viewing a rectangle of a fixed size, comic panels can change size, shape and location at will. This can be used to great effect in keeping the reader actively engaged in both focus and mood. During a chaotic climax, for example, a reader can find himself feverishly attempting to decipher the order in which the panels unfold.
Even with the exploding popularity of conventions like Comic-Con, comic books themselves have mostly remained a niche consumed by introverts. One difference is many characters that began their lives there are now popular mainstream successes. To say I have mixed feelings about this would be a lie; I flat out hate it. I’d like to smash the milk carton of every jock in America who thinks he’s a big Thor fan but doesn’t even know who Jack Kirby is. You have to be pretty pathetic to be too lazy to read a picture book. I can’t really explain why I find it so annoying, but it has something to do with loyalty and integrity.
A couple years ago I was dating a talented poet who, presumably for lack of anything better to do, attended a Neil Gaiman lecture at the university where she was attending grad school. She had never heard of him before, so was very confused as to why hundreds of students had shown up to see him talk. “He read a few excerpts and they weren’t very good,” she declared. I shrugged and said, “Yeah, his work is pretty popular but maybe he’s not that great of a writer.” I am ashamed to admit I had forgotten about Jay. In part, I knew any attempt to defend Gaiman’s work to this person in particular would be futile. But, to be honest, the first thought to cross my mind was, Well, he does just write comics.
And Shakespeare just wrote skits.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Friday, November 15, 2013
The Importance of Ice Cube
Growing up in rural Iowa did not provide many opportunities for interacting with black people, so my exposure to them came through 80’s mass media. If Run DMC and The Cosby Show were any indication, black people were talented, popular and well-respected. Besides those two examples, every black on television was either a fast athlete with trend-setting attire, an excellent singer and/or dancer with trend-setting attire or a good-natured, naïve orphan dependent upon white adults and peers to prevent them from making poor decisions. In retrospect, this may seem like a joke or exaggeration, but, um, nope. Remember, MTV was very hesitant to show blacks and only did so selectively and calculatedly until Michael Jackson blew that barrier apart after he began making elaborate and impressive videos that couldn’t be refused or ignored in 1983.
This disturbing reality is the backdrop for the most shocking thing I’d ever encountered in my 12 years of life, when, in seventh grade, I heard “Fuck Tha Police,” By NWA, being played through a boombox in the clay modeling area of the art room.
Upon hearing the unavoidable chorus, I wondered why anyone would say something like that. Simply listening to the verses reveals this song is about racial prejudice within the LA police enforcement and judicial system. More importantly, this song is a series of first-person accounts of what it is like to be a young black man living in the LA projects. As a young white man living in rural Iowa, I had literally no first-hand experience of police enforcement or the judicial system. One of my favorite television shows, however, had been Dukes of Hazzard, and so I sort of just figured cops were incompetent, unthreatening blowhards who ticketed bad drivers.
Public outcry protesting both the song and the band was loud and furious. The FBI sent the members of NWA a threatening letter accusing them of “advocating violence against and disrespect” for police officers. Parental Advisory stickers, which had been a compromised result of a 1985 Senate censorship hearing but had rarely been used, were suddenly omnipresent. (The first use of the sticker had been on Ice-T’s debut album in 1987.) It is extraordinarily important to recognize that, despite all the attention and backlash “Fuck Tha Police” received, nobody seemed at all concerned with investigating the LAPD or the California judicial system. The general public was shocked that this song was exposing their children to the f-word, not that this song was exposing racial injustice. It was deemed crucial that anger and violence should not leave the black neighborhoods; that was their problem… and their fault. When you peel away the layers, you find that the real concern was not to protect the children, but to silence the voice of the minority daring to speak against the unfair treatment they are receiving.
This wasn’t the first time I had encountered lyrics that shocked me. The first time was on a bus enroute to a little league baseball game, when I heard The Beatie Boys’…
“(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party!)”
You wake up late for school, man, you don't wanna go
You ask you mom, "Please?" but she still says, "No!"
You missed two classes and no homework
But your teacher preaches class like you're some kind of jerk
You gotta fight for your right to party
You pops caught you smoking and he said, "No way!"
That hypocrite smokes two packs a day
Man, living at home is such a drag
Now your mom threw away your best porno mag (Busted!)
You gotta fight for your right to party
Don't step out of this house if that's the clothes you're gonna wear
I'll kick you out of my home if you don't cut that hair
Your mom busted in and said, "What's that noise?"
Aw, mom you're just jealous- it's the Beastie Boys!
You gotta fight for your right to party
This asinine song encouraging teenage disobedience has no socially redeeming qualities. However, of all the songs on Beastie Boys debut album, Licensed to Ill (1986), this one is the least offensive. Some of them have a verse about shooting people followed by one about raping girls. The rest are about drinking, eating junk food and dealing with girls. “Paul Revere” even mentions cops: The sheriff's after me for what I did to his daughter- I did it like this, I did it like that, I did it with a whiffleball bat. Why didn’t anybody freak out about The Beastie Boys lyrics? They were hugely popular and influential while avoiding disparaging mass protests, threatening government letters or even a parental advisory sticker. They are also three Jewish kids from New York, so perhaps there couldn’t be more of an apples and oranges comparison.
Straight Outta Compton (1988) opens with the declaration, “You are now about to witness the strength of street knowledge.” Besides “Fuck Tha Police,” it contains songs that run the spectrum from “Parental Advisory Iz Advised” and “Express Yourself” to “Gangsta, Gangsta” and “Dope Man.” (Another highly controversial song, “A Bitch Iz A Bitch,” was a single added to the remastered version of Straight Outta Compton in 2002) Almost all of the lyrics on the album were written by O’Shea Jackson, using the pseudonym Ice Cube. His lyrics never quite go where you’d predict, for example “Dope Man” derides drug addicts. The characters in his songs almost always end up in prison. Ice Cube refuses to turn a blind eye to grim realities, and black on black violence is a central issue. Despite the grim subject matter, there is always wittiness in spades, and this is the key to NWA’s success. “Gangsta, Gangsta,” which is about a group of black kids driving around and terrorizing the neighborhood because they are bored, contains this gem:
Sweatin all the bitches in the biker shorts (but) we didn't get no play from the ladies- with six niggaz in a car, are you crazy?
