Lyrics and some reaction after the jump.
You really have to read the lyrics and hear the song first.
The Game, “I’m So Wavy”
Niggas pop tags, I pop the fo’-five
Niggas got swag, I got the Tek-9
Niggas got cash better run it
Only dubs and hundreds, I don’t do fifties, nigga
And I don’t do 50-year-old Jiggas
Off that boss black Lamborghini, interior soft crack
Louis V golf hat, feelin’ like a Tiger
I made something out of nothin’ like MacGuyver
Started from an eighth, flipped it to a ki
I got ’em like ay, trappin’ like Gucci
Plus I get more green than bleu cheese
And I keep a red bandana in my blue jeans
So, nigga calm your nerves, with all that absurd
Far from the curb bullshit-slash-spoken word
I’m from the same city as Venus and Serena
So don’t get served
I’m so wavy, homie no yacht
Ain’t no “Big Pimpin'” on my block
But I’m an underground king, peace to Pimp C
Catch me ridin’ through the hood, 20-10 Bentley
You got cheese and I kill rats
Translation: I still trap
Now do something with that
Or respond to this
And with them big-ass lips
You got my name in your mouth
I hope it tastes like this—Ahh
No homo, one more time—Ahh
That’s your promo
And I been hard to the core since I went solo
Only man on my horse like my all-black Polo
And where I’m ’bout to go is usually a no-no
But I’m loco, got the camel in a chokehold
Tryna son me, I’m not from NYC
You can’t even have a child by your Destiny
And I ain’t mean to that a shot at Bey
I’m blacked out like you did Free
‘Cause I’m so wavy
Too hardcore to be a Jay-Z
Rock more red than Weezy Baby
Please say the Baby
I been around for years, so bitch, don’t Drake me
And this is not a diss
‘Cause I was just out in LA with Drake, bitch
And no disrespect to G and Hip-Hop
But nigga I’m a G and I’m doing this for hip-hop
And that’s ‘Ye’s brother, and ‘Ye my nigga so
I’ma give him some advice: Get rid of Amber Rose!
I’ma tell you how she get down
I was at Dig’s afterparty, sippin’ Cris
She was whisperin’ to Chris Brown
I seen Chris turn his head like “No!”
Then “Gold Digger” came on, I pointed like, “Hoe!”
But this ain’t ’bout her, this about Hov
I’ma chop down the Roc and take it to the stove
I apologize to Bey, ’cause this about Hov
I’ma chop down the Roc and take it to the stove
T-Pain stays, old nigga goes
I’m so wavy
Too hardcore to be a Jay-Z
All up in your ear like Drake be
So nigga the cut ‘Ye couldn’t fade me
You took a shot and the shit grazed me
I wet up your block just like the Navy
Put a label on the shit and write “Play Me”
DJs go in, DJs go in
The yapping in the outro:
Funk Flex, you my nigga. Clue, what up? DJ Enuff. I know y’all can’t play this shit. It’s too wavy. And Jay your boy, it’s all good though, y’all still my niggas. DJ Drama, Kay Slay, lock in. I mean, this shit so hot DJ Whoooooo Kid might spin this shit at 50’s birthday party. DJ Skee! Khaled know we the best! Yo, Don Cannon, Cannon! I know y’all niggas locked in. DJ Chris Styles! Young Legend, Nu Jerzey Devil. DJ Felli Fel! Ed Deluxe, D Man, ride this shit straight through Big Boy Neighborhood! Kid Capri, tell Hovi Hov leave that young nigga alone! I mean, DJ Red Alert, what up OG? Red Album comin’ soon.
I see you downloadin’ my swag, camelface. Blueprint 3 gon’ sell more cigarettes than it do records, nigga. Now I know why the taxes went up on tobacco, motherfucker. Heard ’bout your little fight backstage with Kanye, too. I got a million dollars say Kanye knocked that nigga the fuck out. Just tryna make good music, is all he tryna do. Shit, ‘choo fuckin’ with ‘Ye for? “D.O.A.” nigga? Please. I love 808s and Heartbreaks, “Love Lockdown,” that’s my shit.
And tell the world why Chris Brown wasn’t at the BET Awards. This nigga told BET if they let Chris Breezy, him and Beyonce stayin’ at home, ol’ bitter ass nigga.
