Inarguably, hip hop (rap) is one of the leading pop music genres; at least, it is one of the loudest. I did not know which hip hop singer to choose (I do not know any), so I queried Billboard magazine and found, at the time of this writing, a man named “Drake” to hold the top spot in that category, indicating his popularity, at least currently. I searched for “Drake lyrics” and was directed to this site (it was first in the listings), where I navigated to the album that came up first on a YouTube search. Feel free to search for other, perhaps superior, lyrics. The one below appears representative.
In our last contest (well, in name: Cole Porter won in a romp), there were ample blows scored by Cole Porter for lyricism; however, the battle never ranged over the staff. We correct the mistake this time. Here are the links for today’s songs. Both should be listened to before commenting.
Warning: I have censored the language below; however, the lyrics are not censored at YouTube.
In my ever-expanding service to humanity, I listed to the Drake song in its entirety. Thanks to the miracle of alcohol, I am now fully recovered. Now, I did not actually see the Four Horseman as I listened to Mr Drake, nor could I hear their hoof beats over the cacophony, but I could feel the ominous vibrations of the ground that surely presaged their arrival. I suggest that now is the time to go on that vacation before it is too late.
Strayhorn did not sing his own song. I chose, perhaps unfairly, The Voice That Is, Johnny Hartman, to fill in for Mr Strayhorn. But if you’re going to war, it’s best to conquer your enemy quickly: this is the doctrine of overwhelming force, and I have used it here. (A commenter at YouTube also recommends—and I concur—that the Sarah Vaughn take on this song should be encountered.) And just listen to all those chord changes!
Prediction: We will see far fewer comments of the stripe, “Many people like Drake; so, Briggs, you are out of your mind.”
Best I Ever Had
I used to visit all the very gay places
Those come what may places
Where one relaxes on the axis of the wheel of life
To get the feel of life…
From jazz and cocktails.
The girls I knew had sad and sullen gray faces
With distant gay traces
That used to be there you could see where they’d been washed away
By too many through the day…
Twelve o’clock tales.
Then you came along with your siren of song
To tempt me to madness!
I thought for a while that your poignant smile was tinged with the sadness
Of a great love for me.
Ah yes! I was wrong…
I was wrong.
Life is lonely again,
And only last year everything seemed so sure.
Now life is awful again,
A trough full of hearts could only be a bore.
A week in Paris will ease the bite of it,
All I care is to smile in spite of it.
I’ll forget you, I will
While yet you are still burning inside my brain.
Romance is mush,
Stifling those who strive.
I’ll live a lush life in some small dive…
And there I’ll be, while I rot
With the rest of those whose lives are lonely, too.
You know a lot of girls be
Thinkin my songs are about them
This is not to get confused, this one’s for you
Baby you my everything, you all I ever wanted
We could do it real big, bigger than you ever done it
You be up on everything other hoes ain’t never on it
I want this forever I swear I can spend whatever on it
Cause she hold me down everytime I hit her up
When I get right I promise that we ‘gon live it up
She made me beg for it, till she give it up
And I say the same thing every single time
I say you the f***n best, you the f***n best
You the f***n best, you the f***n best
You the best I ever, best I ever had
Best I ever had, best I ever had
I say you the f***n best
Know you got a roommate, call me when it’s gone in there
Put the key under the mat and you know I be over there
(Yeah!) I be over there shawty I be over there
I be hittin all the spots that you ain’t even know it’s there
Ha! And you don’t even have to ask twice
You could You could heart or we could share it like the last slice
Always felt like you was so accustomed to the fast life
Have a n***a thinkin he met you in the past life
Sweat pants hair tied chillin with no make up on
That’s when your the prettiest I hope that you don’t take it wrong
You don’t even trip when friends say you ain’t bringin Drake along
You know that I’m workin I’ll be there soon as I make it hooooommmmmmmeeee!!!!!
And she a patient in my waitin room
Never pay attention to the rumors and what they assume
And till them girls prove it
I’m the one that never get confused with cause…
+Sex, Love, Pain+ baby, I be on that Tank shit
Buzz so big, I coul pro’lly sell a blank disc
When my album drop, bitches’ll buy it for the picture
And n***s will buy it too and claim they got it for they sister
Magazine paper girl, the money ain’t the issue
They bring dinner to my room and ask me to initial
She call me the referee, ’cause I be so official
My shirt ain’t got no stripes, but I can make ya p***y whiiiiis-tle
Like the Andy Griffith them song
…And who told you to put them jeans on?
Double cup love, you the one I lean on
Feelin for a fix then you should really get ya fiend on
Yeah, just know my condo is the crack spot
Every single show she out there reppin like a mascot
Get it from the back and make ya f***n bra strap pop
All up in ya slot ’till the n***a hit the jackpot
Uh! Ah yeah! See this the type of joint you gotta dedicate to somebody
Just make sure they that special somebody
Young Money, yeah, yeah, you know who you are…
Let the battle commence!
(Your author will be away from the computer today and will not respond to comments until tomorrow.)
Update: Sunday morning. The bell has wrung but Mr Drake has refused to remove from his corner. We’ll let him ponder for yet awhile longer, perhaps until tomorrow, when, if Mr Drake has still not stirred, Mr Strayhorn will win by Mr Drake’s forfeit.