One mustn’t lose perspective that Ice Cube is primarily an entertainer. He’s not a politician, physicist, psychologist or whatever- he’s a goddamn rapper. Ice Cube is a persona, a caricature played by a man named O’Shea Jackson. His lyrics weave freely between clowning and sincerity, gravitating toward whatever’s most entertaining. Ain’t nothin’ in life but to be legit- don’t quote me now; I ain’t said shit. He consistently defrays anyone from looking up to him as a role model, and makes it obvious that he’s exposing inner city violence as something to escape and not glorifying it.
Ice Cube’s lyrics contain a lot of tough talk and posturing, and while the outside world would cite that as a reason why they are baseless fiction to be ignored, in the inner city this is a necessary survival tactic. Street knowledge is basically the art of knowing how to handle yourself in a hostile environment. In the inner city, you have to wear a thick skin and retain a strong will to protect yourself from various pressures from people desperate to make a buck.
From 2000-2004, I lived in a neighborhood known as the “Iron Triangle” in Richmond, California. It was a close-knit community where knowing your neighbors was not an option but of the essence. During that same time, I was working late nights at a recording studio in the Tenderlon District in San Francisco, where I met and worked with dozens of rap artists, and playing avant-garde and experimental music in underground clubs in Oakland, including several centers run by the Black Panther party. In 2004, I moved to Oakland for a year. Those five years taught me a lot of lessons and showed me a lot of things, some of which would raise the hairs on the back of your neck. I will attest that to this day, when I feel threatened by someone or that they are trying to intimidate me, my first thought is to exclaim, I from fucking Oakland bitch; don’t even try an’ fuck wit’ me. Similarly, when I see a car driving down the street at five miles per hour, which is a frequent occurrence in the sleepy rural Iowa town in which I now reside, I still think, They either lookin’ to shoot or get shot. You never, ever act suspiciously in the ‘hood. You don’t want to look like a tourist. In Iowa, everyone basically acts like a tourist. Of course, they would likely have no idea what I mean by that, but it’s a convenient coincidence that the state’s name is an acronym for Idiots Out Wandering Around.
People in the inner city enjoy competition in a sporting sense. It is common to see men in open garages playing cards or families gathered around dominoes while cooking large meals together. This helps generate a strong bond of community. Gangs consist of a few greedy control freaks and a whole lot of teenagers desperate for a modicum of recognition and respect, but the vast majority of the community works hard to discourage gangs and remain safe. Moments of intense violence are borne from desperation, a lot of which relates to drugs, but also inner-turmoil stemming from deep-seated values of pride and familial loyalty. You don’t dare talk badly of anyone behind their back unless you are also willing to say it to their face. Speaking directly, decisively and frankly is expected and appreciated.
In contrast, people in Iowa tend to survive by being insular. They stay close to those they’ve known for years and try not to attract too much attention from outsiders. Iowans are not neighborly; in fact most prefer no or few neighbors. The degree to which Iowans will go to avoid communication or even eye contact with strangers in a public place is beyond impressive. Iowans are not used to handling stressors. They think traffic is a slow-moving vehicle (aka a tractor) that they’d need to pass to continue toward their destination at the speed limit. When confronted with any sort of direct challenge to any behavior, Iowans tend to completely lose their shit and respond with passive-aggressive immaturity and back-stabbing. As a result, Iowans are very suspicious of each other. People in Iowa enjoy staying in agreement and away from any competitive friction. They watch sports but don’t generally play them. They talk about the weather and how messed up the rest of the world is. Iowans think anything outside of their comfort zone sounds awful and is best avoided.
These culturally based ways of experiencing the world are mutually exclusive. No black person can go unnoticed in a rural Iowa town for the simple reason that there just aren’t that many people of color around here. An easy way to overwhelm an Iowan with panic and fear is to drop one in the ghetto. Even in places where it is more common, white people throughout the United States tend to be much more comfortable with blacks in isolation rather than in groups.
Iowans think, “If you don’t want trouble from the cops, don’t do anything illegal.” In the ‘hood, that assumption is straight up ign’ant. This assumption comes from experiences such as one that happened a few months ago, when a police officer in Iowa City hollered out the window at my white girlfriend while parked next to her at a stoplight that she had a headlight out. About a month ago, I was pulled over on a country road and given a warning for speeding, and as I drove off, I noticed I had three empty beer bottles sitting on my passenger seat which the officer didn’t inquire about. The fact that many are suddenly wondering the story behind the bottles illustrates my point perfectly. Two weeks ago, an officer in almost the same location flashed his lights at me to signal to slow down, and I obliged. I highly doubt any black person in America can relate to these experiences. Perhaps the biggest similarity between Oakland, California and the tiny towns littering Iowa is the main roads leading out of both are often hidden and unmarked. However, two other important shared traits are an appreciation for church and self-referential humor. One big difference is that if you talk shit about the ghetto to a hoodlum, it’s understood, but if you say anything bad about Iowa to an Iowan, heaven help you.
Part II
1990 was a world dominated by MC Hammer and The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, but it was also the debut of In Living Color on Fox, which shone like a ray of hope above anything on television featuring blacks. At first, I would watch it on Sunday nights in secret, not knowing whether it would be considered a bad influence. It laughed loudly at both the cultural treatment and media portrayal of skin color and race in America. Eventually, I used its sketches as starting points to instigate conversations about race relations, because the show seemed able to delineate the line between absurd and unacceptable.
