April 7, 2010

Filed under: Essays, Writings

Spanish Translation
German Translation
Slovakian Translation
Italian Translation




I live in America!” Timbaland


“Look at my face; I don’t know who their faces ARE,” Mr. Timbaland’s answer to the kissass white journo talking about ripping off a group of mere foreigners–Egyptians, Palestinians, Mikrasian Greeks – yes, I am talking about my people, now. You not my Homeboy, carny act, so watch out, disgrace-for-a Blackman, “or we’re ALL through.


Do you remember the last part of that sentence? No you don’t, and why is that? Because you got no education. Because the thief is the thief because he don’t know nothing and that is why he needs to steal from the masters who studied for thirty years to compose the music you are stealing. But check it out, cartoon…


You don’t own ME, and I have nothing but time to fuck up your reputation, because you and me we go onstage and what can you DO, really? Sit there all fat and lazy with your Kmart keyboard while I sing my ass off and play down your board to your knees, singing and playing Mikrasian music and Mohammed Abdel Wahab, music you can only steal . A lot of these guys are still alive, fool. You=license plate. With me you aren’t even a CONTENDER. You best keep jerking in the dark where it’s safe”composing” another knock-off –from my brothers— for Jay Z, “PIMPIN’ IT”—-and ain’t that just so well put, too, BlingBling.


Yes, you are the same thinking that all thieves have about people with “no name,” those who commit cultural genocide. I WANT what you got, but I don’t want to know you: you=nothing. I gotta make-write my name on your shit, man. I got deadlines, you know. I’m a pro.


I can take it anyway, HAHA so give it up, bitch. This is a RAPE. RAPE MUSIC, you know. HAHA HAHAHA. Split that beaver and the butthole, too.


“And anyway I’m an American. You from wac, who knows where?” Yep you and Dick Cheney have always been fuckbuddies. He don’t know where the Middle East is, neither. And you can be damn sure he don’t speak a word of them Arabs or Greaseballs that America hates so much and lies to. Let’s bring your thorax to Iraq, where it will feed a family of 16 over a seven day period, P.I.G. That would be fair trade, except for the food poisoning part from recyling all them BIG MACS the Geffen catering service ordered you since back in 2000. And anyway, “who knows who these people ARE?”


There we GO. There we GO. There we GO. You keep writing them tampax commericals with our music, younotmybrother.


I am from Byzantium. YOU? You, yo, you know, you from Bling. That’s what you’ve been calling our Byzantium you been stealing for ten years minimum with your posse of dumbass illiterate CRIB TV blingas, you know, the ones that rent-a-library from The Strand for the show so’s they can look literate for an hour. And probably say, “Me, I got them Aristotle and um Plato, them famous brothers, you know, worldclass, who changed the world.


They were Greek, you moron. I give your people respect when I credit every composer I have learned and sing, as I give my own people respect. Of course you don’t respect your own people. THE LAST POETS? I know you never heard of them. I don’t know they name, so if I take from them, what can I do? Timbaland says, “Look at my face.” (I am a famous man: who knows their ass? They be happy I even want they shit. HAHA HAHAHA.) “Look at my face: and I don’t even know who their faces are!” And the kissass white journo caws, his head now real close to TB’s cock. Look at the obese P.I.G. holding onto his little electric keyboard. “Have YOU ever been ripped off?” white journo asks? “Oh yeah, it just means you’re thinking about ME, is all. Yeah, people always stealing my beats.”


I get it. Those beats are so HARD, brotherman?


I don’t think so. Harder than your other two things but let’s face it– too little too late too weak– and too bad, too, notmybrotha; because I could do them two beats with a shovel on the piano, watching telenovelas, and cleaning the toilet.


The BIGGEST problem with your sampling, TOOL- LW(u)B(e), is that afterwards our music smells of your shit. Shitass low res too, even more disrespect. Kinda girly on the low end, isn’t that true, low end ?


You convert our Gold! into Mr. Fatbro’s Fecal Dump, madcow. You the man, P.I.G., and so I got my SUPERNOVA UNCLEAN EYE on you. I got LOTSA time, a whole LIFE of extra time waiting for us to meet. So WATCH OUT. Unlike YOU, I come alone.
TA MATIA SOU? 666, mamafucker