I've lived in Florida most of my adult live, so when it comes to music, I've heard some of the most ghetto tomfoolery imaginable. Luke. The Jam Pony Express. Poison Clan. One of my fondest memories (circa 1992) is of listening to a newspaper arts writer perform a Clay D. song intro that went something like this: "This is for all the motherf^%*ers who said Clay D wasn't s*&@!"
R. Kelly singlehandedly reset the bar, surpassing even his own enviable record of audio ignorance with "Real Talk." When I heard it last year, it was a bit like seeing Pacino in his prime. In the genre of "Songs to Embarrass the Race By," R. has long been the undisuputed master.
Well, the master has been upstaged. The paradigm has shifted. This song by Florida (of course) rapper Riskay is so over the top in its ignorance that I can't even bring myself to share the title. Perhaps these choice lyrics will provide a clue: I might break bread with one or two strippers/but that don't mean you got to pull my zipper.
As an aside, I don't think this is the kind of iPhone product placement that Steve Jobs had in mind.
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