1990 was also the year of Amerikkka’s Most Wanted, Ice Cube’s superb solo debut album produced by The Bomb Squad, best known for their work with Public Enemy. Many of the songs begin with sampled clips of mass media degrading American blacks and himself, contextualizing his lyrics as responses to and the result of white majority attitudes. A parody of himself being electrocuted after spouting the last words, “Fuck all ya’ll” is followed by a defiant rap that loudly mocks the claim that he’s the villain while drawing parallels between his lyrics and a drive-by shooting. He also demonstrates that the solutions are just as absurd as the problems.
"The Nigga Ya Love To Hate"
I heard payback's a motherfucking nigga
That's why I'm sick of gettin’ treated like a goddamn stepchild
Fuck a punk cause I ain't him
You gotta deal with the nine-double-M
The damn scum that you all hate
Just think if niggas decide to retaliate
They try to keep me from running up
I never tell you to get down it's all about coming up
So what they do go and ban the AK?
My shit wasn't registered any fucking way
So you better duck away, run and hide out
When I'm rolling real slow and the light’s out
‘Cause I'm about to fuck up the program
Shooting out the window of a drop-top Brougham
When I'm shooting let's see who drop
The police, the media and suckers that went pop
And motherfuckers that say they too black
Put ‘em overseas they be begging to come back
They say keep ‘em on gangs and drugs
You wanna sweep a nigga like me up under the rug
Kicking shit called street knowledge
Why more niggas in the pen than in college?
Now ‘cause of that line I might be your cellmate
That's from the nigga ya love to hate
(background voice) Fuck you, Ice Cube!
Yeah, ha-ha, it's the nigga you love to hate
(background voice) Fuck you, Ice Cube!
You know, baby, your mother warned you about me
It's the nigga you love to hate
Yo, you ain’t doing nothin’, pops
You ain’t doing nothin’, pops, fo’ us boys
What you got to say for yourself?
You don’t like how I'm living? Well, fuck you
Once again it's on, the motherfucking psycho
Ice Cube the bitch killa cap peeler
Yo runnin through the line like Bo
There's no pot to piss in I put my fist in
Now who do ya love to hate
‘Cause I talk shit and down the eight-ball
‘Cause I don't fake you're begging I fall off
The crossover might as well cut them balls off
And get your ass ready for the lynching
The mob is droppin’ common sense in
We'll gank in the pen
We’ll shank any Tom, Dick and Hank or get the ass
Fakin’ it ain't about how right or wrong you live
But how long you live
I ain't with the bullshit
I meet cold bitches no hoes
Don't wanna sleep so I keep popping No-Doz
And tell the young people what they gotta know
‘Cause I hate when niggas gotta live low
And if you're locked up I dedicate my style in
From San Quentin to Rykers Island
We got ‘em afraid of the funky shit
I like to clown so pump up the sound
In the jeep make the old ladies say
Oh my god wait it's the nigga ya love to hate
(background voice) Fuck you, Ice Cube
Yeah, come on fool
It's the nigga you love to hate
(background voice) Fuck you, Ice Cube
Yeah, run up punk
It's the nigga you love to hate
(Yo-Yo) ‘Who the fuck do you think you are you calling girls bitches?
You ain't all that
That's all I hear, bitch, bitch
I ain't nobody's bitch!’
A bitch is a....
Soul Train done lost their soul
Just call it train cause the bitches look like hoes
I see a lotta others damn
It almost look like the Bandstand
You ask me did I like Arsenio?
About as much as the bicentennial
I don't give a fuck about dissing these fools ‘cause they all scared of the Ice Cube
And what I say what I portray and all that
And ain't even seen the gat
I don't wanna see no dancing
I'm sick of that shit listen to the hit
Cause yo if I look and see another brother
On the video tryin to out-dance each other
I'm a tell T-Bone to pass the bottle
And don't give me that shit about role model
It ain't wise to chastise and preach
Just open the eyes of each
‘Cause laws are made to be broken up
What niggas need to do is start loc’ing up
And build, mold and fold they-self into shape
Of the nigga ya love to hate
Throughout the album, Ice Cube loudly rejects the status quo and refuses to yield his perspective. He reminds the listeners he still hates cops. In a song featuring the annoying Flavor Flav called, “I’m Only Out For One Thang,” Ice Cube very subtlely admits that not having his voice silenced has become a high priority. From his NWA days, Ice Cube had frequently declared his motivations were “money and bitches.” This is patently offensive, but also jarringly honest. Imagine if everyone who was motivated by those things admitted it. He specifically says this to cynically demonstrate his shortcomings: In “Gangsta, Gangsta,” he writes, Do I look like a motherfuckin’ role model? To all the kids lookin’ up to me- life ain’t nothin’ but bitches and money, which is juxtaposed by a KRS One sample in the chorus that says, It’s not about a salary, it’s all about reality. Anyway, in what sounds like an improvised throw-away outro of “I’m Only Out For One Thang,” Flavor Flav jokingly persists in asking Ice Cube to clarify what one thing he’s after and Ice Cube finally responds, I’m out for the pussy, the money and the mic. The humor reminiscent of Monty Python’s Spanish Inquisition sketch is obvious, but even keeping that intact, any long-time listener would have anticipated his answer to be “bitches and money.” This makes the addition of “mic” stick out as a declaration that being able to speak whatever it is he has to say is an essential goal.
The rap genre as a whole, and Ice Cube specifically, have been heavily criticized for being misogynistic. This is somewhat justified and one factor is the cultural impact of outspoken black male-chauvinists like Louis Farrakhan. Amerikkka’s Most Wanted introduces a female rapper named Yo-Yo in a song which attempts to reconcile perspectives on gender. Ice Cube takes the role of someone who thinks women should serve men, and Yo-Yo insists women deserve equality and respect.
