Saturday, November 4, 2017

Hey, Snoop: Whoever's writing your lyrics, well...they aren't doing you any favors.

by Angela K. Durden
Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. Business writer, novelist, songwriter, and Citizen Journalist.




Hey, Snoop. You who live a most privileged life, have called out to your fans to be more like one of the worst gangs of all time, the OCH (Original Crip Homies), who deploy violence against their own people and others as they make money off the weakest members of society.

Calvin, Calvin, Calvin. Isn't it ironic? Yeah. I really think it is that you don't want your own son to live like the OCH. He's in college and such and there you are on the sidelines at practice and tryouts and during games cheering him on.

Business must be bad, Calvin, for you to sink to such depths just so you can get free advertising. I mean, look at all the headlines and associated column inches that you have not had to pay for and could not have afforded but would not have gotten if you hadn't been...hmmmm...what's the phrase I'm looking for? OH! There it is...

Inflammatory.  


If you had come out with an album cover that had your face looking all lovesick and you had some songs about love and shite like that, then Spin, XXLMag, The Fader, Billboard, Hypebeast, Breitbart, HipHopDX, TV, and — oh my, the list is YUGE — would not have given you any free coverage. 

As if inflammatory wasn't bad enough, what's worse is that you have hurt my feelings badly. Yes, Calvin, I am a songwriter, writer, editor, novelist, have written children's books and business books, and overall am a slave to Words and understand their power and, well, frankly Calvin, you misused them. No. I understate: You abused them. 

You need some help with your words. Let's take M.A.C.A. as an example. In case you don't remember the words, I have included them below for you. 

Don't even get me started on the fact you stole somebody else's artwork. You can't even get original with that, Calvin? Really? I do not want to hear about how you are honoring anybody by using their art. Bull crap. Again, you must be hurting, which mean the headlines as to your financial worth must be wrong. Unless...

Oh, my goodness. Are you like my ex-husband's aunt who was rich because she never paid for anything and even reused paper plates? Ewwww. 

However, let's get to what is important and are my thing: Your words. Let's consider the following list an intervention, shall we, Calvin? 

  1. M.A.C.A. has absolutely no story line.
  2. What little bit of story I do see is a mishmash of concepts.
  3. Willy-Nilly jumping from one incomplete topic to the next.
  4. Disjointed and incomplete thoughts.
  5. Lost hook.
  6. Spotty rhyme scheme.
  7. Not sure who you're talking to.
  8. Using language that narrows your audience scope. 

Calvin, Calvin, Calvin: PUHLEEEEEZE call me if you want to improve your lyrics. I'm not kidding. Call anytime. Well, not anytime. EST between 8:00 AM and 9:00 PM would be best. (We have friends in common. I know you don't believe it, but we do. The music business is a small world after all.)  






Lyrics for M.A.C.A. (linked above)

The president say he wants to Make America Great Again
F*** that shit, we gon' Make America Crip Again, cuz
As I look around I see so many millionaires
With skin like mine, don't pretend like I'm
With that bullshit, your president been tweeting
Them black boys is balling out, the whole block been eating
You punk pigs we calling out
I'ma line y'all on up
Then start my own league, I'ma sign y'all on up
I'm thinking who my heroes be, thank God for the Negro League
Colin Kaepernick was blackballed, ah, nigga, please
This still America with three K's, believe that shit
The world is yours my nigga, so go and see that bitch
Every chance you get hit that lick and get that shit
Put your name down and your thang down
We gon' Make America Crip Again
Don't ya look strange?
Having all that power but you won't make change
But don't trip we Crip and we gang up too
And if I do a count, I'm sure we got more guns than you
Now just imagine if we stop shooting our own kind
I'm a Crip with no color lines, that mean I'm colorblind
I learned that, turnt that, Willie Lynch, burnt that
G status earned that
Now that I'm your OG, it's my job to teach you
Show you, look out, reach you
Every chance you get hit that lick and get that shit
And put your name down and your thang down
We gon' Make America Crip Again
("You know what? We like to party
We like to party...We like to party
You know what? Yo, peep this, we like to party")




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