I was on my way to work this morning - (only half an hour late!) and Weezy was on. I listened, enjoying the two or three incredibly witty lines he throws in about sexual exploits, baller status and drank - and normally this would have made my Friday. However, as a hip-hop enthusiast, I'm starting to worry about the New Orleans-bred rapper/wrapper.
As Weezy went on to tell us about entering the club and instructing his fans (or hoes, whichev) to give him "dap" and give him "luv" - which obvi we all know that is protocol if you're ever lucky enough meet homeboy. OBVIOUS, we all know that! He's no fool (and any fool can get dap in the club, trust).
However, I'm ready for Lil' Wayne to start telling me some stories. Spin those smartly-placed one-line metaphors (or similes - I'm an English degree holder, but fuck, I was drunk for that 6 year period) into a haiku or a limerick. Am I right? Weezy - we all know you're rich, gettin' paid and can have any hoodrat you want. Give me more.
If someone can go from a Hot Boy on Cash Money Records to the University of Houston to purple drank to Tha Carter they can put out a book of poems in disc form - shit, look at e.e. cummings (no offense).
"Un-fuckin' believable, Little Wayne's the president! Fuck 'em, fuck 'em, fuck 'em - even if they celibate. I know the game is crazy; it's more crazy than it's ever been; I'm married to that crazy bitch - call me Kevin Federline."
Now go listen to Weezy do it - you're welcome.
Listen, I love Wayne. And despite the fact that I am a Yurman-wearing, mystic tanning white girl, I still think he is one of the best - but what is each new sunrise; if not a chance to make ourselves better? Come on Weezy, gather us all around the campfire - trust me, we're listening. I'm ready for you to become the modern day T.S. Eliot of hip-hop, or, at least, Dr. Seuss.
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