It's Gonna Be Like A Rap Song

I have a confession. I like rap music. I get it, I’m not supposed to. It’s dirty. It is degrading. And it talks about sex. Like a lot. It talks about sex as much as I talk about food, and I start planning my lunch as soon as I walk in the door to the office, so yeah…that’s a lot.

I was jamming in the back seat en route to a wedding a few years back. It was just us girls and we were getting our groove on. I certainly was. Let’s get real, I have mad skills. (or should I say skillz because I live that thuglife) Upon hearing that sick beat, I simply take off my self-conscious driven constraint and put my swag on. I put it on thick. Mid body roll, I took a peek at my seat mate to see if she was awe stricken at my dance moves. She was not. Which was weird…and a bit rude. She was just sitting there looking a little constipated and incredibly uncomfortable.

She, like many people I know, feel dirty when they hear lyrics about sex. I get it, I probably should too, but let me explain why I don’t. In my head, I assume that every lyric is about a happily married couple engaging in one of God’s beautiful creations…super awesome sex.

Here’s where I am at. I’ve waited a long time to experience when a man and a woman become one in body and soul and all that jazz. I am sure that it is a life-changing, soul-moving experience. I don’t doubt it. And I’m pumped about it. I’m sure the heavens will part and doves will fly out singing melodies of the sweet sweet love that will be happening. Tweeting their joy at our union using hip bird lingo like “fly” “krunk” and Lord willing, “earth shattering” (fingers crossed).

Sex is like the snack pak in the lunchbox of marriage. Lunch in and of itself was always great and the highlight of my elementary days. I would delight in my sandwich, chomp on some chips, but the pièce de résistance of every lunch was my chocolate pudding treat. I think that’s all rappers are trying to say, right?

If you are incredibly offended right now, try reading Song of Solomon. That guy appreciated sex. He’s like the great great grandfather of hip hop. Solomon and his wife were sitting around the breakfast table, snacking on some pastries or figs or llama milk or something. Solomon was checking out his wife to the point of being awkward.

“Say girl, you looking good sippin’ on that llama milk.”

“It’s soy. I’m on a diet. Stop checking me out. You’re getting creepy. What’s your deal?”

“You’re just so hot!”

“Thanks, baby. Looking pretty good in that tunic yourself.”

“Seriously, I’m all about what you got going on over there. Hot. HoT. HOT.”

“I get it.”

“Girl, you don’t! You’re so fine, I’mma write a song about you.”

“Baby, use your syllables. I can’t understand what you are saying.”

“MMMMMMM. Girl, I love you! I gots to tell the world.”

“You’re so weird. Love you. Same time, same place tonight? I’ve been working on some new moves…”

“DANG!”

In my world, Solomon is a hoodrat and sex is a breakfast subject.