"... speechless." by Brandon Astor Jones and David Astor Jones

Having spent half of my sixty-five years in prison, the lyrics of D J Khaled's "I'm So Hood" caught my attention immediately:

Damn my PO
Ya'll can tell her what I said it
Violate me if she want
Goin' to have to come catch me
Piss test me all you want
Ima smoke when I'm ready

For the reader who might find the language above a little difficult, let me clarify:

I do not care what my parole officer thinks; and, I do not care if she sends me back to prison. Before she can test my urine she has to catch me first, because I am going to smoke dope whenever I feel like it.

Those words conjure up an image of a person who is headed back to prison as fast as the ignorance of the culture he worships will carry him. History tells us that people in or out of prison tend to do what they know; but, if he really knew how bad long-term imprisonment is he would not be so cavalier about the very real possibility of going back.

However, in defence of both logic and truth, I feel obliged to add that it is equally cavalier on the part of the government to have had the man in prison for a number of years, with ample opportunity to teach him a socially constructive vocation, but choose not to do so. Indeed, all that he learned from prison administrators and his fellow prisoners were more proficient ways to carry out and expand his future criminal activities. I plan to write in depth on that subject in future instalments of this series, but now let me get back to D J Khaled's lyrics...

Pants hangin' off me now
'Cause my pistol heavy (hood)
I ain't spoke to you yet dawg
'Cause I ain't friendly...
They say I'm fed bound
They call me high risk
Full blooded goon
Lames make me sick
You get 3 or 4 Birds where I come from
We call you rich
I'd like to thank the hood homie is all behind me
(I'm So Hood).

The image created in the words above is of a man who wears his pants so low that you can see almost all of his underwear. One of the many reasons the so-called 'baggy style' became so trendy for the group in question, is because the adherents can easily hide large calibre firearms beneath such loose fitting clothes.

Projection of the tough persona requires genuine rappers (and even wanna-be rappers) to always present a demeanour of meanness. Hence, the reason he rarely engages in traditional greetings, and/or small talk with strangers. Keep in mind that one of his heroes is the likes of Alphonse ('Al') Capone, the late Prohibition era gangster. Therefore, it is likely that this person is headed to a federal prison for a host of reasons, not least of which is the fact that more often than not he is illegally armed. To say he is 'high risk' understates his deameanour – especially when and if he is using some of the various drugs he sells. Alas, he likes being feared as a 'full blooded goon'.

Moreover, men who respect women as well as themselves make rappers who embrace the 'goon' lifestyle 'sick'. You see, the former tend to think for themselves and they do not buy into any part of the ridiculously popular gangster rap culture. That is why so many rappers consider them to be 'lames'.

Unfortunately, for the most part, drug dealing (here read '...3 or 4 Birds' as a reference to kilograms of whatever the local drug of choice happens to be) is just about all there is left for a 'goon' who has recently been released from prison.

The language used in D J Khaled's song speaks volumes about what is wrong with gangster rap as it relates to America in general, and Black Americans in particular.

If what I wrote in the paragraph above seems a bit mysterious, maybe the following will help to make it easier to understand. Before I clarify, I want to remind the reader that Black folk in America, unlike White folk, are still trying hard to recover from the ongoing ravages and sociological residue of slavery.

I was talking a week ago with a man who had recently been to this prison's visiting room. While he waited for his visitor, he was close enough to see and hear a group of Black visitors who were already with another prisoner. There was a small child with them. She appeared to be four or five years old. As children often do, she became very animated as she clearly sang the words of D J Khaled's "I'm So Hood". Obviously filled with pride as a result of the child's clear articulation of the words in the song, a grandmotherly-looking woman in the group vigorously praised her and gave her a loving hug.

She then asked the child to recite her ABCs. Only then did the little girl become speechless.

"...a little 'lame'" by Brandon Astor Jones and David Astor Jones

An adult who ceases after youth to unlearn and relearn his facts and reconsider his opinions... is a menace to... community...

-Edward Lee Thorndike 1874-1949



The late American educational psychologist's words at the head of this essay seem completely appropriate. Contrary to popular belief, many of us in prison are changing the way we think. Here read change for the better. Let me share a recent exchange with you.

I walked into the tiny rectangular room. The barber and I greeted one another. When I sat down he immediately wrapped my neck and shoulders with a white and black pinstriped cape. He then asked, "How do you want it?"

It was only my second visit to his chair, so he was still in need of little guidelines regarding my cut. I explained again how I never want to look as if I just had a haircut. Instead, "I want to look as if I do not need one."

He said, "I've never heard that before." He went on, "What about your line?"

I answered, "Just square it off at the bottom of my sideburns and line up and down behind my ears as you fade it away into my lower neck. No line across the back either, just feather that out."

"You mean no line anywhere in front?"

"No."

Pressing further, he asked. "Why not?"

I replied, "It is my opinion that many Black men in America, as they try to hide their loss of hair, are speeding up the process of their receding hairlines every time they get a line cut across the front of their foreheads."

He cut off his clipper before declaring, "You know man, I never gave that any thought till now but it makes sense."

We exchanged a few more personal observations and opinions. Eventually he revealed that his son is in his early teens, and rarely listens to the advice he tries to give him in his frequent letters. Having heard about my reputation for writing, about things in and out of prison, he suggested that I write something that would be universally instructive for young men.

It was not a bad idea. I agreed to do it. I promised that by the time my next haircut rolled around, I would bring him a copy of whatever I came up with; and, if it met with his approval, he could send it to his son.

As he continued to cut my hair I found myself remembering my own first year as a teen. I was a run-away in Saint Louis, Missouri. Looking back on some of those days and nights I can also remember wishing that someone, anyone, would tell me the kind of things I am thinking of writing.

Later, it occurred to me that I should write a series of essays, not just one. In each essay I could choose a subject and briefly expand on it. I will start here:

The wise young man, when fortunate enough to be in the presence of an extremely attractive woman who he would like to know better, must never allow himself to be caught leering at her body parts.

I know it is sometimes incredibly difficult not to stare, but appropriate restraint must be exercised. Life is not a rap video.

I suggest that in such trying moments you look engagingly into her eyes. If you are speechless, speaking to her with your eyes presents her with an open-ended compliment that you, and/or she, can take anywhere the moment allows. She will appreciate your visual engagement, despite the silence, rather than leering.

That is the good news.

The bad news is that most gangsta (gangster) rappers would refer to the woman described above as a 'Bougie b...h' (note that I did not spell out the b- word, for the same reason I never spell out the n- word. It is all about respect and dignity for yourself and others.)

There is another kind of woman who can be equally attractive, in a physical way, and she loves being leered at. The purveyors of gangsta rap have a name for her as well. They call her and her kind 'Bus' it babies'. It does not take much to get a 'Bus' it baby' into your bed, according to the rappers. She is likely to be just as eager to hop into the next man's bed as yours, especially if he has more money than you.

In the next instalment of this series I plan to explore more of the language that is used (beyond 'Bougie b...h' and Bus' it babies) in the gangsta rap lyrics of the song "I'm So Hood".

If you are an adherent to the more rigid tenets of hard core rap, you might want to pass on reading instalment number two. That is to say it will have been written by someone who, according to the lyrics in "I'm So Hood", is more than a little 'lame'.