Yo-Yo would go on to put out at least three very good albums, one of which Ice Cube co-produced and rapped on, and when Ice Cube started his own record label in 1994, he put Yo-Yo in charge (according to wikipedia.org). Although she had moderate success, Yo-Yo somehow never became a huge hit like her male peers. This ugly fact demonstrates the accuracy with which Ice Cube successfully captures not only localized attitudes but those of America as a whole in his lyrics. Like Archie Bunker, Ice Cube is both entertaining and relevant because he is publicly echoing thoughts that are claimed to be outdated but many silently cling to.
On March 3, 1991, a black man named Rodney King was filmed being brutally beaten by several Los Angeles police officers while other police officers stood by. After this incident became the top news story, the members of NWA should have received a whole lot of letters of apology for having criticized and been insulted by their claims of police violence on blacks instead of giving them diligent consideration. Instead, a jury demonstrated it wasn’t that the claims weren’t believed, but that police violence on blacks was acceptable. Inaction in striving for equality of justice could no longer be blamed on ignorance, but wholly on apathy. Tom Brokaw’s frank assessment that “Outside the South Central area few cared about the violence, because it didn’t affect them,” which had been used as a sample on Amerikkka’s Most Wanted, was once again validated.
John Singleton’s directorial debut, Boyz N the Hood (1991), came to theaters almost immediately after the Rodney King video broke with the tagline, “Once upon a time in South Central L.A... It ain't no fairy tale.” The title is borrowed from the title of the Ice Cube penned song that became the impetus for forming NWA, and includes Ice Cube in his acting debut. Today, the movie comes off as clunky and dated, but it accelerated the cinematic concept introduced by Spike Lee of giving an uncensored portrayal of the challenges and obstacles faced by black teens in the projects in movies like the seemingly prophetic Do the Right Thing (1989).
Death Certificate (1991) and Predator (1992), Ice Cube’s second and third solo albums, are just as good as Amerikkka’s Most Wanted. He also helped introduce Del the Funky Homosapien and produced Da Lench Mob’s magnificent Guerillas in the Mist (1992). In 1992, he also married Kimberly Woodruff. They are still married and have four children. In late December 1992, so basically 1993, another former NWA member Dr. Dre, now signed to a label financed by a real-life gangster named Shug Knight, released his solo debut. Although Dre was the famous name on The Chronic, it showcased the talent of a young unknown named Snoop Doggy Dogg and acted both as an introduction and test market warm-up for Snoop Doggy Dogg’s Doggystyle (1993). Both of these albums are over-rated, but they had a ton of commercial success. The failure of Ice Cube’s fourth album, Lethal Injection (1993) was that he seemed to lose confidence that the stuff he had been doing in the years between NWA and The Chronic was way better than The Chronic.
Acting is possibly a better fit for what Ice Cube attempts to communicate than rap. For example, when you rap about being a drug dealer, people assume you’re a drug dealer, whereas when you play the role of a drug dealer in a movie, people realize you’re acting. Ice Cube is not an exceptional actor, but he exudes confidence in front of the camera. When he turned down the male lead in John Singleton’s second movie, Poetic Justice (1993), Ice Cube recommended another gifted songwriter named Tupac Shakur.
For two years, I was the Assistant Engineer for the engineer who had mixed Digital Underground’s self-titled breakthrough album, and he often recounted the quickness and ease with which Tupac could listen to a beat, write a verse of lyrics and rap those lyrics over the beat in such a way that you could never imagine one had ever existed without the other. It is unfortunate that those who have decided they don’t like rap music will never get to appreciate how much more advanced rap lyrics are than what is found in any other American musical style.
With the successful rap producer DJ Pooh, Ice Cube co-wrote the hugely-successful comedy Fridays (1995), which launched the acting career of stand-up comedian Chris Tucker, and two sequels. He would re-join the cast in Singleton’s third movie, Higher Learning (1995), which is a creepily poignant depiction of how gangs are formed.
Hopefully the day will come when American blacks are given the same recognition and respect as white Americans, but, until then, it will remain essential for people like Ice Cube to bring the voice of the minority to the masses. This needn’t require heavy-handed preaching; simply re-telling entertaining stories from the point of view of those oppressed can be enough to trigger discussion, generate empathy and remind us of injustices. This will always bring strong resistance from those benefiting from the desperate, but boldly persisting in defying the roles society assigns us offers hope, at least for a time.
"Once Upon A Time In The Projects"
Once upon a time in the projects, yo,
I damn near had to wreck a ho
I knocked on the door - "Who is it?"
“It's Ice Cube, come to pay a little visit to you
And what's up with the niggas in the parking lot?”
She said, “Fuck ‘em, ‘cause they get sparked a lot.”
I sat on the couch but it wasn't stable
And then I put my Nikes on the coffee table
Her brother came in he's into gangbanging
‘Cause he walked up and said, "What set you claiming?"
I don't bang I write the good rhymes
The whole scenery reminded me of good times
I don't like to feel that I'm put in a rut
By a young nigga that needs to pull his pants up
He threw up a set and then he was gone
I'm thinkin to myself, Wont this bitch bring her ass on.
Her mother came in with a joint in her mouth
and fired up the sess it was sess no doubt
She said, “Please excuse my house,” and all that
I said, “Yeah,” ‘cause I was buzzed from the contact
Lookin’ at a fucked up black and white
Her mom's bitching ‘cause the county check wasn't right
She had another brother that was three years old
And had a bad case of the runny nose
He asked me who I was then I had to pause
It smelled like he took a shit in his little drawers
I saw her sister who really needs her ass kicked
Only thirteen and already pregnant
I grabbed my forty out the bag and took a swig
‘Cause I was getting overwhelmed by BeBe Kids
They was runnin’ and playin’ and cussin’ and yellin’
and tellin’ and look at this young punk bailin’
I heard a knock on the door without the password
and her mom's got the 12 guage Mossberg
The nigga said "Yo, what's for sale?"
and the bitch came out with a bag of ya-yo
She made the drop and got the 20 dollars
from a smoked out fool with ring around the collar
The girl I was waiting for came out
I said, “Bitch, I didn't know this was a crack house!”
