Like that couple whose Facebook walls read like a day-to-day update of how much they love each other at that moment, Justin and Selena just can’t seem to stop writing songs about each other. Unlike status-happy couples, she apparently gave him a heads-up that it was coming.
Hey babe it’s me, I just wanted to call to tell you that I love you so so so so much – just wanted to let you know that you are my princess, you are worthy of all of the love in the world, you are the love of my life. [1]
Gomez begins her song not with her own voice but with a literal quote from the JBiebz, to remind the listener that this song is definitely written for him. In another interpretation, Justin Bieber got drunk and tried to be Sinatra, and Selena heard the echoes of a killer marketing strategy. Continue reading →
Beginning his song with a bang, Avalon wastes no time in getting to the heart of social issues. He first promotes his member, pointing out that others would even pay money for it. Yet, Avalon slyly differentiates himself from a prostitute, reminding listeners that it is us, not him, who have the HIV. By making this claim, he assigns to himself a high level of social status and desirability, going on to condemn his audience for having a disease with a great amount of social stigma.
My dick plays on the double feature screen Your dick went straight to DVD
By likening his dick to something that shows on a double feature screen, Avalon characterizes it as a hot commodity. People come from all over town and pay high prices to see Avalon’s dick. Us, however? We would never get the pleasure of having our dick played on the big screen. Nay, our dick is only sold on DVD. And not as a $21.99 DVD sold in Barnes and Noble; we’re talking a $2.99 DVD sold in the giant bin in Walmart.
My dick – bigger than a bridge Your dick look like a little kid’s
We live in a society in which bigger means better, and this tenet doesn’t waver when it comes to dicks. Avalon subtly hints at this deeply embedded cultural value, hyperbolizing this widespread preference in a very accessible manner: dick size. Needless to say, Mickey Avalon’s dick is not the size of a bridge, and even if it were, in no way could it be bigger than a bridge. By drawing such a drastically large contrast between a bridge-sized dick and a kid-sized dick, Avalon makes his point abundantly clear.
My dick – large like the Chargers, the whole team Your shit look like you fourteen
At this point in the song, Avalon begins solidifying some of the rhetorical devices he uses to make his argument clear. The repeated anaphora, “My dick…your dick…” continues, giving the audience a structure by which they can better grasp the song. Furthermore, he makes a repeated analogy of his audience’s dick to a child’s, first by saying it “looks like a kid’s”, and now getting more specific by saying it looks like the dick of a fourteen-year-old, which is presumably pretty small. The reference to the San Diego Chargers is interesting, because the Chargers aren’t very good at football.
My dick – locked in a cage, right Your dick suffer from stage fright
In this passage, Avalon talks up his dick by describing how it is “locked in a cage.” This is likely implying that his dick is so strong, so powerful that it can only be contained behind bars. He throws this into stark contrast with his audience’s dick, which is so meek and feeble that it has stage fright, undergoing nervous attacks at the sight of other people.
My dick – so hot, it’s stolen Your dick look like Gary Coleman
It seems more than likely that his dick is “stolen” in a metaphorical sense, but not a literal one. But still, his dick is “so hot, it’s stolen,” suggesting again that his dick is a widely revered and desired entity. Unfortunately, for his audience the prospect of such an amazing dick is distant, as we are stuck with a dick that looks like the late child star Gary Coleman.
My dick – pink and big Your dick stinks like shit
In this phrase, Avalon begins to delve into a thorough examination of our heteronormative society and the effects that has on dicks. He describes his dick as “pink and big,” and yet, pink is neither masculine nor commonly used to refer to the male genitalia. In fact, it’s often used to refer to the female genitalia. Oddly enough, Avalon then reinforces gender norms by lambasting his audience because their dick “stinks like shit,” implying an act of sodomy.
