Kitty Power

Say What?


Over on ILM, I spied a thread about the new Ying Yang song and I had to download it for myself. Whoa…cognitive dissonance alert!
After a certain point, you get used to powering off the brain at the door for club bangerish rap songs. On my playlist right now: “You Owe Me,” “”Some Cut,” “Say I Yi Yi.” “Backpack rap” isn’t free of that either: ever listen to the last minute or so of “Train Buffer?” I have been for the past couple of weeks now. Fuck, one of my fave albums of 2002 was Hood Rich. You can say I’m a little used to this stuff.
But, this song takes the cake. I was feeling the beat at first and then they came on with that damned whispering. I can’t even put into words yet how I feel about it, but have you ever been dancing and then just got distracted by thinking “what the fuck? no really, what the fuck?” I can’t even stay on beat with this one and just start to scowl. “Hey bitch. Wait til you see my dick.” It’s like the dirty man on the street anthem. But hear it for yourself.
Story first: I’m headed home earlier in the week and I stop into the Chinese takeout place around the corner. I’m stressed out, tired, starving, and just trying to get some food and then camp out in my room. As I’m walking in, a guy is with his friend in front of the bodega next door. He calls out to me and I ignore him to keep going in. I’m standing around waiting to place my order when he comes in. He chatters at me all “what’s up girl? did you hear me calling you out there?” and I ghost him and order. He says “don’t you want something with that?” and adds rice to my fucking order. I look at him and push back the thought of dredging up that kickboxing training and kicking his stupid ass in the face. The counter guy looks back and forth between us and I clarify that I meant what I said. The pest is actually still talking to me and I tell him get out of my face in two words that sound like fuck off. And he says to me, “I don’t know why you have to be so nasty” before he flounces off. No words.


  1. It made me cry. I mean, I’m actually sitting at work with tears in my eyes. What the fuck?

  2. I played it Saturday night. Clubgoers didn’t exactly hate it. Actually, I didn’t get much reaction at all from it. Then again, I was suprised when a partygoer and her drunk girlfriend badgered me into playing The Alchemist’s “Hold Me Down.” If you’re not familar with the lyrics in the last verse, please do yourself a favor and take listen. Radio stations are essential playing a date rape anthem or at the very least a thug guide to rough sex.

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