I got my coat and suddenly...
(Stop, the police, don’t move. Freeze, or I’ll kill ya!)
The cop busted in and had a Mac-10 pointed at my dome
and I said to myself once again it's on
He threw me on the carpet, and wasn't cuttin’ no slack
stomped on my head and put his knee in my back
First he tried to wrap me up, slap me up, rough me up
They couldn't do it so they cuffed me up
I said, “Fuck, how much abuse can a nigga take?
Hey yo, officer, you're making a big mistake!”
Since I had on a shirt that said I was dope
He thought I was selling base and couldn't hear my case
He said, “Get out of my face!” He musta had a grudge
His reply, “Tell that bullshit to the judge.”
The girl I was with wasn't saying nothin’
I said, “Hey yo, bitch, you better tell ‘em something.”
She started draggin’ and all of a sudden
we all got tossed in the patty wagon
Now I beat the rap, but that ain't the point
I had a warrant so I spent two weeks in the joint
Now the story you heard has one little object
Don't fuck with a bitch from the projects!
This disturbing reality is the backdrop for the most shocking thing I’d ever encountered in my 12 years of life, when, in seventh grade, I heard “Fuck Tha Police,” By NWA, being played through a boombox in the clay modeling area of the art room.
Upon hearing the unavoidable chorus, I wondered why anyone would say something like that. Simply listening to the verses reveals this song is about racial prejudice within the LA police enforcement and judicial system. More importantly, this song is a series of first-person accounts of what it is like to be a young black man living in the LA projects. As a young white man living in rural Iowa, I had literally no first-hand experience of police enforcement or the judicial system. One of my favorite television shows, however, had been Dukes of Hazzard, and so I sort of just figured cops were incompetent, unthreatening blowhards who ticketed bad drivers.
Public outcry protesting both the song and the band was loud and furious. The FBI sent the members of NWA a threatening letter accusing them of “advocating violence against and disrespect” for police officers. Parental Advisory stickers, which had been a compromised result of a 1985 Senate censorship hearing but had rarely been used, were suddenly omnipresent. (The first use of the sticker had been on Ice-T’s debut album in 1987.) It is extraordinarily important to recognize that, despite all the attention and backlash “Fuck Tha Police” received, nobody seemed at all concerned with investigating the LAPD or the California judicial system. The general public was shocked that this song was exposing their children to the f-word, not that this song was exposing racial injustice. It was deemed crucial that anger and violence should not leave the black neighborhoods; that was their problem… and their fault. When you peel away the layers, you find that the real concern was not to protect the children, but to silence the voice of the minority daring to speak against the unfair treatment they are receiving.
This wasn’t the first time I had encountered lyrics that shocked me. The first time was on a bus enroute to a little league baseball game, when I heard The Beatie Boys’…
“(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party!)”
You wake up late for school, man, you don't wanna go
You ask you mom, "Please?" but she still says, "No!"
You missed two classes and no homework
But your teacher preaches class like you're some kind of jerk
You gotta fight for your right to party
You pops caught you smoking and he said, "No way!"
That hypocrite smokes two packs a day
Man, living at home is such a drag
Now your mom threw away your best porno mag (Busted!)
You gotta fight for your right to party
Don't step out of this house if that's the clothes you're gonna wear
I'll kick you out of my home if you don't cut that hair
Your mom busted in and said, "What's that noise?"
Aw, mom you're just jealous- it's the Beastie Boys!
You gotta fight for your right to party
This asinine song encouraging teenage disobedience has no socially redeeming qualities. However, of all the songs on Beastie Boys debut album, Licensed to Ill (1986), this one is the least offensive. Some of them have a verse about shooting people followed by one about raping girls. The rest are about drinking, eating junk food and dealing with girls. “Paul Revere” even mentions cops: The sheriff's after me for what I did to his daughter- I did it like this, I did it like that, I did it with a whiffleball bat. Why didn’t anybody freak out about The Beastie Boys lyrics? They were hugely popular and influential while avoiding disparaging mass protests, threatening government letters or even a parental advisory sticker. They are also three Jewish kids from New York, so perhaps there couldn’t be more of an apples and oranges comparison.
Straight Outta Compton (1988) opens with the declaration, “You are now about to witness the strength of street knowledge.” Besides “Fuck Tha Police,” it contains songs that run the spectrum from “Parental Advisory Iz Advised” and “Express Yourself” to “Gangsta, Gangsta” and “Dope Man.” (Another highly controversial song, “A Bitch Iz A Bitch,” was a single added to the remastered version of Straight Outta Compton in 2002) Almost all of the lyrics on the album were written by O’Shea Jackson, using the pseudonym Ice Cube. His lyrics never quite go where you’d predict, for example “Dope Man” derides drug addicts. The characters in his songs almost always end up in prison. Ice Cube refuses to turn a blind eye to grim realities, and black on black violence is a central issue. Despite the grim subject matter, there is always wittiness in spades, and this is the key to NWA’s success. “Gangsta, Gangsta,” which is about a group of black kids driving around and terrorizing the neighborhood because they are bored, contains this gem:
Sweatin all the bitches in the biker shorts (but) we didn't get no play from the ladies- with six niggaz in a car, are you crazy?
One mustn’t lose perspective that Ice Cube is primarily an entertainer. He’s not a politician, physicist, psychologist or whatever- he’s a goddamn rapper. Ice Cube is a persona, a caricature played by a man named O’Shea Jackson. His lyrics weave freely between clowning and sincerity, gravitating toward whatever’s most entertaining. Ain’t nothin’ in life but to be legit- don’t quote me now; I ain’t said shit. He consistently defrays anyone from looking up to him as a role model, and makes it obvious that he’s exposing inner city violence as something to escape and not glorifying it.