My dick got a Caesar do, Your dick needs a tweezer, dude
Avalon proudly touts the manner in which his dick’s hair has been styled. I am personally unsure of what a “Caesar do” is, but I like to think that it literally is a dick with the hair of Julius Caesar, as modeled in one of his busts. It seems interesting, though, that Avalon assigns such positive value to pubic hair, even though many see it as a drawback or even a dealbreaker. Regardless, using his outlined framework by which pubic hair is viewed as a symbol of prominence and virility, Avalon wastes no time in criticizing his audience, highlighting the fact that their member is so small that they require a tweezer to utilize it. It is safe to assume that, with such small genitalia, one couldn’t even concern themselves with this sought-after notion of pubic hair.
My dick is like super size Your dick look like two fries
By alluding to the McDonald’s Corporation, Avalon is making a series of lofty implications about his genitals. As the pioneer of the fast food industry and one of today’s foremost global corporations, McDonald’s serves as a steady symbol of strength, power, and success – values Avalon would readily associate with his genitals. Yet, he uses that imagery to taunt the listener. Two fries, arguably even the two fries that comprise McDonald’s iconic “Double Arches” logo, is such a meager portion of McDonald’s impressive portfolio that, by comparison, the reader’s dick is really, really small and insignificant.
My dick – more mass than the Earth Your dick – half staff, it needs work
Here, the author chooses to make a comparison that is relevant to all of us: a comparison to our planet. If one takes just a brief moment to fathom the vast expanse that is our planet, it seems to be a bold claim – daresay even a laughable one – that his dick has more mass than Earth, which is spherical and 24,000 miles in circumference. Even if Avalon’s dick were as dense as the Earth, it would have to be larger than our massive terrestrial body in order to outdo it in mass. But Avalon has established himself throughout this piece as a credibly large-dicked man, so we are forced to take his word. And as if it weren’t enough to have a huge member, he belittles his audience by using fractions to define theirs.
My dick – been there done that Your dick sits there with dunce cap
It is an indisputable truth that in our world, seniority and experience equates to power. Avalon reminds us of this reality by framing it from the perspective of — you guessed it — his dick. He points out that his dick has enjoyed a wealth of experiences, while implying that the audience’s dick is a half-wit, sitting in a dunce cap. This phrase is a fascinating roundabout rejection of the theory that knowledge is purely relative to one’s environment. Many might suggest that the audience’s dick is, in fact, quite intelligent, but owns a different set of skills and knowledge, but Avalon vehemently denies this notion.
My dick – V.I.P. Your shit needs I.D.
This phrase is much more straightforward than much of the song. The author paints us a picture of an event – a nightclub, or perhaps the American Airlines Admirals’ Club. Avalon suggests that, if his dick were to attempt to enter such a selective establishment, it would be given prime treatment as a very important person. The audience’s dick, however, would not even be able to get in without showing identification. The audience’s dick is a nobody, a lost soul; it yearns for recognition and popularity, but knows deep down inside (lol) that it will not ever reach the status of Avalon’s dick.
It’s time that we let the world know
Dude, you gotta let your girl go D.S. is the best in the business P.S. we got dicks like Jesus
This cryptic passage offers a confusing but rousing chorus. Avalon is so thrilled with the robust and glorious nature of his dick that he can’t resist shouting it to the world! He refers to some character named D.S. who is apparently the “best in the business,” but who is D.S.? Probably Donna Summers. Anyway. The most striking line of this chorus is without doubt his allusion to Jesus, as he proclaims that him and his accomplice (maybe D.S.) “got dicks like Jesus.” Are they comparing their appendages to the savior himself, or to his appendage? The world may never know. But this line remains powerful; Avalon characterizes his dick as being legendary and iconic, but also having experienced terrible struggle and strife. Truly beautiful.
Yes, there are more lyrics. But let’s be real. I don’t want to write about them, and you don’t want to read about them
Jackie Robinson breaking the color barrier in baseball. Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat on the bus. Martin Luther King having a dream. Barack Obama winning the presidency. All of us are familiar with the work that trailblazers like these and so many others accomplished to move beyond our nation’s racial divisions. Now, I am proud to announce that we can inscribe two more names on to this prestigious list, for country singer Brad Paisley has teamed up with rap icon/NCIS: Los Angeles star LL Cool J to finally eradicate black-white tensions. If you were at all concerned that America in 2013 had still not achieved a truly post-racial society, then boy, do I have news for you! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you “Accidental Racist.”
