Recently, I was introduced to a genre of music known as “contemporary shit-hop” or something which requires little to no talent to write a tune..at least that’s what I assume. How I long for the days of Straight Outta’ Compton again.
Today I’m going to break down Tyga’s “Rack City”, which is a lovely song about making lots of money, fucking your grandmother and bitches or something. I will examine each stanza in an attempt to figure out what the hell a “Rack City” might actually be.
Rack City Bitch, Rack, Rack City BitchTen, Ten, Ten, Twenties On Yo Titties BitchHunded Deep VIP No Guest ListT Raw You Don’t Know Who You Fuckin WitGot Ma Other Bitch Fuckin Wit Ma Other Bitch
From this first stanza of this song, we see that Tyga is clearly no John Keats when it comes to writing romantic poetry. From what I recall about poetry or rap music in general, is that there is generally some sort of rhyme scheme, which most often takes place at the end of each line in some sort of consistent pattern: A , B , A , B | A, B, B, A | and so on.. Within the first 5 lines, Tyga rhymes “bitch” with “bitch”, “bitch”, “list”, and “wit”. Off to a good start. The first 2 lines (the hook) also throw us right into the fun that is “Rack City” by employing my favorite part of contemporary hip-hop music: repetition. I get the impression that “Rack City” refers to the copious amount of stripper’s breasts that Tyga showers in ten, ten tens of twenties. The next line is not a misspelling. When phonetically transcribed, Tyga indeed says “hunded deep” which I believe refers to his entourage of 100 people or so, and since everyone apparently knows who Tyga and his ‘hunded deep’ entourage are, they clearly do not need to be put on any guest lists! I believe “T Raw” in line 4 is a clever nickname for “Tyga” because there is no other frame of reference in the song except for titties which makes no sense in the context of the song. Basically, when Tyga and his crew step in the club VIP style, you just don’t fuck with it, got it? Because when you see his one bitch fuckin wit his other bitch, boy you best watch out. Moving on..
Fuckin’ All Night Nigga We Ain’t CelebateNigga Said I’m Too Dope, I Ain’t Sellin It(Raw?) Fresher Than A Ma’Fuckin PeppermintGold Letterman’s Last King Killin’ ShitY-Young Money, Young Money Yeah We Gettin’ Rich
Get Cha Grandma On My DickGirl You Know Who It Is
Indeed, let’s just move on.
Imma Ma’Fuckin Star (Star)Look At The Paint On The Car (Car)Too Much Rim Make The Ride Too HardTell That Bitch Hop Out, Walk The BoulevardI Need My Money Pronto
As before, repetition seems to be the key here as we need to be reminded that my little munchkin is a fuckin’ star, right? I mean, look at the fuckin’ paint on his car, have you ever seen a car with paint before, bitch? Its fucking AMAZING. Since we are talking about stars and cars (holy shit..a real rhyme!), naturally we gotta talk bout ‘dem rims yo, they make that ride hard! Unless, he’s referring to an act of gay-sex which really wouldn’t surprise me in today’s rap culture, especially being a product of Cash Money Records. But Tyga is a pimp to the rest of us tho, suddenly, as we focus our attention away from the rims and paint to all of a sudden telling hookers to get out and walk the boulevard and start making this tiny man some money. Whatever, this song hasn’t made any sense from the beginning, why should it now?
Get It In The Morning Like Alonzo, RondoGreen Got Cheese Like A NachoIf You Ain’t Got No Ass Bitch Wear A PonchoHead Honcho, Got My Seat BackNiggas Starin’ At Me, Don’t Get BappedGot My Shirt Off, The Club Too Packed
Its Too Turnt, Going Up Like GasGoddamn, Pull Out My RagsMike, Mike Jackson Nigga I’m BadRa-Ta-Ta-Tat Tatted Up On My BackAll The Hoes Love Me, You Know What It Is
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