Nigga, Dame, man, that’s your man. You and Dame was mans and ’em. You and Dame used to be tighter than giraffe pussy and shit. You know your man having financial problems and shit. You number one on the Forbes list, nigga, you make 35 million and shit. Give a nigga a milli or sum’. I’d give it to him myself, but shit, I was only #13, nigga, on the list, way down there with Jeezy and shit, earned 7 million this year so far. But I’m on tour, nigga, Lamborghini Tour, live from Switzerland, I gets it in. Shit, I could use 28 more million. But I wouldn’t trade shots with you on the motherfuckin’ list for that nose and them lips, nigga. My nigga Jay.
And last but not least, peace to M.I.A., ’cause the Roc ’bout to be MIA. No one on the corner got a swagger like you, ’cause no one on the fuckin’ corner is 42.
And I’m actually inclined to agree with both camps.
The Game has been hip-hop’s wounded wolf for a while now, mentioning Jay-Z often and generally trying to bait him into a beef after his breakup with 50 Cent and G-Unit and recording one of the more overblown diss tracks in hip-hop history.
He certainly thrives on this sort of petulance, and occasionally tosses a dagger in his disses: Claiming that Hov’s infertile is one hell of a hook, that yacht/”Big Pimpin'” line works well, the “you nerd” line is funny, and some of the ab-libbed trash talk hits. These are some of the better shots anyone’s gotten off against Hov, and they clearly come from someone who’s studied Jigga’s lines, and they’re over a bouncy instrumental that serves the song well.
But Game would be better off studying Hov’s life and career.
The “no one else on the corner is 42” line, which is going to be the takeaway from this song, is both inaccurate and stupid—Hov’s 39 and, last I checked, no one was so wrapped up in a rapper’s age to be clamoring for albums to come with birth certificates—but, moreover, it’s a misread of Jay’s last five years. The best line on “D.O.A.” is “I don’t be in the project hallway/Talkin’ ’bout how I be in the project all day” is genius both because it’s a fun flip and because it’s true. No one should expecting a former CEO of a recording company to be on street corners; no one should actually think Jay’s coke talk on American Gangster was contemporaneous autobiography.
And grading Jay by his “realness” is stupid: He’s a business at this point, the guy who can dub himself “IPO Hov, no need for reverse merger” to minimal eye-rolling and put LeBron James, Lyor Cohen, and Harvey Keitel in the same video without it being remotely wack. Hov’s above the sort of things Game’s doing here, usually, and has no need for cooked-up drama.
So when Game resorts to the same things Nas did almost a decade ago, he loses by doing them less artfully: The “camelface” sobriquet is as basic a diss tactic in general as it is a played-out line of attack on Jay in particular; the gay slurs were, if not any less ignorant, a little more creative with “Gay-Z and Cock-a-fella records wanted beef”; the “he said, she said” is more appealing to the drama fiends than the music lovers.
And then there’s the puzzling back-tracking in his own song. He says Hov’s infertile then literally apologizes to Beyonce. He disses Amber Rose, Kanye’s squeeze, and tries to smooth things over with ‘Ye in the same song, bigging up his poppier CD; that, and the Drake mention/co-sign, would seem to be endorsements of rappers who are as hardcore as Klondike bars. The fourth bar’s subliminal at 50 (and it is, don’t kid yourself) is papered over with shouts to Whoo Kid and a plea to get it played at 50’s birthday party.
Add all that up, package it with the reference to a convicted felon in the title and tedious pleading to DJs to make this a situation, and you have a talented guy capable of sniping Jay on a bar-to-bar basis but without enough diazepam to keep from shooting himself in both feet. The track is nails, but Game can’t nail Shawn Carter.
As with all beefs, I’m sure this is a publicity stunt in some part, juice for an album in the pipeline. But I worry that Jayceon almost doesn’t know what he’s doing, as others suggest. I don’t know where he goes from here, but I know Hov has an arsenal at the ready should he want to flame Game:
- How about a diss with Jeezy?
- A diss with Kanye? Jumping on “Love Lockdown” would work.
- A diss with Drake on his first single or, say, an “Unstoppable” remix?
- A diss with Lil Wayne?
- A diss with (gulp) 50?
- A diss with all of the above?
And Hov’s also got the ultimate trump card: Silence.
Even if he threw Game’s name into the Blueprint 3 intro, he explicitly said he “wasn’t” talking about him. That’s rhetoric at its finest, and a way to acknowledge Jayceon’s yapping without dignifying it. Jay gets whatever buzz that gives him without stooping to a full-on diss. Game just took the bait and tried to heat up his end of this beef, but because it would have been entirely impossible for him to do anything else, he’s only giving Hov more heat in the process.
Oscar Mayer died this week. This beef should, too.