Look at us–we’re white and we love black people!

BBC NEWS | Entertainment | 50 Cent named songwriter of year

ASCAP is a piece of shit. Let’s look at some 50 Cent lyrics:

“Fuck You”
[Chorus: scratching]
Pain In Da Ass “Fuck You” [3x]
Styles “I don’t give a fuck” [3x]
Styles “I don’t give a fuck who you are”
Pain In The Ass ” Fuck You”
Nas “Niggaz is this and that”
Big Pun “I’m even, even better than before”
Styles “I don’t give a fuck who you are”
Pain In Da Ass “Fuck you”
Nas “Niggaz is this and that, I’m just, I’m just, I’m just the best”
Styles “I don’t give a fuck who you are”
Pain In Da Ass “Fuck you”
Nas “Niggaz is this and that”
Big Pun “I’m even, even better than before”
Styles “I don’t give a fuck who you are”
Nas “Niggaz is this and that, I’m just, I’m just, I’m just the best”

[Verse]
Either I’m trippin’ off the ecstasy
Or I could feel the world turnin’
I’m havin’ flashbacks, I can feel the shells burnin’
Comin’ up, I was taught never back down
That’s why I act the way I act now, hold the mac down
32 shots, squeeze til there ain’t a shell left
Come with my gun smokin’, you can smell death
They get the first laugh, I get the last laugh homie
Hit the gas on it, pull up and mash on ‘em
There’s a lot of talk in the streets about me
Niggaz know, ain’t nothing sweet about me
Get back to questions, like “50, who shot ya?…
You think it was Preme, Freeze or Tah, Tah?”
Nigga, street shit should stay in the street
So, keep it on the low
But everybody who’s somebody already know
A few words for any nigga that get hit the fuck up
My advice if you get shot down, is get the fuck up
LET’S GO

[Chorus (Different Variations)]

[Verse]
Maaaaaaaaan
I told niggaz not to fuck with me they still push me
Figured they’d get away with it cause Tone and Poke pussy
I been gone through static, shot at with automatics
Since 90, when Nas came out with “Illmatic”
If Suge was home, Death Row would be good for me
Cause Tommy Matola ain’t shootin out in the hood wit me
I’ve been shot 9 times my nigga that’s why I walk funny
Hit in the jaw once, why I talk funny
With a Ruger on my hip, I walk the street with no care
Think my grandma’s prayers the only reason I’m here
My wrist icy, keep my ears icy, keep my neck icy
That’s why you bitch like me, so I’m a heavyweight
How dare these niggaz take me lightly?
I ain’t come to make friends and niggaz aint gotta like me
My own homie said “50, you done lost yo’ mind”
Cause I shootout in broad day, run and toss my nine

[Chorus (Different Variations)]

[Verse]
Can’t find a nigga in the hood, that say “50 ain’t hot”
When I drop, I’m sound like Eminem and Kid Rock
Play the block, with the watch all rocked the fuck up
Jukes me, A week later y’all be shot the fuck up
Born a healthy baby, I wasn’t always crazy
This aint how moma rasied me, this how the hood made me
The D’s call me by my government name
I be dumb and shoot up parks
Have niggaz runnin’ like “Jesus Comin’”
There’s wet pillows in prison, niggaz cry in the dark
Cause if they did in the day, niggaz would question they heart
So when they come home, the come home
Walking that tough walk, talking that “Rockavalede”
Talk’ll get you shot in New York – BBBBLLLLATTTTT
Sex, money, murder, I gotta eat
But I aint tryin do +Hard Time+ like +Pistol P+
See, niggaz uptown understand me in the street
You niggaz uptown’ll “Stan” me in the street
Ha-ha

[Chorus (Different Variations)]

And now let’s look at another man also known for his astounding songwriting, Sufjan Stevens:

“John Wayne Gacy, Jr.”
His father was a drinker
And his mother cried in bed
Folding John Wayne’s T-shirts
When the swingset hit his head
The neighbors they adored him
For his humor and his conversation
Look underneath the house there
Find the few living things
Rotting fast in their sleep of the dead
Twenty-seven people, even more
They were boys with their cars, summer jobs
Oh my God

Are you one of them?

He dressed up like a clown for them
With his face paint white and red
And on his best behavior
In a dark room on the bed he kissed them all
He’d kill ten thousand people
With a sleight of his hand
Running far, running fast to the dead
He took off all their clothes for them
He put a cloth on their lips
Quiet hands, quiet kiss
On the mouth

And in my best behavior
I am really just like him
Look beneath the floorboards
For the secrets I have hid

But you know, ASCAP is right. Folky story songs are out–nobody can identify a man struggling to be a good person. No–that’s not great songwriting. Great songwriting, apparently, is bashing everything in sight as your ego skyrockets. True poetry is from the streets, man.

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  • Comments (2)
    • vcmc
    • May 24th, 2006 9:26am

    “get yo’ gangsta on gangsta get yo’ gangsta on…”

    I still have fun recording rap music though.

    • The Truth Hurts
    • May 24th, 2006 9:28am

    I admit that’s a pretty extereme example. And honestly some of those lyrics are decent.

    I know you were making beats? Are you actually rapping now? K-Fed. Oh.

Comment are closed.