There’s something so humorously right about listening to hip-hop while rolling and bouncing in my long, awkward body. A catchy beat supporting a steady flow leaves me no choice but to thoroughly embarrass myself.
I suppose this is cultural self-deception. Trying to be cool, we, while among friends anyway, imitate pop-culture icons by pretending we know what ‘thug’ is and singing along with the challenges of being a pimp. I have to say I don’t know anything about most of the content of hip-hop music, but maybe that’s why it’s so entertaining. I mean, if I actually could relate to the challenges of pimping, I’m guessing I wouldn’t be able to listen to it so casually. Perhaps it is actually profound commentary on life to those who can relate. Suddenly when you hear the plastic body rattling on the low rider rolling past, you have to consider that it might be an intensely reflective time of solitude.
G’s can ruminate on human nature too.
They just like a heavy beat to back it up.
I still want to learn how to dougie.
And while I’m dancing [read: flailing about], maybe I’ll learn a thing or two about the [metaphysical] street.
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