“I WISH A NEGRO WOULD TOUCH MY HAIR AFTER I GOT IT DONE! “ is heard being yelled from a gaggle of African-American females at a brunch. “He better go get a white girl for that” is the follow-up by the freshly done, mohawked co-signer giving cliché snaps and hi-fives in my imaginary scenario. Yet, imaginary or not….at least ONE African-American sister reading this nodded her head in agreement at the reality of such statements before reaching the sentence about it being a made up scenario. We live here. Somewhere between I Wish A Nigga Would Blvd and Madame CJ Walker Ave where it has become okay for our crown and glory to remain nothing more than a show piece head-dress to be paraded in front of our kings like an artifact in a museum; on display but not to be touched. How’d we get here?
Did we get to this point from the hours upon hours of sitting next to the stove in the kitchen smelling dinner cook as your mom threatened to burn your neck if you didn’t lean your head all the way to the side as Blue Magic sizzled in your ear? Or was it the reoccurring echo of your mother yelling, “Dont let anyone play in your hair while you are at school” that has somehow follow you into adulthood, long after the threat of lice were gone? Or was it the old wives tales that your hair carries energy and not just anyone should be playing in your hair like it is recess? Whatever the case may be, if your man is good enough to play all up and through your candy land….why can’t he play in your naps? It sounds so silly once I put it that way doesn’t it? You can sleep with me, but don’t touch my hair. I mean, if we told inner city girls that they needed to care for their bush as much as they do their…well..bush, we may have more virgins in the world and cut down on the world population. Why can a man have sex with us… but can’t touch our hair? Strange…..very , very , strange.
Knowing the Black woman better than she knows herself ( yes, I’m black), I know for a fact that no matter how liberal she may think that she is… she would rather vote Palin in office with Bush as her VP and McCain as Secretary of Defense before she would ever want to see a Black man with a White woman. It is fact. Even the liberal ones cringe at first sight, evaluate a flaw in her, compare it to the flaw in him and then become okay with it. It’s because we wonder…..what in the hell does she have to make him cross melanin lines and date outside of the cotton field. It is not racial. It is a direct example of confusion between Black males and females personified and in the flesh and we are left to face it. When not in “mixed company” we share derogatory statements like nigger jokes at a country club amongst ourselves about how the White woman will do the stuff that we wont do , never seeing it as a negative for us but rather a negative for her. This isn’t intended to be racial as it is informative. Its Lisa Lamponelli , Carlos Mencia, Paul Mooney and Richard Prior on stage being copy/pasted into the privacy of our own homes. They say what we think…and even reveal what we have yet to understand.
I’m not a freak by any stretch of the imagination, but I often wonder what do people get out of the whole “pull my hair” segment of sex, I mean who does that? If this were a question on Jeopardy the answer would be “What is Shit that White people do?”. I’m tender headed. I don’t like to comb my hair when I HAVE to yet alone allow a guy to grip and cause alopecia traction baldness in a heat of passion. So what do people get out of that? I am soooooo serious when I ask this question. Outside of kinky violence, I can’t see much else being received from it. Or can I?… Nope, I can’t. But I do have a serious question to ask, a few actually.
Black ladies…..do you think that we lose a huge portion of our intimacy with our Black men because we often refuse to let them touch our hair? I mean… think about it. To a guy, touching your hair is a subtle way of him sending you a signal that he is feeling you. Swimming or sexual encounters in bodies of water or the shower is on the top of many men’s fantasy lists; seen Baywatch Lately? Men go crazy as a woman does a slow walk out of the water and pushes her hair out of her face. The slow hair blow as a woman gets out of the car was designed by a man, for a man as a way to seduce him via Yaky 1b natural. Yet, ladies…. most of us do not partake in any of these activities. I don’t care if a woman is natural or creamy cracked out…. several will not let her man touch her hair. WE have built up this impermeable wall of Pink Oil Moisturizer and Jam that most black men have learned before they were able to pee directly into the bowl that they do not touch a black woman’s hair. We have unconsciously trained our future kings that they can touch everything on his future queen’s body but her crown. Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this?
