And all the time I'm readin' DK talk about Master P, 'cause it seem like he the only writer makin' sense to me :
that fresh from the west coast percy miller is a great persona though too. in my mind nigerian pentecostal preacher swag with boxy shoulder starched creases and grey on white pinstripes, new economy hustler fervor behind christian dior goldrims, glock 17 in the waist and motorola startac crisp in its holster. the godgiven ever dependable 1 and only gfunk synth whine gangsta music transposed onto b.w. cooper apartments, calliope housing project, third ward.
in my unpublished biography of master p, i used extensive research to reconstruct the events that occurred after the release of “break em off somethin.” kitchen of a tudor bungalow in suburban baton rouge, percy miller sweat soaked through a violet silk shirt, pimp c the defiant hedonist duct taped to a chair, spitting at his captors through a broken cubic studded grill, his torn rabbit coat heaped on the linoleum floor. a phone call to j prince. like a scene from a no limit straight to dvd movie. j prince says, let him go. pimp c drives back to houston in a dodge caravan and records: i make my fuckin music for the boys with the Os / the old school pros and the strip club hoes / the boys with the hard in the motherfuckin south / bitch you aint had a hit since i sold you "break em off."
master p phase 3, percy on the yacht with obama jeans, dior shades, bottle of dom awkwardly clasped between his knees.
No comments:
Post a Comment