We’re a couple of months into the year, and so far, no good. You fucks can’t get any albums released, so we’re stuck with two songs that none of us can get out of our heads: Rich Boy’s “Throw Some D’s” and Mims’ “This Is Why I’m Hot.” (Honorable mention goes to my peoples Joey Crack, for constructing the latest and greatest American strip-club anthem, “Make It Rain.”) It’s life after “We Fly High,” and it’s got a yellow nigga down in the dumps.

Don’t get me wrong—the president of Nas’ Hip-Hop Is Dead fan club can see why these songs are hit smashes. They’re both catchy as fuck, in any incarnation. Here in the home
of New York radio—where we first front on joints that don’t sound like they’re from these parts of town—Washington Heights’ “I can’t believe he’s from the Big Apple” Mims gets spins because a couple of reggae cats (Junior Reid and Baby Cham) touched up his joint something nice.

Ditto Rich Boy, who’s benefiting heavy from Kanye West using and abusing his Polow Da Don creation to theorize on his love for large ta-tas. Who says the conscious backpack rappers can’t be as misogynistic as those so-called gangsta rappers that Bill O’Reilly has such a hard-on for? In a new form of swagger jacking, dude even shot a visual to bring his point home: Jesus walks, but flat-chested bitches need to take a seat.

And if all that’s not enough, there’s also a power-packed official remix of the Alabama boy’s jump-off featuring Lil Jon, a scene-stealing Andre 3000, Jim “You can’t do a remix without me” Jones, Nelly, Murphy Lee and The Game. It’s March 9 when I write this (RIP B.I.G.), and so far there’s no sign of a certified “This Is Why I’m Hot” sequel. As you’ll read later in this mag, Gotham’s bastard child is having trouble getting love in his residence. But I’m sure some dead presidents will change all that. Just watch.
Everyone wants a piece of the pie, so why not yours truly? Can I go in? It’s been a minute.

Alright, here I go. And fuck a hook, I’ll give you some private revelations.

YN never sold crack, Woodside, Queens, got my back/Money right, never slack, but can’t drive a Cadillac. (I never learned how to drive.)

YN got stacks, y’all already know that/Fuck that, never throw cash, rather get a lap dance.
(Wife only gives me a handful of strip club–approved visits per year, so I gots to budget.)

Those Web sites wack, blog niggas wanna jack/Let you know, I’m movin’ pass ya, put you out to pasture. (I’m so big I got Internet imposters. Why would I comment on your shitty site?)

YN livin’ good, never goin’ Hollywood/Public knows, had a hit TV show, but I’ll never let
you go.
(I ain’t retiring yet. Stop worrying.)

For the other lil’ nigga’s shit, I gotta slow it down.

This is why I’m hot/This song kinda sucks/They jack Art of Noise, but no one gives a fuck/
The fact the song’s big/Shows that you’re really slow/I rather hear a rap about your jewels and pimpin’ hoes/You’re not hot until we say so/Only teenaged girls watch your video/But still I give you dap/For your simple rap/The infectious groove’s got a catchy finger snap/You can make it clap/Or you can make me ill/I could say a lot of foul shit/But I’m just gonna chill/This lil’ nigga’s eatin’/And there’s nothing wrong with that/I’ll just wait for him to tighten up them raps/Now I gotta go/’Cause I got shit to do/There’s worse things, like interviewing Clue.

Log out,

Elliott Wilson

P.S. Young Buck on the cover! G-G-G-G-… I’m still riding, niggas. I love the hate. Bask in it.