Rack City – A Lesson in Hip-Hop

Being a dope-ass fly homegirl, I get a lot of people asking me, “Hey, H-Dawg, how do you keep your swag so fresh and your hype so killer?”  Often when I get asked this, it takes me a lot of time to figure out just what the fuck they’re talking about and why they’re aiming this onslaught of verbal diarrhoea at me, so much so that I’m worried one day I might have some kind of aneurism trying to work it out.  But when I do manage to decipher their question, I mostly answer with an impromptu verse of free-style rapping or maybe a burst of break-dancing – it really just depends on the weather and our surroundings.

Seeing as I’m basically the authority on the ol’ thug-life etc etc, I thought it might be necessary to breakdown some hip-hop lyrics, just so you can see how such skillful vibes are built from the bottom up.  For this exercise, I’m going to use one of the smartest and most creative hip-hop songs from the last 30 years.

Wow.  I mean, that is one hell of a cinematic and tastefully erotic video, right?  Let’s take a closer look at those lyrics, shall we?  By the way, I have taken these lyrics from azlyrics.com

Rack, rack, city bitch, city bitch
Rack, rack, rack city bitch, city bitch, rack
Rack, rack, rack city bitch, city bitch
Mutha/Mugga/Mustard on the beat

So far we’ve got the place, some flippant misogyny and the suspiciously autistic repetition of an observation.  These are staples of hip-hop lyrics; we need to know where you are, how many bitches also be where you is at, and then once you’ve told us just keep saying it over and over because you’re not the only one who loves the sound of your voice, right?  On the last line,  I’ve added the three variants on the first word that I’ve found in my search for lyrics.  It could be ‘Mutha’ because we all know that while rappers are contract-bound to treat bitches like shit, they love their mums; it could be ‘mugga’ because we know that despite selling thousand of records and making a legitimate income, rappers need to make sure people know they’re capable of robbing you if they damn well please; or, rumour has it that the lyrics is actually ‘Mustard on the beat’.  No silly, not like a hot-dog!  Haha, you guys.  No, apparently the producer’s name is DJ Mustard (no relation to Colonel), known for his high quality audio recordings, and so this is one of those classic hip-hop ‘shout outs’.  The true story behind this lyric is surely one of the music industries greatest enigmas since the mystery behind the identity of the person who made Leo Sayer feel like dancing.


Hey, at least Tyga finds it funny.

Rack city bitch, rack, rack city bitch
Ten ten ten twenties on ya titties bitch
100 deep V.I.P. no guest list

I’ve never been good at maths, and there are a LOT of numbers in this first verse.  From what I can ascertain, Tyga is throwing money upon an unsuspecting lady’s bosom, either out of kindness (doubtful) or during an act of degradation.  I guess we’ll never truly know.  100 deep refers to Tyga’s ability to swim two lengths of an Olympic swimming pool – it’s a humorous reference because tigers normally dislike water, whereas this Tyga is a bit of an aquatic show-off.  Although correct me if I’m wrong – I thought the point of having a guest list was that some people are V.I.Ps and others weren’t on the guest list?  How do you differentiate between hip-hop royalty and everyday normal folk?  HOW DO I KNOW WHO TO LET IN, TYGA?

“How about I drop some twenties on YOUR titties, smart-ass?”

T-Raw you don’t know who you fucking with?
Got my other bitch fucking with my other bitch
Fucking all night nigga we ain’t celibate

Hip-hop 101a: Make it clear that you have participated in some form of sexual act.  Here, we can see that Tyga has set up a very complex and multi-layered orgy, so much so that one chap is actually oblivious to the identity of his sexual partner.

Hip-hop 101b: Absolutely no hints of homosexuality can occur in your lyrics – unless it’s bitches fucking other bitches.  That’s really important to remember.

