Lil Wayne publicly hates the Heat. He tosses the F-bomb at King James, like LBJ was Trina or something. He says he banged Mrs. Bosh. One minute I’m looking at Mr. 305 getting jiggy in a Bud Light commercial and the next, he’s doing some twitter-toasting and making battle raps. Uncle Luke? Sorry, he hasn’t been relevant since Michael Cage and his Jheri curl were grabbing 12 boards a game. I hear these old jokers are jetting down to New Orleans next Mardi Gras on the Lear, to set it on Wayne, Baby and dem.
If so, this is history in the making. The first baller-rapper beef, except Bosh and LBJ are in season, so Pitbull and Geritol Luke are the acting muscle.
For me, at this point, confusion is setting in. Are these guys kilt-rocking, techno-robotic rap-making, billboard-breaking, fashion-forward sex symbols? Or are they thugged–out, conscientious defenders and ambassadors of home turf?
Honestly, who the hell knows? So I’m going to break it down (how I see it) in hip-hop’s native tongue:
By The Gambler
Lil Wayne rocks beats, but he don’t like the Heat
Throws a grenade not from the streets, but a villa in Belize
Then, they expect me—Pit Bull and Uncle Luke—
To invest in this mess like they’re speaking on truth
I think these cats sit around partying with models
With Bosh and Lebron, Wayne, Pit and 50 bottles
Basking in riches and the way they play puppet
Making people melt like ice at the bottom of the bucket
Signing autographs, and man they love it.
It gets boring at the top when you ain’t stressing nothing.
After tokes of that sticky in the VIP
Dudes start clowning, coming up with a strategy
To test their pimp-hand under bass that’s boomin’.
A late game-plan the Broncos defense couldn’t ruin
Maybe they really love their city
So much they’ll take an L like Shyne did for Diddy.
But it’s hard to believe these guys are that saucy
It’s an all-hands-on-deck media orgy.
And how can we get caught up in that slumber. When dudes like Dell’s son is given video numbers.
Last I checked, Pit Bull ain’t part-owner of Wade’s team
And Luke ain’t been hot since Barkley was on Dr. J’s team.
Going hard, to make us believe
They’re peeved at a rapper who gets so high he smokes Jesus’ weed
A 40-ounce ago, rappers beefed over real riffs
And peeled more caps than an Indian spear rip.
I’m confused as Isaac Hayes in a marshmallow maze
These got to be the last days when ish like this gets play.