Some seem surprised that Nurse Catfish Mouth (I love catfish, so maybe we can consider that a term of endearment) was the first rapper to record a song in honor of the Trayvon Martin tragedy. I’m not. For all his talk of catching the Becky, Plies has managed to get political every so often. In his own special way, of course.
I’m assuming his conscience is to blame. You know, with him being a nurse assistant posing as a goon and all. In any event, this song isn’t his first go ’round. Y’all don’t remember “A Hunnid Years?” Probably not because it was terrible.
So is this song, actually. But, I’m not mad at it. I appreciate the sentiment and quite frankly it’s better than a few things I’ve seen and heard.
1. Starting with her. Girl, put your bra on. Or take it off for someone who’s writing you a check. That way, you can stop pretending this is about Trayvon and not the highest bidder. God Bless you, though.
Some have used examples like these, or even in the case of Congressman Bobby Rush rocking a hoodie on the House floor to make the case that the “hoodie” trend is trivializing tragedy. This girl can fall through a well, but an overwhelming majority of people are well meaning and I refuse to be that cynical about the overall purpose of the symbolism. I go deeper into this on my latest for theGrio. Click here to check that out.
2. Negroes with an igga. Y’all burn me so sometimes. I wrote about this here for NewsOne.
3. And these Republicans, who want you to speak about a racist sentiment without denoting the racist elements apart of it. It’s white privilege, stupidity, and hypocrisy having a stomach turning threesome. Instead of simply writing, “Fuck all y’all,” I wrote something a bit more eloquent for Ebony.com. You can read that here. I also did something on Rush Loudmouth, which you can read here.
4. Oh, this sum’bitch, too. Goodness, some of my folks can be so shameless. It’s as disheartening as it is maddening. Thankfully, there are plenty people willing to check those of that ilk. I didn’t pen it, but here’s a nice write-up on why Joe Oliver needs to shut his happy ass up. If you watch the second clip of this interview, you question why Joe even bothered. Kidding, no you don’t. Attention whores are forever trying to slut it up on set. The end.
Now after checking all those out, maybe you understand why I’m opting to give trout tongue a lil’ life this morning. Ooh, trout. There is a Frenchy’s near my hood in Houston that has some bomb ass fried trout (filleted, we don’t do bones ’round these parts) and fries. I could seriously go for that right now as I push to make another deadline. Clearly I am both hungry and homesick. Now that I think about it, since I’m already in plug mode I might as well mention my Tumblr, Fried Fish and Feelings. It’s all related.
Alright, gon’ read and share, please.