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- SOHH Icey HawkSet ByrdGang
A quandry.
Perhaps an existential crisis.
That would be the best way to describe the mindstate of both the artist and the listener during and after this historical verse. I don't pretend to be intelligent enough to grasp the truth of it all, I merely offer my best attempt. Join me.
My rims so big, I'm at the tip-top, ain't I?
Off the bat, *** is letting the listener, and very much the world at large, know that he forged his lyrics in the crucibles of deep contemplation in regards to his existence and the significance of it. Where is the tip-top, and how would anyone know better than himself if his rims were big enough to reach it? Alas, this is just the tip of the iceberg.
Polo to the floor, yeah muhfukka, ain't I?
A poignant and declarative stance on the materialist, capitalist mentality that has captivated and seduced our culture for generations, ***'s combative tone also signals something deeper. As if there's a brooding understanding that perhaps his Polo is not entirely to the floor, which would go against everything he stands for as a man. Unless there's more to the man than we previously thought.
All black coupe, I can buy it, bytch, can't I?
As a man of means (he does have Polo to the floor, after all), one would reasonably assume that *** could indeed buy an all black coupe if he desired. But there's almost a yearning to this line, a lust for the unattainable. Perhaps when he was a Younger *** he got denied at the all-black-coupe dealership, and he's become jaded to the concept of purchasing one. Whatever the case may be, he wants it. He wants to know if he can buy it. And he wants us to know that he wants to know.
Remix, Yung LA and T.I., this a banga
"***, you on that thang?" -- You don't hear me, trick? Ain't I?
This is usually the part where I turn the verse off, simply due to the fact that my brain hurts contemplating the levels to this bar. He speaks of the remix, and of its status as a banga, as if he isn't even on the song, only to discover that he is on the song while recording the verse. An epiphany for the ages, it causes his less-informed female friend, affectionately known as "trick", to ask him something absurd almost to the point of brilliance - "***, you on that thang?" The audacity to ask someone if they're on the remix, while they're recording the verse to the remix, is appalling to ***. How could she be in the studio and not understand that he is on that thang? Is she hearing-impaired, or simply feigning ignorance to get a rise out of him? A more responsible recording engineer would have stopped the session, pulled *** aside and confirmed that he was on the song. But the beauty of this bar is that little flicker of self doubt; maybe her question made him wonder if he was actually going to be on that thang, and it's this quick glimpse of vulnerability that lets us peer into the psyche of a man torn between the physical realm and something much deeper.
Let's be clear, this is not simply a verse on a remix to a rap song. This is a philosophical treatise akin to Thus Spoke Zarathustra or Plato's Theory of Forms. It pulls at the very strings of our cosmic fabric, shaping and rearranging what we know of reality, existence and the link between mental and physical.
Plus he be in Ferraris, the cars with the horses.
Perhaps an existential crisis.
That would be the best way to describe the mindstate of both the artist and the listener during and after this historical verse. I don't pretend to be intelligent enough to grasp the truth of it all, I merely offer my best attempt. Join me.
My rims so big, I'm at the tip-top, ain't I?
Off the bat, *** is letting the listener, and very much the world at large, know that he forged his lyrics in the crucibles of deep contemplation in regards to his existence and the significance of it. Where is the tip-top, and how would anyone know better than himself if his rims were big enough to reach it? Alas, this is just the tip of the iceberg.
Polo to the floor, yeah muhfukka, ain't I?
A poignant and declarative stance on the materialist, capitalist mentality that has captivated and seduced our culture for generations, ***'s combative tone also signals something deeper. As if there's a brooding understanding that perhaps his Polo is not entirely to the floor, which would go against everything he stands for as a man. Unless there's more to the man than we previously thought.
All black coupe, I can buy it, bytch, can't I?
As a man of means (he does have Polo to the floor, after all), one would reasonably assume that *** could indeed buy an all black coupe if he desired. But there's almost a yearning to this line, a lust for the unattainable. Perhaps when he was a Younger *** he got denied at the all-black-coupe dealership, and he's become jaded to the concept of purchasing one. Whatever the case may be, he wants it. He wants to know if he can buy it. And he wants us to know that he wants to know.
Remix, Yung LA and T.I., this a banga
"***, you on that thang?" -- You don't hear me, trick? Ain't I?
This is usually the part where I turn the verse off, simply due to the fact that my brain hurts contemplating the levels to this bar. He speaks of the remix, and of its status as a banga, as if he isn't even on the song, only to discover that he is on the song while recording the verse. An epiphany for the ages, it causes his less-informed female friend, affectionately known as "trick", to ask him something absurd almost to the point of brilliance - "***, you on that thang?" The audacity to ask someone if they're on the remix, while they're recording the verse to the remix, is appalling to ***. How could she be in the studio and not understand that he is on that thang? Is she hearing-impaired, or simply feigning ignorance to get a rise out of him? A more responsible recording engineer would have stopped the session, pulled *** aside and confirmed that he was on the song. But the beauty of this bar is that little flicker of self doubt; maybe her question made him wonder if he was actually going to be on that thang, and it's this quick glimpse of vulnerability that lets us peer into the psyche of a man torn between the physical realm and something much deeper.
Let's be clear, this is not simply a verse on a remix to a rap song. This is a philosophical treatise akin to Thus Spoke Zarathustra or Plato's Theory of Forms. It pulls at the very strings of our cosmic fabric, shaping and rearranging what we know of reality, existence and the link between mental and physical.
Plus he be in Ferraris, the cars with the horses.
time to revisit that song
