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Not All Black People Can Rap, and Other Confessions
I’m from Brooklyn, so I quote Jay-Z like pastors quote the Bible.
I truly believe that there’s a Hov line for any occasion; if you can’t think of one, then your knowledge of his catalog isn’t deep enough. But, I don’t have that problem because I love rap. I’m a fan of the old and the new. I lament that Andre 3000 hasn’t blessed us with an album in years, yet I still appreciate the contributions of Lil Baby, Megan Thee Stallion, and Fivio Foreign. I miss the old Kanye but still bump “Closed on Sunday” because the chorus in the background is crazy. And, I contend that Get Rich or Die Tryin’ is one of the greatest albums of all time. Not just rap. All-time. There are no skips.
Yet, despite my best efforts, I can’t rap. Also, I’m Black. I know — the travesty.
You’re not the first to be disappointed by my lyrical deficiencies. I first let Nas down in the summer of 2007 in my freshman year of college. As I headed to a math lecture, two melanin-deficient young women stopped me.
“Hi! Can you rap for us?” they said, almost in unison.
Both women were just about five-and-a-half feet tall, with messy brunette hair corralled into ponytails. I would have thought that they were twins had it not been for their contrasting features.
