On Meow Meow Meow Meow, Meow Meow Meow Meow, Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow
or,
You can find me in da club, bottle full of bub, mamma I got whatcha need if ya need ta feel a buzz. Or so it would seem.
Shane Bartell sang the Meow Mix tune at 20X2 the first year, and it stuck in everyone’s head for a little bit. Later I learned that the tune is a great tool for getting rid of other mental detritus. Got the new Madonna track in your melon and need it removed? Meow Mix. Really, it replaces whatever is in there, like a little mental chemical fire extinguisher. The program director at you personal mental radio station playing the local auto dealer’s commercial jingle over and over? Meow Mix. It works, really. Take it from a guy who is subjected to piano bar covers of songs that you were sick of 17 years ago, it works.
On almost everything.
50 Cent is just too strong for The Meow Mix tune. He inta havin’ sex, he ain’t inta makin’ love. A few months ago, I had never even heard of this guy. I like hip-hop just fine, but my tastes run to the experimantal and the old school. I like J-5, bought the new record. I was really upset when Jam Master J got murdered. I wore My addidas, both the shoes and the record, completely to shreds. Hommie, ain’t nothin’ changed, Ho’s down, G’s up. I’m a skinny white-boy, but I got a little street cred, at least on 6th street. N.W.A. ‘s Strait Outta Compton and Public Enemy’s Nation of Millions are two of my all time favorite records, of any genre. 50 Cent is that cat by the bar toastin’ to da Good Life. Kevin was talking about spending some time with a bunch of teenagers doing focus groups in Houston, and how they were all little 50 Cent disciples. So the other day, bored with my CD’s, I foolishly switched to the radio and began surfing through the channels. The DJ announces that 50 Cent is next, and I think, Ok, I guess this is that guy the kids all like, one quick listen won’t kill me. After all, in tha Hood and in L.A., they sayin’, “50, you hot.” I pretty much think that everybody deserves the fifteen minutes Mr. Warhol promised us, so what can it hurt? At worst, I’ll hate it and change the channel. If they hate, then let ’em hate and watch tha money pile up. So the song comes on and, first impression, this guy has got to be on Aftermath Records, ’cause this has got to be a Dr. Dre produced beat. Good Base line, a nice little groove to it. Then he starts rapping. A pretty smooth lyrical style, reminds me a little of Tupac, who I like a lot. His flow, his show, brought him da dough, that bought him all his fancy things. His Crib, his cars, his clothes, his jewels, look homie, he done came up and he ain’t changed. Before I know whats happening to me, I’m digging this song. Thing is, while Chuck D had things to say, this guy doesn’t seem to be rapping about anything other than being a rap artist. He’s obviously one of these lifestyle rap guys like Puffy that turned me off of rap a while ago. Yet, I’m sitting a little lower in my seat, and that hip-hop head nod has started, rhythmically up and down subtly with the beat. If you watch how I move, you mistake me fo a playa or pimp. Both me and 50 are fulla focsed, man, our money on our minds. Before you know it, the song is permanently stuck in my head. After it ends, I’m still humming it, feeling the beat, I even look for it on other radio staions. I realize now that it has happened, much like a thousand times at work. I’ve got that song stuck in my head, and I cain’t ack like I don’ know who he be, nietha. So I pull out my secret weapon.
Meow Meow Meow Meow, Meow Meow Meow Meow, Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow.
Thing is, it doesn’t work. When 50 rolls twenty deep, there’s always drama in da club. My seemingly infallible escape tactic has failed me. 50 Cent is a more formidable foe than I had antcipated. He been hit wit a few shells, but he don’ walk wit a limp. His plan is ta put tha rap game inna chokehold. He seems to have done it to my brain as well.
That was a week ago. It’s still IN THERE! Nothing I do will get rid of it! I could understand it if it were a day or two. I mean, after all, he got a mil out tha deal, and he’s still in da grind. He must have some talent or Dre, who I learned did in fact get a production credit on the record, as did Eminem, wouldn’t have signed the guy. And shorty’s say she feelin’ his stash, she feelin’ his flow. I downloaded a free mp3 of the tune hoping against hope to just play it to death. It’s all I listen to while I’m at my computer now, over and over, hoping it will wear out. Like when you repaet the same word over and over until it loses all menaing for a little while. If it doesn’t I don’t know what the hell I’m gon do.
Oh well.
(the beat starts right now)
Go shorty, it’s ya birthday!
We gon’ party like it’s birthday!
Sip Bacardi Likes its ya birthday……….