I HOP OUT I’M DABBIN… is what this smooth tune should be called by how it feels.
That said, leave it to the Thugga Thugga to dedicate a tune to his dead homie, his locked up homie, and call for an end to street violence in this AMAZING VIBE! That’s IF you listen to the words. Even then, between the 4-6 flow switch-ups you maybe too distracted without looking up the lyrics. Just dab out till then for KING TROUP.
Dope tribute to UGK’s Grammy-Winning “International Player’s Anthem” video. If you’re new to the lingo – the “DM”s is the “direct message” section of social media sites. It’s usually public and 1-to-1 communique. As expected, it goes down in there and this cameo-riddled, hilariously scripted video treatment. Cameo count: (Reverend) Cee-Lo, (groomsman) MGK, Slim Jimmi (bachelor party), YG (bachelor party), DJ Khaled (marriage counselor).
Beware of overdose on both counts.
1) Lots of extras on this one.
2) There’s always abrasively socio-political commentary in Maya’s music, no exception here. Wassup Wit That?
3) Full Disclosure – sometimes I watch youtube videos at 150% the speed (because 4 minutes to review a song before posting is an eternity), sacrificing the song’s intended integrity for my consumption convenience. Every now and then, the new version takes on a dope life of its own. TRY IT OUT, and turn this mourning commute into a jam FY FRIDAY:
YEAAA! F*****UCK YEA! It’s Friday! We know the week might have been $hitty, we know… we also know some bad stuff that made us stronger (hopefully) happened way back when (about 14 years ago). We know that, too. We were alive, we were frightened, we saluted, we kicked ass, we America’d, we were da bomb, we bombed… then we bombed a bunch more, then we got nationally tired of that and wanted out of the bombing, we lost friends, we gained some, we got stronger, we got hella stronger, we stopped caring, we sorta started caring again. WE ARE HERE, on THIS SEPTEMBER! So answer the eternal funk-fathers of this Earth, Wind, & Fire with an emphatic SCREAM dancing…DANCIN’ IN SEPTEMBER:
oops, wrong video… that was a doodle dance to September… a doodle. Now Dance like that doodle:
Get it? Because of Labor Day Weekend? Enjoy, you loonies!
For real, fuck 3-5pm on Friday afternoon. Why does this chunk of time even exist? It’s an actual time prison, crushing down on your false delusions of freedom and hope. Oh hey, you see the weekend out there, so tantalizingly close? Just reach out and touch it. Oh wait, you can’t! Because it’s still the stupid fucking work week so you’re still chained to your stupid fucking desk for some stupid fucking reason. Fuck.
You know how much work has gotten done between 3-5pm on Friday afternoon (I’m talking CUBE work here, not the real work provided by heroes like doctors and plumbers and Happy Hour bartenders)? One. Now, you might say, “Ben, ‘one’ doesn’t seem like an applicable or complete answer to that proposed question. One of what?” To which I say, it’s fucking Friday afternoon between 3-5pm, so one of whatever, dude. One work unit. That’s all that has been done ever in the history of forever. In some dial-up, prehistoric sundial confirmed 3-5pm block of a Friday afternoon, one unit of work was accomplished once, by what I assume was a wide-eyed, newly hired, desperate-to-please intern before they looked up and realized everyone else in the office wasn’t doing jackshit, and abandoned that stupid idea forever. Yes, even misguided overachievers desperate to make a head first impact on the top rung of the corporate ladder don’t do shit on Friday afternoons from 3-5pm. SO WHY ARE WE HERE?
You know how I know work doesn’t get done between 3-5pm on a Friday afternoon? Because you’re reading a blog post titled Fuck 3-5pm On Friday Afternoon. You’re doing that right now. ON A FUCKING FRIDAY AFTERNOON. I was going to write my normal half-assed, week ending Potato Of The Day, but instead I was like yo, it’s Friday afternoon, why the fuck should I do anything? To which you’re probably thinking to yourself, “Truth.”
Anyway, I’ve got two hours til I can waterboard my liver with tequila. That’s nothing on a Monday. But on a Friday? That’s damn near impossible. It’s fucking torture by Friday cubicle. Yet, we always mange to endure that slow strangle of Friday afternoon time, finding trivial novelties to fulfill our meaningless Friday afternoon existences, don’t we? So let’s go do that. That thing that gets us by. I’ll probably go Snapchat some racially charged emojis or look at pictures of head tattoos or some shit. I don’t know. Hell, maybe I can kill eight whole minutes asking everyone for their weekend plans. Again. Fuck 3-5pm on Friday Afternoon. Fuck it long. And fuck it hard.