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B**ches Ain't S**t

By Miscellaneous | Miscellaneous | September 21, 2010 |

By Miscellaneous | Miscellaneous | September 21, 2010 |

I consider myself a fan of rap and especially old school gangster rap. At least, as much of a fan as a cracker-assed cracker honkie ghost from the whitest part of Canada can be. Admittedly my exposure to the genre might be a touch lacking since, in my youth, only the artists that America decided were popular were the ones that any of the music stores would bring in. It had hard beats, unapologetic swearing and a swagger that spoke to my white middle-class upbringing on the hard skreets of my 200,000 strong city in the middle of Podunkia. I was twelve when I was first exposed to the dulcet tones of 2 Live Crew and Me So Horny first tickled my ear drum. Quit honestly, the only reason I knew anything about them was thanks to the AFA (American Family Association) and all the publicity they generated by them trying to ban the album Nasty as They Want to Be. I often wonder if Jack Thompson and his ilk are aware of just how badly their plan to save America's youth backfired. I kind of left the hard stuff alone for a while focusing on different rap artist like LL Cool J and what I would refer to now as Hip Pop. Then, at the age of thirteen, a friend lent me a copy of NWA's Straight Outta Compton and I was forevermore regaling my parents with tales of bitches, sawed-offs and deez nuts. Please understand that this was a revelation for my country ass as, with the exception of the aforementioned 2 Live Crew, I had been consuming a lot of Vanilla Ice with an MC Hammer chaser.

Over the next few years I would gradually (and secretively as far as my parents were concerned) expand my gangster to include Snoop Doggy Dogg, Easy E and Ice Cube's solo efforts, as well as the various permutations and evolutions of the genre. Warren G, Cyprus Hill, Notorious B.I.G., 2-Pac and a whole ghetto of others were on regular rotation. My speech began to be peppered with the various idioms employed by these artist and my 1988 Mazda B2200 truck was constantly booming with the anthems of the east and west coasts. Thankfully, jeans falling off your ass and hats turned the wrong way, thereby totally defeating their purpose were not the fashion at the time, so I was able to maintain my preppy fa├žade. But make no mistake, motherfuckers; deep down inside I was gangster to the fucking core. While there were a bunch of artists and albums contributed to the gangsta lean in that little pick-up truck, one album had me leaning over so far that my head was riding shotgun in the passenger seat. An album that I played so much I wore that trick-ass bitch out: Dr. Dre's classic 1992 release The Chronic.

Now, if there's one thing that could be said about gangster rap, it's that it is somewhat degrading towards women, perhaps even a touch misogynistic even. I was intelligent enough to realize that most women probably wouldn't take kindly to being called bitches, hos, and tricks however that didn't stop me from singing along merrily to Deez Nutz or Let Me Ride. It didn't taint my views on women as my momma already beat them into me and I wasn't about to mess with her. But a song Like Bitches Ain't Shit carries some pretty strong inferences as to the artists viewpoint at the time. Or, maybe I'm wrong and it was written for pure entertainment value. Either way it's enjoyable when someone (or a group of someones) takes a song like the previous and covers it in a completely different way. Ben Folds (who is a favourite to some around these parts) did it and this group of lovely ladies took his cover about three steps further. I know the video is about a year old and I'm sure many of you have seen it but I just don't give a fuck. Take it up with management and shut your buster-ass mouth before I grab my strap and pop a cap in yo bitch ass.

Those tennis rackets are about the most hardcore trick beating implements I've ever seen.

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