I mentioned this to my big brother on Sunday, and I promise you that if he had wings he would have jumped off the sofa in agreement and flown away. For a moment it looked as if he had caught the Holy Ghost, but it was just frustration releasing. He wasnt even paying attention to my side conversation with his wife…. but I ‘ll be damned if he wasnt fully listening now! lol. I wish I had recorded it just so that women could see the amount of energy and excitement he expressed to finally have a black women expressing his same sentiments. He said, “I would even go as far as to say that THIS (not touching a black woman’s hair) is why SOME black men date outside of the race.” There you have it… straight from the horse’s mouth! Ladies, here you have a black man telling you that he could understand why a black man would date outside of his race….just to feel someone’s hair/scalp… than to stick around and not be able to express his silent form of affection to you. I’ve even posted this question on Twitter and got blocked from tweeting because I ran out of my daily allotted tweets by responding to the sea of guys who said that they wished they could touch their girl’s hair/head. I posted it again today and will see what happens.
So in closing, Black women… we’ve got to do better when it comes to allowing our kings to touch our hair. Maybe let him touch it for the few days leading up to a retouch, or right after you get it washed. Maybe this is the connection that we need to re-establish in order to allow intimacy to flow from a natural place, unrestricted by social taboos and norms. Maybe, and just maybe this will cause Mr. Lynch to shake in his grave if we can get one woman to allow her man to run his fingers through her hair. Would it hurt us to share this portion of ourselves? Would it kill us to open of a gateway to intimacy that hasn’t been there since the invention of a hot comb? Can we learn that there are things far more important than our hair? I hope so……your relationship is counting on it. And I am not asking you to let everyone touch your hair… just your man. SO yes, if the complete stranger (white woman) standing behind you at the Reagan National Airport decides amongst her friends that you have beautiful hair and decides to reach out and run her fingers through your hair…..(This happened to me)…..just breathe before you commit a felony. Everyone is not as restrictive as we are about our hair….and this is the day that you may need to examine why. It is my suggestion that we ask ourselves if this is the cause of why black love has a “loc” on intimacy.
Like Waka Flocka at all of his paid performances, I am at a loss for words. I mean, I will make an honest attempt to give some form of props in the middle of this mess….but no promises.
Waka Flaka’s No Hands is a very trendy and catchy beat and chorus that has teens from DC to Japan screaming “Look ma, no hands” and even though I have been guilty of bobbing to it in my own house and subconsciously learning the lyrics thanks to constant rotation on the radio, I wouldn’t want anyone else learning it. Hypocrite? Yes, and rightfully so. I’m old enough to know what the lyrics of the song mean. I wish I could sit a class down and deconstruct these lyrics. It’s the teen group that I want to stop from bobbing to this, because the girls are the first ones to jump up and prove to the boys that they are the best “No Hands” chick in the building, and the boys continue to think that treating these girls as such is what the girls want because they aren’t showing them otherwise.
I remember when Hip-Hop use to make us think, you to get you amped up to do something, but now this rap stuff is for no other use than to degrade and get your head bobbing in the club. Being, indirectly, from the south you would think that I was proud of the south’s musical (lack of) achievements. I mean, the Stanky Leg and No Hands should be enough to make me rep’ my city….right? Not so much. Okay…enough of my banter… lets look at these lyrics. The same lyrics that get bleeped out on the radio and make it sound just a little bit cleaner than what it was ever intended to be……those edited lyrics are WAY better than what is said.
Chorus:
Roscoe;Chorus:] Girl the way you’re movin’ Got me in a trance DJ turn me up Ladies dis yo jam I’ma sip Moscato And you ‘gon lose dem pants Then I’ma throw this money While you do it with no hands Girl drop it to the flo’ I love the way yo booty go All I want to do is sit back And watch you move And I’ll proceed to throw this cash
Fiiiiiiiirst off! Roscoe has a daughter. I keep trying to tell people how this whole ” I will corrupt your sons and daughters while I protect my own seed” mentality is a bunch of bullshit! Some lil boy is going to grow up thinking that this is how to treat a woman, therefore making his daughter’s chances of finding a decent man who doesn’t want her just for her money slim to impossible!!! I can’t shout this enough. So he is telling you that this is your song & you’ve got to take your pants off BEFORE he’ll give you any money. Okay… on to the king of stupidity.
Verse 1:
Waka;Verse 1:] (Waka, Waka, Waka, Flocka, Whoa, Whoa) All that ass In yo jeans Can Wale beat Can Roscoe skeet Long hair she don’t care When she walk she get stares Brown skin or a yellow-bone DJ this my favorite song So I’ma make it thunderstorm Bud, want it, Flocka, yea Blowin’ ,fuck it, i dont care Chests’ flyin’ everywhere Got my partner Roscoe, like bruh I’m drinkin’, help, can’t you tell Booze help me hit them 15 steps I’m fuckin’, well i’m tryna hit the hotel With 2 girls that swallow me Take this dick while swallow Pay moscato got her freaky Aye you got me in a trance Please take off yo pants Pussy pop on her handstand You got me sweatin’ Please pass me a fan damn!
