Thursday, July 08, 2004

Yo! Why do you blog, homey? What’s your master plan, G?

Maybe you wanna write about what’s going on with you, keep up w/your friends, maintain a daily journal, perhaps create an album of your family, discuss sports, entertainment, politix, or even list your favorite sex terms & positions.

Oh yeah, me too, but I also had been thinking how I needed to digitally save all my stuff – old dog-eared cartoons, photos, and even the few lousy recordings I made. As it was, they were on aging cassettes tapes, and if they got eaten by the boom box, that little captured part of my life would be gone.

Why am I telling you this? It’s a disclaimer as I present this crappy rap song to you. I have no illusions that this hip-hop single is fresh or fly or def or chillin' – if Tupac Shakur was truly dead, he’d be rolling in his grave. But I trust y’all not to laugh too much. And if you do, it’s cool.

I got zero rhythm, a goofy voice, and a lot was lost in the transfer to this site. My car stereo sounds better than my home system, so I sat in my hooptie blasting the tunes into my cellphone, which has lousy reception and occasionally cuts out for a fraction of a second – the clip’s just under 3 mins.

On the other hand, my buddy Chris did a nice job with the song’s 4-track mixing and his xylophone-keyboard work is very good, in my opinion. And when I listen to this, it makes me smile, not just because it’s so cheesy it makes Biz Markie’s "Just a Friend" seem like Beethoven’s Fifth, but it takes me back to earlier times. When life was mellelo like Jellelo, ya dig G?

Aiiight, an’ it goes a little sumtin’ like this.

Well, I gotta getta job, gotta start my career
'Cause graduation's over, real world is here.
Got a red power tie and a jacket & shooz
Headed on out to my interviewz
I get to the office, I'm lookin' round the place.
The man's readin' the paper, it's coverin' up his face.
"May I sit down?" I ask. "Yes you may."
But the guy don't even ask for my résumé.
He says, "Impress me boy, and you I will hire."
So I pull out my lighter, set his paper on fire.
He's yellin' & screamin' & callin' me names
While the Wall Street Journal goes up in flames.
Presses a button to call for security
Smoke detector sensed the impurity
Sprinkler goes off, people start to shout
An emergency exit – I rush right out
I'm runnin' & drippin' & my shooz iz squishin'
Remindin' me that I had failed on my mission
I got no job but I had lotsa fun
Guess I'm just destined to be a bum.

When it comes to coffee, I’m no connossieur
But pour me a mug and I’ll ask for more
A li'l milk, no sugar, and it tastes great
And offa the walls I reverberate
So, San Francisco just the other week
I’m walkin’ on up a hilly street
Y’know a lotta cafés were on the scene
And my body was cravin’ a little caffeine
Top of the hill, I decide to rest
Sit down, order coffee, the waiter says:
"Café mocha, latte, decaf es-pres-so?"
I said, "Yo, homeboy, I wanna cuppa joe.
Take some beans & roast ‘em & grind ‘em up
Pour hot water through it & into my cup."
"No," he says. "Coffee cannot be relished,
‘Less it’s fancy, ornate and quite embellished."
So I leave the place not gettin’ my fill
Next time I want coffee, I’ll go to Brazil.

Livin’ in New York, land of crime, grime and rape
It’s harder than hell to try and stay in good shape
You’re breathin’ in monoxide, eatin’ arsenic & mace
No wonder at the beach you’re gettin’ sand kicked in yo’ face.
So I run in Riverside ‘cause it’s rather nearby
A Doberman chases me and bites on my thigh
So I go to Central Park, long before it’s dark
I’m hit by a bike, complete with Campy™ parts
So I try the gym track, but I’m dizzy indoors
Is this my twenty-third lap, or is it twenty-four?
So I’m desperate, determined and though people tried,
Their warnings were futile – I was going to Morningside!
‘Course I get mugged, but it don’t affect my psyche
I got no cash; he takes my $90 Nikes!
Now you see me lazy, eatin’ burgers & fries
Yeah, I’m stuffin’ my face, but now you know why.


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