Ice Cube’s lyrics contain a lot of tough talk and posturing, and while the outside world would cite that as a reason why they are baseless fiction to be ignored, in the inner city this is a necessary survival tactic. Street knowledge is basically the art of knowing how to handle yourself in a hostile environment. In the inner city, you have to wear a thick skin and retain a strong will to protect yourself from various pressures from people desperate to make a buck.
From 2000-2004, I lived in a neighborhood known as the “Iron Triangle” in Richmond, California. It was a close-knit community where knowing your neighbors was not an option but of the essence. During that same time, I was working late nights at a recording studio in the Tenderlon District in San Francisco, where I met and worked with dozens of rap artists, and playing avant-garde and experimental music in underground clubs in Oakland, including several centers run by the Black Panther party. In 2004, I moved to Oakland for a year. Those five years taught me a lot of lessons and showed me a lot of things, some of which would raise the hairs on the back of your neck. I will attest that to this day, when I feel threatened by someone or that they are trying to intimidate me, my first thought is to exclaim, I from fucking Oakland bitch; don’t even try an’ fuck wit’ me. Similarly, when I see a car driving down the street at five miles per hour, which is a frequent occurrence in the sleepy rural Iowa town in which I now reside, I still think, They either lookin’ to shoot or get shot. You never, ever act suspiciously in the ‘hood. You don’t want to look like a tourist. In Iowa, everyone basically acts like a tourist. Of course, they would likely have no idea what I mean by that, but it’s a convenient coincidence that the state’s name is an acronym for Idiots Out Wandering Around.
People in the inner city enjoy competition in a sporting sense. It is common to see men in open garages playing cards or families gathered around dominoes while cooking large meals together. This helps generate a strong bond of community. Gangs consist of a few greedy control freaks and a whole lot of teenagers desperate for a modicum of recognition and respect, but the vast majority of the community works hard to discourage gangs and remain safe. Moments of intense violence are borne from desperation, a lot of which relates to drugs, but also inner-turmoil stemming from deep-seated values of pride and familial loyalty. You don’t dare talk badly of anyone behind their back unless you are also willing to say it to their face. Speaking directly, decisively and frankly is expected and appreciated.
In contrast, people in Iowa tend to survive by being insular. They stay close to those they’ve known for years and try not to attract too much attention from outsiders. Iowans are not neighborly; in fact most prefer no or few neighbors. The degree to which Iowans will go to avoid communication or even eye contact with strangers in a public place is beyond impressive. Iowans are not used to handling stressors. They think traffic is a slow-moving vehicle (aka a tractor) that they’d need to pass to continue toward their destination at the speed limit. When confronted with any sort of direct challenge to any behavior, Iowans tend to completely lose their shit and respond with passive-aggressive immaturity and back-stabbing. As a result, Iowans are very suspicious of each other. People in Iowa enjoy staying in agreement and away from any competitive friction. They watch sports but don’t generally play them. They talk about the weather and how messed up the rest of the world is. Iowans think anything outside of their comfort zone sounds awful and is best avoided.
These culturally based ways of experiencing the world are mutually exclusive. No black person can go unnoticed in a rural Iowa town for the simple reason that there just aren’t that many people of color around here. An easy way to overwhelm an Iowan with panic and fear is to drop one in the ghetto. Even in places where it is more common, white people throughout the United States tend to be much more comfortable with blacks in isolation rather than in groups.
Iowans think, “If you don’t want trouble from the cops, don’t do anything illegal.” In the ‘hood, that assumption is straight up ign’ant. This assumption comes from experiences such as one that happened a few months ago, when a police officer in Iowa City hollered out the window at my white girlfriend while parked next to her at a stoplight that she had a headlight out. About a month ago, I was pulled over on a country road and given a warning for speeding, and as I drove off, I noticed I had three empty beer bottles sitting on my passenger seat which the officer didn’t inquire about. The fact that many are suddenly wondering the story behind the bottles illustrates my point perfectly. Two weeks ago, an officer in almost the same location flashed his lights at me to signal to slow down, and I obliged. I highly doubt any black person in America can relate to these experiences. Perhaps the biggest similarity between Oakland, California and the tiny towns littering Iowa is the main roads leading out of both are often hidden and unmarked. However, two other important shared traits are an appreciation for church and self-referential humor. One big difference is that if you talk shit about the ghetto to a hoodlum, it’s understood, but if you say anything bad about Iowa to an Iowan, heaven help you.
Part II
1990 was a world dominated by MC Hammer and The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, but it was also the debut of In Living Color on Fox, which shone like a ray of hope above anything on television featuring blacks. At first, I would watch it on Sunday nights in secret, not knowing whether it would be considered a bad influence. It laughed loudly at both the cultural treatment and media portrayal of skin color and race in America. Eventually, I used its sketches as starting points to instigate conversations about race relations, because the show seemed able to delineate the line between absurd and unacceptable.
1990 was also the year of Amerikkka’s Most Wanted, Ice Cube’s superb solo debut album produced by The Bomb Squad, best known for their work with Public Enemy. Many of the songs begin with sampled clips of mass media degrading American blacks and himself, contextualizing his lyrics as responses to and the result of white majority attitudes. A parody of himself being electrocuted after spouting the last words, “Fuck all ya’ll” is followed by a defiant rap that loudly mocks the claim that he’s the villain while drawing parallels between his lyrics and a drive-by shooting. He also demonstrates that the solutions are just as absurd as the problems.
"The Nigga Ya Love To Hate"
I heard payback's a motherfucking nigga
That's why I'm sick of gettin’ treated like a goddamn stepchild
Fuck a punk cause I ain't him
You gotta deal with the nine-double-M
The damn scum that you all hate
Just think if niggas decide to retaliate
They try to keep me from running up
I never tell you to get down it's all about coming up
So what they do go and ban the AK?