Make it sound too dope I ain’t selling it
Bar fresher than a motherfucking peppermint
Gold Letterman last kings killing shit
Young money young money yeah we getting rich

From what I can tell, the first part of this verse has something to do with toothpaste and the second to last line makes some kind of threat toward David Letterman and Larry King, so if you’re reading this Tyga, you better not hurt them, you had damn well better not hurt those beautiful bastards.  It could be that Last King refers to Tyga’s clothing line…but rappers are renowned for maintaining a humble attitude toward their other creative ventures, so I doubt he’d be plugging his gear in a song.  Besides, he doesn’t need to – he’s getting rich anyway, with what must be freshly printed ‘young’ money.

I Got ya grandma on my dick (ha ha)
Girl you know what it is

I, uh… I’m afraid I don’t know what it is, Tyga, not this time.

Rack city bitch, rack, rack, city bitch [x3]
Ten, ten, ten, twenties and them fifties bitch

Oh, here we go, more counting and a cheeky reminder of where we are, except that now Tyga’s got fifties!  FIFTIES!  Probably from selling all those jackets and what have you – job well done, Tyg-tyg!

I’m a motherfucking star (star)
Look at the paint on the car (car)

It has long been established that by looking at the paintwork on a car you can find out everything you need to know about a man.  I happened to take a look at the paint on Tyga’s car.

Throw some of those tens or twenties towards a bucket and a sponge, fam.

Too much rim make the ride too hard

No homo, eh Tyga?

Tell that bitch hop out, walk the boulevard
I need my money pronto

Not content with being a music mogul and fashion icon, Tyga also finds time to branch out into a little bit of pimping on the side.  Hey, if you’ve got bitches going spare, why wouldn’t you get them walking the boulevard?  After all, he needs his money pronto in order to throw it on them titties, bitch.

Get it in the morning like Alonzo
Rondo, Green got cheese like a nacho
If you ain’t got no ass bitch wear a poncho

There’s nothing like dropping a few names in a hip-hop song.  Tyga’s talking about some sportsmen here, but I have no interest in sports so I’m going to just skip over the actually quite smart wordplay on Alonzo Mourning’s name and reference to Rajon Rondo’s green sports kit.  Not just that, I was side-tracked by the plus-size lady-worship in this bit.  Tyga mentions cheese and nachos and my head starts to swim with images of delicious crispy nachos in a hot cheesy sauce and then BAM!  He finishes it up with a warning to flat-arsed girls that they should adorn themselves with Mexican garments to cover up their offending body part.

Head honcho got my seat back
Nigga staring at me don’t get bapped
Got my shirt off the club too packed
It’s too turned going up like gas

If we’ve learned anything from rappers, it’s that they need to constantly let us know that they are in charge of everything they do, as long as it’s okay with their record label.  But Tyga is the head honcho for real.  He’s such a hotshot that when there are too many people in the club and it gets too hot, he can take his goddamn shirt off in the club – oh but when I do it, I get “Please ma’am, you’re scaring the other customers” and “How will I sleep now with such a horrific image burned onto my retinas?”

God damn pulled out my racks
Mike Mike Jackson nigga yeah I’m bad
Rat T-T-T-Tatted up on my back

At this point, I fear that the heat has become too much for Tyga to handle, and he has started to ramble incoherent nonsense, stuttering in a bewildered state of delirium, a side-effect from the heat-stroke.

All the hoes love me you know what it is

Thankfully, his ego has remained and at least he still knows how popular he is.

Rack city bitch, rack, rack, city bitch [x3]
Ten, ten, ten, twenties and them fifties bitch

Throwing hunnids, hunnids
Hunnids, hunnids

Finally, Tyga’s made it up to 100 dollar bills.  Congratulations, Tyga!

Throwing hunnids, hunnids

Alright, we get it, bro.

Rack city bitch, rack, rack city bitch

Oh, not this shit again.

Hunnids, hunnids


Throwing hunnids, hunnids

Don’t be a dick, Tyga

Hunnids, hunnids

Mate, please, just say ANYTHING else

Rack city bitch, rack, rack city bitch


(Rack, rack, rack, rack, rack…)

Rack rack rack rack rack rack hunnid rack rack hunnid fifty titties tittes rack rack hunnid oh god kill me now hunnid hunnid rack raaaaaaaaaaAAAAAARRRGGHHHH


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