Maybe it’s me, but February 2014 seems to be the wrong month for starting shit with Black folks, particularly this week. See, as I sit and write this on the 21st of February, it’s the 49th anniversary of the assassination of Malcolm X and six days after the armed racist coward Michael Dunn was slapped on the wrist and subliminally patted on the back by white America for murdering Jordan Davis in cold blood. This symbolic dick slapping of our tear streaked faces comes a mere eight months after we were forced to watch the slow motion post mortem lynching of our loved one Trayvon Martin. And in keeping with the barbaric tradition of extracting maximum pain from its victims, the malevolent hand of white supremacy poured salt into our open psychic wound with viciously timed interview of a smugly triumphant George Zimmerman (an interview conducted by a black man, just in case a drop of piss missed landing directly into our eyes). As I watched boy George’s mealy mouthed, puffy faced visage stare back at me from a flat screened 1080p window into a perverse bizzaro world, I could ‘a swore I heard him say “Whatchu lookin at, lookin’ ass nigga?…don’t ever forget your lives mean less than nothing to us…lookin’ ass nigga…we can, have and shall continue to kill you at will and ain’t a damn thing you can do about it…whatchu’ lookin at, lookin ass nigga?” Which got me to thinking about our darling Nicky Minaj, and her latest ratchet anthem “Lookin’ Ass Nigga,” with its blasphemous cover art.
“Aye, yo Slim! Birdman! Weezy! Y’all need to put your bottom bitch Nicky under pimp arrest, cuz she outta pocket”. That, no doubt, is what Detroit Red would have told the cash money simps just before giving Ms. Minaj a swift, back hand five knuckle pimp salute for disrespecting the sainted image of his higher self, El Hajj Malik Shabazz, commonly known to the 85% as Malcolm X. You see Cash Dummy…uh…I mean Young Money, the ancestors are still ice grilling your monkey asses for taking the name of Emmitt Till in vain last year. It comes as no surprise that you culturally tone deaf niggas couldn’t or wouldn’t learn from your mistake because here y’all come again in the New Year looking for a new tear to tattoo on your etch-a-sketched faces.
Weezy, who’s idea was it to send the Bleached Barbie hi-tech hood ratchet on a campaign for some spare change using brother Malcolm’s image to generate controversy in place of publicity for her odious stank ho sing along? Have you no shame my nigga? ….wait, don’t answer that. Naw, it couldn’t have been you. Everybody know you stay waaay too slizzard off that sizzurp to be that Machiavellian.
Nope, the nefarious concept of plastering the image of “our own shining black prince” on a song dissing black men, made by a black woman, timed for release during black history month had to have sprung from deep within wicked core of a mind well versed in sowing seeds of self-hatred in its victims and reaping cash rewards from their creativity. A mind connected to an unseen hand known by its bloody finger prints the world over, infamous for stealing culture, switching the serial numbers and selling it right out from under its creators with a fresh coat of sparkling, pearl white paint.
Hmmm…..I smell the noxious odor of sulfur wafting up from the euro inferno. Behold! Yakub has struck again. Fresh from his workshop in the ninth ring of hell slithers a formerly unknown, skinny, flat-bootied, brown-skinned female rapper with a so-so flow.
ABRACADABRA!…presto change a ho…there she go: tweaked to twerk with her over inflated Hindenburg of an ass, de-melanated skin and Splenda-frosted, cotton candy colored clown wigs. Meet the Bride of Wankenstein. A Black Barbie pre-programmed to lead a thirsty horde of pussy popping “THOTS” on yet another journey of vapid consumerist stupidity….Ladies and Germs, give a tepid round of applause to Nicky Minaj.
Now I don’t wanna give you the impression that I’m a ho hater. I know they got to eat, so tricks got to treat. Nicki is just doing like Too Short said and trying to “get in where she fit in”. I’m not mad at her for that. Get your money ma. But its 2014 and GAT DAMMIT its time for some non-”blurred’ lines to be clearly drawn around this muthafucka. So from here on out certain aspects of our culture shall remain pristine, inviolate and unsullied by the filthy hands of short-sighted hustlers. Like Onyx said way back in ’93, “BACDAFUCUP”!!! Stand clear of Malcolm X. His image, likeness, words, spirit and memory are one and the same in the hearts of millions of his ideological offspring from Compton to Cuba and must be steadfastly defended against liars, thieves, infidels, harlots and whoremongers. And that goes for anybody from Manning Marable to Nicki Minaj.
If our brother were with us to have witnessed the birth, blossoming, fruition, co-optation, sale and final destruction of our greatest cultural resource since Jazz, he would have rained down a hell fire of righteous condemnation upon the nappy heads of those responsible. He, no doubt, would have blocked the sale of Hip Hop on the installment plan to the Jimmy Iovines and Edgar Bronfmans by a few brothers out for their own personal gain at the expense of the rest of us. Old beefs would have been set aside and he would’ve drawn upon the teachings of his mentor, that little man from Georgia, The Hon. Elijah Muhammad. Brother Malcolm surely would have told us to remain focused on doing for self and the importance of practicing group economics with our newly mined treasure of furious beats and rhymes.
Companies like Sugar Hill, Def Jam, Ruthless, Suave House, No Limit, Rap-a-Lot, and Death Row might have remained in our control and the billions they generated would’ve circulated throughout our nationwide hoods many times over, creating jobs, generating incomes, and lifting some of us up high enough to transfer some real wealth inter-generationally down the line the way Jews and Asians do. Slowly and surely we would’ve been better off collectively. Instead, once again we fell for the okey doke, like monkeys grasping at shiny objects, selling ourselves short for Bentleys, Beamers and Benzes, man-made pink diamonds and Air Jordans by the tractor trailer truck load.
Yes sir, the O.G. Hustler, Detroit Red would’ve laced our boots up tight with game and helped us avoid a year like 2013 where:
- Not one black artist reached the top of the Billboard Top 100 chart – a first in its 55 year history.
- The top spots on the Hip Hop / R&B charts were held by Justin Timberlake, Robin Thicke, Macklemore and Eminem.
- Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines”, a thinly veiled knock off of Marvin Gaye’s classic, “Got to Give It Up” got played 746,633 times in over 180 radio markets. That’s an average of 2,053 times a day for a whole year.
That’s right, and the rotten cherry on top of this shit sundae was Kendrick Lamar’s seminal debut masterpiece being shunted to the side at the Grammies in favor of “Wacklemore’s” calculated love letter to the LGBT community….oh, but I forgot, gay is the new black. Ain’t that right, Nicki?
They stole Rock and Roll, but we sold them Hip Hop and R&B. We can’t blame the white man if few avaricious pseudo-goons and artificial Barbie Ratchets sell their birth right for a bag of shekels to the temple money changers. So be it. Painful lesson number 4080 re-learned once again. Do what you do. Your children’s children will have royalty-check sized holes in their pockets; that’s your choice. But keep your greedy hooks off the legacy of Malcolm X. He belongs to us.
…oh, and Nicki, ain’t nobody lookin’ at you…nigga.