My shit wasn't registered any fucking way
So you better duck away, run and hide out
When I'm rolling real slow and the light’s out
‘Cause I'm about to fuck up the program
Shooting out the window of a drop-top Brougham
When I'm shooting let's see who drop
The police, the media and suckers that went pop
And motherfuckers that say they too black
Put ‘em overseas they be begging to come back
They say keep ‘em on gangs and drugs
You wanna sweep a nigga like me up under the rug
Kicking shit called street knowledge
Why more niggas in the pen than in college?
Now ‘cause of that line I might be your cellmate
That's from the nigga ya love to hate
(background voice) Fuck you, Ice Cube!
Yeah, ha-ha, it's the nigga you love to hate
(background voice) Fuck you, Ice Cube!
You know, baby, your mother warned you about me
It's the nigga you love to hate
Yo, you ain’t doing nothin’, pops
You ain’t doing nothin’, pops, fo’ us boys
What you got to say for yourself?
You don’t like how I'm living? Well, fuck you
Once again it's on, the motherfucking psycho
Ice Cube the bitch killa cap peeler
Yo runnin through the line like Bo
There's no pot to piss in I put my fist in
Now who do ya love to hate
‘Cause I talk shit and down the eight-ball
‘Cause I don't fake you're begging I fall off
The crossover might as well cut them balls off
And get your ass ready for the lynching
The mob is droppin’ common sense in
We'll gank in the pen
We’ll shank any Tom, Dick and Hank or get the ass
Fakin’ it ain't about how right or wrong you live
But how long you live
I ain't with the bullshit
I meet cold bitches no hoes
Don't wanna sleep so I keep popping No-Doz
And tell the young people what they gotta know
‘Cause I hate when niggas gotta live low
And if you're locked up I dedicate my style in
From San Quentin to Rykers Island
We got ‘em afraid of the funky shit
I like to clown so pump up the sound
In the jeep make the old ladies say
Oh my god wait it's the nigga ya love to hate
(background voice) Fuck you, Ice Cube
Yeah, come on fool
It's the nigga you love to hate
(background voice) Fuck you, Ice Cube
Yeah, run up punk
It's the nigga you love to hate
(Yo-Yo) ‘Who the fuck do you think you are you calling girls bitches?
You ain't all that
That's all I hear, bitch, bitch
I ain't nobody's bitch!’
A bitch is a....
Soul Train done lost their soul
Just call it train cause the bitches look like hoes
I see a lotta others damn
It almost look like the Bandstand
You ask me did I like Arsenio?
About as much as the bicentennial
I don't give a fuck about dissing these fools ‘cause they all scared of the Ice Cube
And what I say what I portray and all that
And ain't even seen the gat
I don't wanna see no dancing
I'm sick of that shit listen to the hit
Cause yo if I look and see another brother
On the video tryin to out-dance each other
I'm a tell T-Bone to pass the bottle
And don't give me that shit about role model
It ain't wise to chastise and preach
Just open the eyes of each
‘Cause laws are made to be broken up
What niggas need to do is start loc’ing up
And build, mold and fold they-self into shape
Of the nigga ya love to hate
Throughout the album, Ice Cube loudly rejects the status quo and refuses to yield his perspective. He reminds the listeners he still hates cops. In a song featuring the annoying Flavor Flav called, “I’m Only Out For One Thang,” Ice Cube very subtlely admits that not having his voice silenced has become a high priority. From his NWA days, Ice Cube had frequently declared his motivations were “money and bitches.” This is patently offensive, but also jarringly honest. Imagine if everyone who was motivated by those things admitted it. He specifically says this to cynically demonstrate his shortcomings: In “Gangsta, Gangsta,” he writes, Do I look like a motherfuckin’ role model? To all the kids lookin’ up to me- life ain’t nothin’ but bitches and money, which is juxtaposed by a KRS One sample in the chorus that says, It’s not about a salary, it’s all about reality. Anyway, in what sounds like an improvised throw-away outro of “I’m Only Out For One Thang,” Flavor Flav jokingly persists in asking Ice Cube to clarify what one thing he’s after and Ice Cube finally responds, I’m out for the pussy, the money and the mic. The humor reminiscent of Monty Python’s Spanish Inquisition sketch is obvious, but even keeping that intact, any long-time listener would have anticipated his answer to be “bitches and money.” This makes the addition of “mic” stick out as a declaration that being able to speak whatever it is he has to say is an essential goal.
The rap genre as a whole, and Ice Cube specifically, have been heavily criticized for being misogynistic. This is somewhat justified and one factor is the cultural impact of outspoken black male-chauvinists like Louis Farrakhan. Amerikkka’s Most Wanted introduces a female rapper named Yo-Yo in a song which attempts to reconcile perspectives on gender. Ice Cube takes the role of someone who thinks women should serve men, and Yo-Yo insists women deserve equality and respect.
Yo-Yo would go on to put out at least three very good albums, one of which Ice Cube co-produced and rapped on, and when Ice Cube started his own record label in 1994, he put Yo-Yo in charge (according to wikipedia.org). Although she had moderate success, Yo-Yo somehow never became a huge hit like her male peers. This ugly fact demonstrates the accuracy with which Ice Cube successfully captures not only localized attitudes but those of America as a whole in his lyrics. Like Archie Bunker, Ice Cube is both entertaining and relevant because he is publicly echoing thoughts that are claimed to be outdated but many silently cling to.
On March 3, 1991, a black man named Rodney King was filmed being brutally beaten by several Los Angeles police officers while other police officers stood by. After this incident became the top news story, the members of NWA should have received a whole lot of letters of apology for having criticized and been insulted by their claims of police violence on blacks instead of giving them diligent consideration. Instead, a jury demonstrated it wasn’t that the claims weren’t believed, but that police violence on blacks was acceptable. Inaction in striving for equality of justice could no longer be blamed on ignorance, but wholly on apathy. Tom Brokaw’s frank assessment that “Outside the South Central area few cared about the violence, because it didn’t affect them,” which had been used as a sample on Amerikkka’s Most Wanted, was once again validated.
