While the rest of the country focuses on heavy drama and high-dollar hair cuts inside the John Edwards trial, newsrooms around the dirty south are focused on a foul-mouthed regional rapper — one Mr. Torrence Hatch. You might know him better by his skreet name, Lil’ Boosie.
If you turned here for a blow-by-blow from a court-side seat, you are out of luck. First, a one-man-band like me is at a bit of a disadvantage in a courtroom where cameras are banned. Second, the suits would go batshit if I actually talked about the facts of a story. And third, there’s not much fun about court duty.
No, I did’t log in to dissect the minutia of murder or Miranda. Or to comment on the guilt or innocence of Mr. Hatch, the tactics of the district attorney, or the fashion sense of the legion of Bossie-Bros outside the courthouse. All that would be too easy (and verboten by the beancounters).
I like to think of this blog as a more high-brow pursuit, so I thought it might be fun to get inside Mr. Hatch’s head by analyzing his lyrics . . . and set the hit-meter spinning with web traffic from the FreeBoosie Nation.
Anyone who knows me knows I’m street — born with a pimp chalice in one hand and slappin hoes with the other. Who better to delve into the mind of a hustla than me?
I wanna thank god for blessin me
To hit you wit this recipe
Yeah you got more bread than me
Bitch but I know you scared of me
Bitch dont wanna holla Bitch Im bout a dolla
I done came so sick now Ima problem (problem child)
Right off the top we see Mr. Hatch is a God-fearing Christian who is thankful for the culinary blessings laid upon him by the Almighty. His anger obviously comes from his inability prepare his God-given recipe and the fact that he is hungry because the Bitch “got more bread than [he.]”
When they mention me its negative
Its neva positive
Nigga down talk me but I got alot of skills
I got a lil dough that make these niggas suckas
Yall rappin n rhymin I tell life stories muthafucka
You thank that you can hold me back bitch I been retarted
And I got respect regardless if I dont hit the red carped
Here again, we see that Mr. Hatch’s attitude is not his fault. He is a victim of constant belittling from the people around him — the same people who were supposed to lift him up. As a child, he obviously played in baseball league that kept score. But regardless of the sorry state of his teammates, Mr. Hatch had “alot of skills.” Which he used to rise above his station. Still, polite society refused to recognize his talent and refused to admit him into the Culinary Institute of Louisiana.
Thus, Mr. Hatch was forced into a life of rap where unscrupulous producers made him fling four-letter words like beads off a Mardi Gras float, install a grill, arm himself (legally, and for personal defense only), and associate with nefarious characters who have implicated him in murder.
The moral of the story: Cooking school good. Rap world bad.
Either that, or it’s just music.
I wonder if any gangstas will make it onto the jury.