After the “Shawt Bus Shawty intro……(Waka Waka Waka Waka). Ummmm…. So, he doesn’t even want to sleep with you. He just wants to ask if his boy can beat it and then can his OTHER boy skeet it? Classy! I mean…this should have all the girls out on the dance floor dancing like coons, booty tooted up in the air! And one wants to beat it…..sooooo is the other sitting in the corner holding his skeet? Or is he beating himself while the other beats and then they tag team WWE style while one now skeets on her and the other contains his skeet because that wasnt apart of the contractual agreement? Okay… I thought too much into that, but why say it if it doesn’t make any logical sense? So…further in the verse you are only good enough to suck him off because he doesn’t think you’re quite fuckable material because you might get pregnant and he doesn’t want that. And the first southern grammatical stab is “Chests'” ….pronounced by Waka as “Chest-is” LMAO!!! You showl is edjumikated. And I think he had a bout with schizophrenia in the middle when we asked himself if he wanted bud…and then answered himself. But….next!
After a flare of the chorus again……..
Verse 2:
[Wale;Verse 2:] (Aye, aye, Wale, uh) She said look ma no hands She said look ma no hands And no darling I don’t dance And, I’m with Roscoe, I’m with Waka I think i deserve a chance I’m a bad mothafucka Gon’ ask some mothafuckas A young handsome mothafucka I sling that wood I just nun chuck ’em And, who you wit And, what’s yo name And, you not hear boo, I’m Wale And, that D.C. shit I rep all day And, my eyes red cuz of all that haze Don’t blow my high Let me shine Drumma on the beat Let me take my time Nigga want beef we can take it outside Fight for what broad These hoes ain’t mine Is you out yo mind You out yo league I sweat no bitches Just sweat out weaves Where our tracks Let me do my thing I got 16, for this Roscoe thing But, i’m almost done Let me get back to it Whole lotta loud And a little backwood Whole lotta money Big tip I would I put her on the train Little engine could, bitch
I know this is just a song, but she was proud enough to show her mother how she does it without hands? I wish I would!!! My mother would hop up from the grave and pimp slap me with the withering hang of my ancestors if I EVER did that in front of her. I’m still afraid to do stuff in my own house in fear that her spirit can see… & I am grown! lol. Nunchucks are weapons…..domestic violence is not cute metaphorically or literally….NEXT! Ummm what the fuck does “You not hear” mean? Is that suppose to be “you can’t hear” or “havent you heard” or am I bugging? Nope, not bugging… he did graduate from PG County public schools. I know… I live here…lmao! And just in case you thought that he would protect your honor after you gave up the ass…. think again! You hoes arent his! lol And just when you wanted frequent flier miles… he plans on straight up Amtraking your ass…..am I making my point?
And last but definitely not least:
Verse 3:
[Roscoe;Verse 3:] (Roscoe Dash, let’s go) R-O-S-C-O-E-Mr. shawty put it on me I be goin’ ham Shawty upgrade from baloney Them niggas tippin’ good Girl but I can make it flood Cuz I walk around With pockets bigger that are than my bus Rain, rain go away That’s what all my haters say My pockets stuck on overload My reign never evaporates No need to eleborate Most of these ducks exaggerate But, i’ma get money nigga Everyday stuntin’ nigga Ducks might get a chance after me Bitch i’m ballin’ Like i’m comin’ off of free throws Cuz the head of the game No cheat codes Lambo, Roscoe No street code And your booty got me lost like Nemo Go, go, go G-gon’ and do yo dance And, i’ma throw this money While you do it wit no hands (GO!)
My hoe has a first name its, Y-O-U-S-A; my hoe has a last name, its B-I-T-C-H! lol. SO between ham and bologna, he only deals with basic bitches. No steak, no filet mignon, hell….not even turkey? This is a classy negro ladies… he will spend the best on his bitches! And I think that he happens to have a fetish with Ducks…..dont go to Disney World and leave him alone with Donald. Trust me…..the water metaphors are freaking me out. And he might not even really like women because he really only talked about himself through the whole verse. Was this to redeem himself for even being apart of this fucked up coonery in the first place? At least he spoke the best English in the song. COONSTATSTIC!
I tried to find some praise in there… this is how I really feel about this song. Bounce if you must….but this is just HORRIBLE! Okay.. I’m done. Until I get some liquid courage in my system at a private house party and I begin to jam to this. What? I wanna do it with no hands…I’ve been practicing Yoga. lol
~*2Deep*~ Uncensored! 