I have been wanting to talk about this for a while now, but I’ve been putting the shit off for whatever reason.
But since I don’t have shit else to talk about, and folx is starting to threaten my ass again if I don’t update, I’ll tackle the shit now….
I remember when the song “Superwoman” by Karyn White came out.
Women all across the erf were singing that shit in unison!
With tears welling up in their eyes!!
Finally a song that basically says, “Look nigga, get off yo’ ass and start actin right or ya gonna fuck around and lose me!”
This was, and arguably still is, the anthem for women who do everything for her man, but he don’t do a damn thing for her besides “occasional hugs” ….
…in addition to a well-placed, quickly spent nut every now and then…. I’m sure.
When the song came out, it seemed like everywhere I went, heffas were saying “I ain’t your superwoman!” And on the surface, there seems to be nothing wrong with that, right? Music and the messages contained therein can be quite infectious.
But, ummmm…. there WAS something wrong with it. You know what it was???
The song came out in 1993.
Now, I know SOME of you *cough*X*cough* were 43 years old in 1990. But as for ME, I was 15.
FIF–
TEEN!!
So tell me why in the Sam Hill — whoever the fuck Sam is and whatever Hill that nigga came from — was I hearing girls sing that shit in HIGH SCHOOL????
Them bitches wasn’t grown!!
Walking around after homeroom singing shit like they lived it:
“Early in the morning, I put breakfast on the table….”
“I fought my way through rush hour, just to make it home to you….”
“You said you’d rather read the paper and don’t want to talk…”
“I’m not your superwoman!!”
Heffa… and listen with your spirit to this…. PUH-HUH-HUH-LEEEZZE!!
You ain’t never made me breakfast!!
In fact, you ain’t never made YOU breakfast!
Just ’cause you shared some of that punk ass Pop Tart with me last week don’t mean a damn thing.
Fought your way through rush hour?? Are you serious???? You can’t be… I refuse to believe it.
A dozen buses leaving the parking lot afterschool…. including that damn Sweet Pickles short ass bus you rode in on…. does NOT constitute rush hour!
Me? Reading the paper and not wanting to talk??
First of all, at 15, the only paper I was reading was torn from a notebook and written in purple ink with some damn hearts replacing all the dots on the i’s and j’s!
And I LOVED to talk… that’s the only reason I was on the phone at 2 am on a school night talking to your ass….
… let me re-phrase that….
SLEEPING on the phone with your ass because we were both playing that “you hang up first” bullshit!
I was on the phone talking ’bout “if I get quiet, it’s just ’cause I’m thinking about something.” NO!! I WAS SLEEP NUKKA!!
So you damn right you ain’t my superwoman.
In fact, you ain’t no kind of woman!
You’re in the tenth grade!! Don’t go around singing grown woman shit when you ain’t grown and you’re just a girl.
Just ’cause you fast … and I ain’t talking about in the 50 yard dash … doesn’t make you grown.
*sigh*
See, when I ran around mimicking music I heard on the radio, I could really relate!! “Never trust a big butt and smile”…. that shit meant something to me, because I had seen smiles and big butts on girls and they hurt me….. not the smiles…. nor the big butts…. but the owner of said smile and said big butt. Therefore, I KNEW your ass was “Poison” in the first place.
YOU — on the other hand — don’t know shit about making a nigga some breakfast and trying to be some damn superwoman…..
…. not at
FIF-
TEEN!!!
So anyway, the reason I brought this shit up is because a while back girls, and women, got riled up about that “Cater 2 U” song.
And little ass girls were singing that shit talking about, “Girl I caters to ma man jus’ like them hoes say.”
Ummm… no you don’t.
You? Cater 2 who??
You untie his shoes??
You run his bathwater??
You rub his feet??
And put on his doorag??
And give him a manicure??
And when he comes home late as hell smelling like cigarrettes with beer breath, and his drunk ass taps you on the shoulder in the middle of some good ass sleep, you gon’ roll over huh??
Umm, what’s sign language for BULL.SHIT.
First of all, if your man takes baths and gets manicures…. ummm… check the FRONT of his draws for “skid marks”…
Baths ain’t man-shit….
I’m just sayin….
Once again, I have an issue with them screamin ass heffas on 106&Park and MTV that don’t know the first thing about catering shit!!
They can’t even spell 106!!
*LMAO… now THAT shit is funny… “nigga spell 106!” LOL*
I know the concept is a lovely one, but again… little girls shouldn’t be singing about shit they have no idea about:
“Talaleequa:
I be catering to my man. I gave that nigga my chocolate milk at lunch; I let him get his finger stinky at recess; I let him hold my cell phone; I put our picture up on my myspace page.
Shoooo….. I’m good to him!”
This, ladies and gentleman, is the future of your people. Talaleequa granting stinky finger rights to the boy next door just to spoil him.
Well, I guess SOMEBODY gotta clean my hotel room in 2020, right???
And lest you think I’m just pickin on little girls acting grown, I know little boys do the shit just as damn much.
But you rarely hear dudes singing Brian McKnight and Babyface songs at 12 years old.
Now sure, they run around rapping shit about how they gon’ shoot niggas and sell drugs and fuck hoes and buy some damn overpriced shiny shit for their neck, but they don’t sing about love no more.
Their version of a love song is Bow Wow shit like “Let Me Hold You Down” or them niggas talking ’bout “Ooh I think they like me.”
Personally, I think they DIS-like you…. lil niggas.
See when I was young, though I could understand Poison because there was a big butt smiling heffa that was a sneaky lil thang I couldn’t trust, I also sang that whole BBD album… and ummm… though I sang that shit like I knew it, I didn’t.
Like “Do Me.” I mean, sure, I knew what they were singing about — as in the topic — but I didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about — as in the words.
For example, I’m damn near outta my twenties....... And I still haven’t figured out what the fuck this means:
“Slap it up! Flip it! Rub it down! OOOHH NOOOOO!!! I think I need a body bag…”
WTF?
Ok, I know how to slap a booty.
But how do you FLIP a booty?
I mean, you can flip her body.
You can flip a pancake.
You can even flip a key of coke.
But how in Darnell Hill — that’s Sam’s little brother — do you FLIP a BOOTY???!!!
Rub it down, I got.
But know you need a body bag?? What the fuck for?? What the hell a body bag got to do with rubbing and slapping booty???
Oh oh oh I get it…… you killed the heffa when you were trying to flip her booty….. just her booty, nothing else…. and the bitch bled to death from the booty removal???
I’m confussed…. yes, confussed.
But I sang the shit out that song!! Even did the little hand motions and shit….. jumping around in rain puddles outside and shit trying to mimick the video… *smh*
But you know what, now that I think about it, I’d rather hear little girls sing about loving one man than hear little boys rappin about hoes, money, rims, and guns.
Go ‘head Talaleequa…. cater to Jamal.
And if he don’t act right, tell that little knotty head Negro that you ain’t his superwoman.
Then smile at him… and carry your big butt on.