John Singleton’s directorial debut, Boyz N the Hood (1991), came to theaters almost immediately after the Rodney King video broke with the tagline, “Once upon a time in South Central L.A... It ain't no fairy tale.” The title is borrowed from the title of the Ice Cube penned song that became the impetus for forming NWA, and includes Ice Cube in his acting debut. Today, the movie comes off as clunky and dated, but it accelerated the cinematic concept introduced by Spike Lee of giving an uncensored portrayal of the challenges and obstacles faced by black teens in the projects in movies like the seemingly prophetic Do the Right Thing (1989).
Death Certificate (1991) and Predator (1992), Ice Cube’s second and third solo albums, are just as good as Amerikkka’s Most Wanted. He also helped introduce Del the Funky Homosapien and produced Da Lench Mob’s magnificent Guerillas in the Mist (1992). In 1992, he also married Kimberly Woodruff. They are still married and have four children. In late December 1992, so basically 1993, another former NWA member Dr. Dre, now signed to a label financed by a real-life gangster named Shug Knight, released his solo debut. Although Dre was the famous name on The Chronic, it showcased the talent of a young unknown named Snoop Doggy Dogg and acted both as an introduction and test market warm-up for Snoop Doggy Dogg’s Doggystyle (1993). Both of these albums are over-rated, but they had a ton of commercial success. The failure of Ice Cube’s fourth album, Lethal Injection (1993) was that he seemed to lose confidence that the stuff he had been doing in the years between NWA and The Chronic was way better than The Chronic.
Acting is possibly a better fit for what Ice Cube attempts to communicate than rap. For example, when you rap about being a drug dealer, people assume you’re a drug dealer, whereas when you play the role of a drug dealer in a movie, people realize you’re acting. Ice Cube is not an exceptional actor, but he exudes confidence in front of the camera. When he turned down the male lead in John Singleton’s second movie, Poetic Justice (1993), Ice Cube recommended another gifted songwriter named Tupac Shakur.
For two years, I was the Assistant Engineer for the engineer who had mixed Digital Underground’s self-titled breakthrough album, and he often recounted the quickness and ease with which Tupac could listen to a beat, write a verse of lyrics and rap those lyrics over the beat in such a way that you could never imagine one had ever existed without the other. It is unfortunate that those who have decided they don’t like rap music will never get to appreciate how much more advanced rap lyrics are than what is found in any other American musical style.
With the successful rap producer DJ Pooh, Ice Cube co-wrote the hugely-successful comedy Fridays (1995), which launched the acting career of stand-up comedian Chris Tucker, and two sequels. He would re-join the cast in Singleton’s third movie, Higher Learning (1995), which is a creepily poignant depiction of how gangs are formed.
Hopefully the day will come when American blacks are given the same recognition and respect as white Americans, but, until then, it will remain essential for people like Ice Cube to bring the voice of the minority to the masses. This needn’t require heavy-handed preaching; simply re-telling entertaining stories from the point of view of those oppressed can be enough to trigger discussion, generate empathy and remind us of injustices. This will always bring strong resistance from those benefiting from the desperate, but boldly persisting in defying the roles society assigns us offers hope, at least for a time.
"Once Upon A Time In The Projects"
Once upon a time in the projects, yo,
I damn near had to wreck a ho
I knocked on the door - "Who is it?"
“It's Ice Cube, come to pay a little visit to you
And what's up with the niggas in the parking lot?”
She said, “Fuck ‘em, ‘cause they get sparked a lot.”
I sat on the couch but it wasn't stable
And then I put my Nikes on the coffee table
Her brother came in he's into gangbanging
‘Cause he walked up and said, "What set you claiming?"
I don't bang I write the good rhymes
The whole scenery reminded me of good times
I don't like to feel that I'm put in a rut
By a young nigga that needs to pull his pants up
He threw up a set and then he was gone
I'm thinkin to myself, Wont this bitch bring her ass on.
Her mother came in with a joint in her mouth
and fired up the sess it was sess no doubt
She said, “Please excuse my house,” and all that
I said, “Yeah,” ‘cause I was buzzed from the contact
Lookin’ at a fucked up black and white
Her mom's bitching ‘cause the county check wasn't right
She had another brother that was three years old
And had a bad case of the runny nose
He asked me who I was then I had to pause
It smelled like he took a shit in his little drawers
I saw her sister who really needs her ass kicked
Only thirteen and already pregnant
I grabbed my forty out the bag and took a swig
‘Cause I was getting overwhelmed by BeBe Kids
They was runnin’ and playin’ and cussin’ and yellin’
and tellin’ and look at this young punk bailin’
I heard a knock on the door without the password
and her mom's got the 12 guage Mossberg
The nigga said "Yo, what's for sale?"
and the bitch came out with a bag of ya-yo
She made the drop and got the 20 dollars
from a smoked out fool with ring around the collar
The girl I was waiting for came out
I said, “Bitch, I didn't know this was a crack house!”
I got my coat and suddenly...
(Stop, the police, don’t move. Freeze, or I’ll kill ya!)
The cop busted in and had a Mac-10 pointed at my dome
and I said to myself once again it's on
He threw me on the carpet, and wasn't cuttin’ no slack
stomped on my head and put his knee in my back
First he tried to wrap me up, slap me up, rough me up
They couldn't do it so they cuffed me up
I said, “Fuck, how much abuse can a nigga take?
Hey yo, officer, you're making a big mistake!”
Since I had on a shirt that said I was dope
He thought I was selling base and couldn't hear my case
He said, “Get out of my face!” He musta had a grudge
His reply, “Tell that bullshit to the judge.”
The girl I was with wasn't saying nothin’
I said, “Hey yo, bitch, you better tell ‘em something.”
She started draggin’ and all of a sudden
we all got tossed in the patty wagon
Now I beat the rap, but that ain't the point
I had a warrant so I spent two weeks in the joint
Now the story you heard has one little object
Don't fuck with a bitch from the projects!
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