Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Wow, I can’t believe that it has been 14 years since March 9th, 1997. It is funny how the events around that Sunday served as the preface that would eventually lead to my writing Blue Lines.

I can remember that early morning as we drove from Atlanta to New York for our family emergency. I had to abruptly leave school, and while my younger brother and sister sat on the back bench of the rented van, my mother had taken over the driving duties somewhere on I-85 in North Carolina, actually the worst leg of the trip between Atlanta and New York. My father slept, as my mother, surprisingly composed due to her state the days before. When I heard her mention, they just said on the radio Biggie’s dead. My ears perked up, and I raised from my college student form being sprawled across the middle bench of the van.

“Damn,” I thought as she turned up the radio so that we could get more details. A very shaken Busta Rhymes was reached by phone, and he said that all East Coast rappers were trying to get out of L.A., that proved that this was senseless violence. My heart sank, and at the moment I thought of how my family tragedy and the murder of Christopher Wallace would be tied from that moment forward. The events of that weekend would eventually lead to my meeting the future subject of my future manuscript, and future novel Blue Lines.

I have chosen “Hypnotize” as this week’s installment of Hip-Hop Quotable Wednesdays submission, because as we finally made our way into New York and Funk Master Flex was playing Biggie’s new single back, to back, to back.

Uhhh, uhhh, uh, c’mon

[Verse One]
Hah, sicka than your average Poppa
Twist cabbage off instinct n—-s don’t think shit stink
Pink gators, my Detroit players
Timbs for my hooligans in Brooklyn
Dead right, if the head right, Biggie there ery’night
Poppa been smooth since days of Underroos
Never lose, never choose to, bruise crews who
Do something to us, talk go through us
Girls walk to us, wanna do us, screw us
Who us? Yeah, Poppa and Puff (ehehehe)
Close like Starsky and Hutch, stick the clutch
Dare I squeeze three at your cherry M-3
(Take that, take that, take that, haha!)
Bang every MC easily, busily
Recently n—-s frontin ain’t sayin nuttin (nope)
So I just speak my piece, (c’mon) keep my piece
Cubans with the Jesus piece (thank you God), with my peeps
Packin, askin who want it, you got it n—a flaunt it
That Brooklyn bulls–t, we on it

Biggie Biggie Biggie can’t you see
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (uh)

Biggie Biggie Biggie (uh-huh) can’t you see (uh)
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me (hypnotize)
And I just love your flashy ways (uh-huh)
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (hah)

[Verse Two]
I put hoes in NY onto DKNY (uh-huh)
Miami, D.C. prefer Versace (that’s right)
All Philly hoes, dough and Moschino (c’mon)
Every cutie wit a booty bought a Coogi (haaaaah!)
Now who’s the real dookie, meanin who’s really the s–t
Them n—-s ride d–ks, Frank White push the sticks
On the Lexus, LX, four and a half
Bulletproof glass tints if I want some a–
Gon’ blast squeeze first ask questions last
That’s how most of these so-called gangsters pass
At last, a n—a rappin bout blunts and broads
Tits and bras, menage-a-tois, sex in expensive cars
I still leave you on the pavement
Condo paid for, no car payment
At my arraignment, note for the plantiff
Your daughter’s tied up in a Brooklyn basement (shhh)
Face it, not guilty, that’s how I stay filthy (not guilty)
Richer than Richie, till you n—-s come and get me

Chorus:

Biggie Biggie Biggie can’t you see
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (uh)

Biggie Biggie Biggie (uh-huh) can’t you see (huh)
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me (hypnotize)
And I just love your flashy ways (uh-huh)
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (uh)

[Verse Three]
I can fill ya wit real millionaire s–t (I can fill ya)
Escargot, my car go, one sixty, swiftly
Wreck it buy a new one
Your crew run run run, your crew run run
I know you sick of this, name brand n—a wit
Flows girls say he’s sweet like licorice
So get with this n—a, it’s easy
Girlfriend here’s a pen, call me round ten
Come through, have sex on rugs that’s Persian (that’s right)
Come up to your job, hit you while you workin (uhh)
For certain, Poppa freakin, not speakin’
Leave that ass leakin, like rapper demo
Tell them hoe, take they clothes off slowly
Hit em wit the force like Obe, d–k black like Toby (Obe… Toby)
Watch me roam like Gobe, lucky they don’t owe me
Where the safe show me, homey.. (say what, homey)

Chorus:

Biggie Biggie Biggie can’t you see
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (uh)

Biggie Biggie Biggie (uh-huh) can’t you see (uh)
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me (hypnotize)
And I just love your flashy ways (uh-huh)
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (uh)

Biggie Biggie Biggie can’t you see
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (uh)

Biggie Biggie Biggie (uh-huh) can’t you see (uh)
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me (hip to)
And I just love your flashy ways (uh-huh)
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (uh)

Biggie Biggie Biggie can’t you see
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid
*fades*

The manuscript Blue Lines is the fictional coming of age narrative of a young California woman Key Yemaya Walker, and her 2 year growing journey through school, love, and life period piece, written by Kenneth Suffern, Jr., taking place at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill between the years of 1997 – 1998. Loosely based on true events, and experiences during that time, told through the eyes and voice of the main female protagonist, a freshman first attending the school.