ScHoolboy Q's Man of the Year Worth Only Three Seconds Of Your Time

ScHoolboy Q is a cute handle for a rapper to use. And that concludes the portion of the blog discussing what works about "Man of the Year". Now it's time to fire bullet holes into the rest of it. Hold onto your hats, rap enthusiasts, we're entering the village of titties. As I'm sure many of you already know, the village of titties takes up a great deal of space in a rap star's word flow. Females everywhere are supposed to "shake it for the man of the year." David Spade, back in his SNL Hollywood Minute days, might have responded to the lyric a little something like this: "I liked this song before...when it was called 'Hey Ya'...it's called original verses, find some." As for Greg Silver in his current far from Hollywood Minute days, he might have to consult his optician to do something about the spontaneous eye rolling that comes his way when he's confronted with the rap genre's latest twist on booty, booty, and more booty. "Bruh?" That's how the party starts is with a rolled out of bed version of the word "brother"? ScHoolboy Q has to know that if his lips are too lazy to utter an opening line than how can we be expected to wave our hands in the air like we'd like to care? His lukewarm bathwater attempt at "flava'" permeates through every area of the song. Hard to tell if that's a synth fill behind him but I like to think of it as what a screeching tire would sound like if was translated to keyboard form. And oh how it lingers uncomfortably in my eardrums. The only justification I can come up with for this black man's version of white noise is distraction from how little his lyrics are conveying that isn't a full on advertisement for Trojans. The company should pay him in lube jelly. Verse 1 is chock full of those ghettoized you had to be there moments. Firstly we've got: "Nigga', I ain't come for the beef". That's beef as in John Bender's "hot beef injection" (Breakfast Club fans raise a glass). Here's another family values selection: "When you round man the girls never lounge, man I heard you a hound. Bruh, man that bitch need a pound". So which is it Mr. Q? "bruh" or "man"? To my way of perceiving that's a bit redundant. We already know your homeboy's a "bruh". Was the synonym of sorts really necessary? Also, could you offend any more than 100% of the female population with the bitch pound connection? Bitch is already the sort of disparaging word that, if you called your mother that would get you slapped. The notion that pound refers to the dog lock-up is easy to see. But does he mean "That bitch needs a beatdown/pound?" Doesn't matter either way. In both cases that's hostile lyrical content that doesn't advance civilization in any way. Pleased to meet you again bitch. We keep popping up in these sorts of situations don't we? More of the now trademark macho posturing that makes a vigorous barf fest a foregone conclusion. Observe: "Bitch, I'm the talk of the town, make a bitch run her mouth. Go south for the boy. Pop down to the floor...bounce." Real men don't need to ramble on about how great they are. For someone named ScHoolboy, he needs to get to class more often. Wasn't it Teddy Roosevelt who said "Speak softly and carry a big stick?" Well Schoolie Q is speaking obnoxiously. Possibly because he's insecure about the size of the stick between his legs. I'm not a Harvard man but I have a pretty good idea of where going south is taking us. Couldn't this guy have found something admirable to do with the time he flushed down the studio toilet. The planet's full of pretty enjoyable hobbies. Maybe he could found The Society For The Wholesale Slaughter of Thug Life Dudes Who Endorse Misogyny In Deplorable Raps. It only takes one powerful voice to foment revolution. What he's fomenting at present is revolting. Pre-programmed drums? Limp as...well there's that quick to insert itself in feminine business stick again. The next to last line is accidentally amusing. You've heard of rappers bragging about their dope beats or rhymes. I believe I'm in the presence of an artistic first. Either that or I need to book the red-eye to Compton more often. How can you not struggle to stifle a giggle from: "This verse straight from the morgue". Gotta give him credit. After an entire track devoted to tits and ass lyrics it's nice to discover he's a salesman honest enough to sum up his product's real value perfectly. Dead...on...arrival. Let's take up a collection basket. Obviously in a country where medical horror stories aren't unusual somebody needs to raise funds to help remove the bullet fragments ScHoolboy Q inflicted on himself by shooting himself in the foot. Sad to watch but provocative nonetheless. "Man of the Year" isn't even man of the hour. Do yourself a favor and take the half a second required to lob this manure pile in the trash.