tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16369069883318050122011-10-02T11:28:51.238-07:00The New Night Babieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13296791897771886984noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1636906988331805012.post-86128619059649951092009-02-23T04:16:00.000-08:002009-03-02T09:32:14.242-08:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">WELCOME to the MUSE's WORKSHOP. <span style="font-style: italic;">please, take off your shoes and shut the door, you lettin' spies in...</span><br /><br />(<a href="http://www.myspace.com/newnightbabies">Click here to listen to the spoken word remix of Lil Wayne's A Milli by Flow</a>)<br /><br />Dekonstruktivism</span> is a poetic response to the lyrics of a rap song. It's not intended to be judgmental but it may sound that way. The real objective is to create a dialogue between texts. By looking at the lyrics of a work, history, both authors' biographies, current trends and influences my hope is to pan the message--to reveal <span style="font-weight: bold;">some</span> of the layers that give content to the place one arrives at the end of the song, the understanding one has of what the work means to them or can mean for others.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lil Wayne says:</span><br /><br />I'm a Millionaire,<br />I'm a Young Money Millionaire, tougher than Nigerian hair,<br />My criteria compared to your career just isnt fair,<br />I'm a venereal disease like a menstrual bleed...<br />Threw the pencil and leak the sheet of the tablet in my mind,<br />Cause I don't write shit cause I ain't got time,<br />Cause my seconds, minutes, hours go to the almighty dollar,<br />And the almighty power of dat cha cha cha cha chopper,<br />Sister, Brother, Son, Daughter, Father motha f**k a copper,<br />Got da maserati dancin on the bridge pussy poppin,<br />Tell the coppers... hahahaha you can't catch em, you can't stop em,<br />I go by them goon rules<br />If you can't beat em then you prop em,<br />You can't man em then you mop em,<br />You can't stand em then you drop em,<br />You pop em cause we pop em like Orville Redenbacher,<br /><br />[Verse 2:]<br />A million here a million there<br />Sicilian bitch with long hair with coke in her dariaire<br />Like smokin the thinest air I open the Lamborghini<br />Hopin them crackers see me like look at dat bastard Weezy<br />Hes a beast hes, a dog hes, a muthfukin problem<br />Ok your a goon but what's a goon to a goblin<br />Nothin nothin you ain't scarin nothin<br />On some faggot bullshit call em dennis rodman<br />Call me what you want bitch call me on my Sidekick<br />Never answer when it's private damn I hate a shy Bitch<br />Don't u hate a shy bitch yea I ate a shy bitch<br />And she ain't shy nomore she changed her name to My bitch<br />Yea nigga that's my bitch so when she ask for the Money when you through don't be surprised bitch<br />It ain't trickin if u got it<br />But u like a bitch with no ass u ain't got shit<br />Muthafuka I'm ill not sick<br />And I'm ok but my watch sick<br />Yea my drop sick<br />Yea my glock sick<br />And my knot thick<br />Im it<br /><br />Muthafuka I'm ill...<br /><br />[Verse 3:]<br />They say I'm rappin like BIG, jay, and tupac<br />Andre 3000 where is eryka badu at<br />Who dat<br />Who dat said dey gon beat lil wayne<br />My name ain't Bic but I keep dat flame man<br />Who dat one dat do dat boy ya knew dat tru da Swallow<br />And I be da shit now u got loose bowels<br />I don't O U like two vowels<br />But I would like for u to pay me by the hOUr<br />And I'd rather be pushin flowers<br />Then to be in the pen sharin showers<br />Tony told us this world was ours<br />And the bible told us every girl was sour<br />Don't play in her garden and don't smell her flower<br />Call me Mr. Carter or Mr. Lawn Mower<br />Boy I got so many bitches like I'm Mike Lowry<br />Even Gwen Stefani said she could'nt doubt me<br />Muthafuka I say life ain't shit without me<br />Chrome lips pokin out the coupe look like it's poutin<br />I do what I do and u do what u can do about it<br />Bitch I can turn a crack rock into a mountian<br />Dare me<br />Don't u compare me cause there ain't nobody near me They don't see but they hear me<br />They don't feel me but they fear me I'm illi<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I say:</span><br />A million women raped<br />A million phone calls taped<br />A million kids want bathing apes instead of birthday cakes<br />A million birthday cakes might make a million days for a million different kids a million miles away in a million different ways<br />A million dollars aint shit for the millions of Bernie Madoffs who get a million breaks while a million mamas take 30 minute breaks and together work a million hours at less than 15 dollars an hour<br />A million times I prayed for Ed McMahon and that million dollar knock on my door in my apartment complex with a million families<br />Call it the projects<br />a million dollar project<br />A milli mic check<br /><br /><br />Hallelujah<br />Jesus<br />Pull me to the drum and release my body to the beat in my legs<br />THROB<br />and give up the ghost of my brothers and me<br />tip toeing through the madness like ballerinas in a ghetto fabulous production of mother goose's rhymes<br />Grandma lived next to the old lady with eight kids and nine baby daddies<br />one extra for the son or daughter she aborted in the name of love or pro choice that wasn't even an option for her cracked up belly<br />rappers become dancers<br />cultural ambassadors employed by the music industrial complex<br />choreographing the ghetto and teaching the world how to move<br />some say they hood heroes<br />others remixed electronic new negroes<br />produced and possessed so far to the core that their bodies are schizophrenic<br />jumping into video reels for quick feels and tip drills<br />sprawled across rented cadillacs and borrowed bentleys like slain lions in african safari journals<br />i ask<br />wouldn't you rock it too if the tough got going after you?<br />seeking you out like the Nothing<br />rolling through your neighborhood<br />not even hiding behind the bushes but waiting for you behind your front door like the drama in your living room ready to cast you in your own demise?<br />and then there's the pot of lies<br />luring all the neighborhood kids<br />negro rigged 'em to the pledge<br />hot from the center of their heads to that fine line between code blue and code red<br />The swollen left nipple of God is committed to feeding you so<br />nod if you're hungry<br />and holla if your hear me<br />and line up for a sip<br />Because the books are closing the teachers are going home and the police are going to war with more than enough bullets against the knuckle head students<br />Boys who love crunk<br />hotwire rockets and blast off into space in search of stealth blimps and rogue alien boo boos in the back of cadillacs with the music turned up and the blunts passing<br />They are their own super heroes<br />Left with no heroes in the free world<br />They recreate the streets in the classroom and turn their backs on the classroom for the streets<br />The living ain't easy but it beats getting beat<br />Weed math is indiscreet<br />12 agg do half plus three and a milli be free like birds that don't sing in cages with no bars<br />posted<br />chillin<br />A milli dealin'<br />A milli fiendin'<br />A milli hoping<br />A milli dreaming.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1636906988331805012-8612861905964995109?l=dekonstruktivism.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>The New Night Babieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13296791897771886984noreply@blogger.com0