fEATURED In the news tonight: 16 year old Malia Obama was seen at a concert and it caused a “stir”.
At first, I thought “who cares” but then … I realized it interested me in one aspect … and that caused me to wonder what kind of “music” she likes – – –
Yes; I believe that a person’s taste in music can ‘tell’ a lot about one’s character … or lack thereof!
With that goal in mind, and the focus on what kind of a person she is … well, that reflects on her parents as well, so I thought you (my readers) might be interested in the type of lyrics which come from this RAPPER whose concert she attended.
I picked one of his songs to copy for you below. I only copied part but here’s a link if you want to pursue it.
To me, it confirmed some things … let’s see what it confirms to you about the folks we have living at 1600 Pennsylvania … I think if you read it, you may find some very evident SICKNESS. Note too, that this song, which I picked at random, mentions TRAYVON!
Take a look at these lyrics below:
“Smoke Again”
Acid Rap!
I don’t even talk to them on the phone again
Leave in the AM, on the road again
So bitch, let’s fuck so I can smoke again
I gotta smoke again, I got shit to do
[Verse 1: Chance The Rapper]
Who smokin in my car?
It’s that nigga Chano
AKA Mr. Bennett
AK Tony Montano
I’ve got some folks in low end
I got some folks in c-note
AK hundred dinero
You ever seen Casino?
I just got back with ‘Bino
I got a bitch but she know
Her friends done did the Dino
That’s that Chicago lingo
Flamin’ hots with Cheese
And a kiwi Mistic
My dick won’t even call her
Cause she left all that lipstick
Niggas be on dirt
That’s why I stay on petty
I know that bangers jam
That’s why my hands stay ready
Flip the candy yum
That’s the fucking bombest
Lean all on the square
That’s a fuckin’ rhombus
[Hook]
[Verse 2: Chance the Rapper]
Who’s sneaking in the club?
That’s that youngster rapper
Un-saran wrap the purple
Wrap that blunt under after (a “blunt is pot)
Smoke all out the window
Cops could eat a dick
If you ain’t the hitter
You just might be the lick
Flame on, flame on
I’m your bitch’s ringtone
She like when I rap raps
But better when I sing songs
No Drake, but I get my Trey on
Killin’ in the hood like Trayvon
Shoppin’ like I got a coupon
Savin’ like I got a cape on
Cookin’ crack in my apron
Dressed like a nigga had 8 proms
Tell shorty I may change
And I made it and I napalm
Trippy shit to watch
Drugs while on the clock
Acid on the face
That’s a work of art
[Verse 3: Ab-Soul]
Soulo ho ho twerk somethin’
Throw it back like you tryna hurt somethin’
I’m so deaf, I ain’t ever heard nothin’
My name herb, take herb, smoke herb (say word?)
How ’bout you? No dap, but I’ll take a pound or two
No doubt like Gwen Stefani’s group
Let me put my mouth where you potty, boo
(IGH!)
Them niggas pissed, need potty training
They movement shit, that’s a potty train
She ain’t left yet, but she probably came
We kicked it then I score, soccer game
She was a phony goalie
I got great aim though, don’t insult me
I’ll give it to ya straight, this is what she told me
My name Solo cause I’m the one and only
She only got you as a nigga on the side
That’s a nigga on the side of a side bitch, homie
Then we got out a Dodge, like them Dukes of Hazzard
Music and tabs of Lucy, take your chance with this
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