“To the man who waited on me at the Starbucks down on Main I hope you understand”
It appears that Brad Paisley knows of exactly one black person, and it is a minimum-wage earner at a coffee chain. And he has dedicated a song to this one black person. What could go wrong?
So the new Macklemore & Ryan Lewis album The Heist just dropped and basically it’s fucking awesome. I’ve decided to take a look at one of the more remarkable tracks off the album, “Thrift Shop.” Here now begins a lyrical analysis of the above song.
“What, what, what, what, what….
From the outset, the listener’s curiosity is piqued, building into the sexy saxophone hook.
I’m gonna pop some tags/ only got 20 dollars in my pocket
Limited by a frustrating, Obama’s America budget, Macklemore, speaking through Wanz, is nevertheless determined to refresh his wardrobe with some novel accouterments.
I, I, I’m hunting, lookin’ for a come-up/ This is fucking awesome.
The artist is unable to contain his excitement as he searches for a surprise new fashion trend, which he himself shall inspire. Certainly, the pleasure lies in the pursuit.
Walk into the club like what up, I got a big cock/I’m so pumped, I bought some shit from a thrift shop
Fast forward now to a moment in which Mackelmore’s newfound discount “swag” is already prominently on display at a discotheque. His braggadocio—or is it genuine honesty? —well suits his fresh duds. Macklemore now confirms our suspicion: that his fantastic fur coat came at a discounted purchase, and that he derives excitement from that fact.
Ice on the fringe is so damn frosty, /The people like “damn, that’s a cold ass honkey”
Macklemore ascribes his incredibly rare and valuable discovery as something akin to a diamond, or “ice,” which, when found “on the fringe,” or outside of the conventional realm, is especially “cool” or “frosty.” The extraordinary nature of his find has the crowd’s attention and respect.
Rollin’ in hella deep, headed to the mezzanine/Dressed in all pink, except my gator shoes, those are green. /Draped in a leopard mink girls standin’ next to me/Probably should have washed this, it smells like R. Kelly’s sheets
On his way to the entresol with a number of disciples, Macklemore reveals that his fur coat was only an appetizer to something much greater. For him, pink is not for cancer supporters, little girls, or real men. Rather, it is for those who would dare to demonstrate a remarkable sense of style and, further, to be shod in the skin of a deadly fresh-water predator. Adorned with additional super intensely awesome animal skins and fine women to boot, Macklemore suddenly discovers the chink in the armor (LOLJeremyLinLOL), his very own Achilles’ Heel. For all the grandeur of his garb, his perfume is not so sweet. Nay, it is reminiscent of a certain R&B artist’s alleged proclivity to relieve himself onto young women, to “turn [their faces] into a toilet seat, as it were.[1]
Pissssssssssssss/But shit, it was 99 cents. /Bought it, coppin’ it, washin’ it.
Highly effective onomatopoeia precedes Macklemore’s unapologetic explanation for the scent, as well as his willingness to address the issue at a future point in time.
‘Bout to go and get some compliments passin’ off in those moccasins/Someone else has been walkin’ in, but me and grungie fuckin’ ‘em/I am stuck in a closet and savin’ my money/And I’m hella happy, that’s a bargain, bitch.
Here, Macklemore documents further instances in which he demonstrates observers’ appreciation for his second-hand style.
Imma take your grandpa’s style, imma take your grandpa’s style, /No, for real I asked your grandpa, can I have his hand-me-downs?
Now Macklemore turns on the listener. He’s going to steal YOUR grandpa’s style. OUR COLLECTIVE GRANDPA’S STYLE. Technically, since both of my grandfathers are dead, I’m exempt from all of this. Still, he’s taking our entitlements. OUR OBAMA-GIVEN ENTITLEMENTS.
The lord’s jumpsuit and some house slippers, /Dookie brown leather jacket that I found diggin’. /They had a broken keyboard, I bought a broken keyboard/ I bought a skeet blanket, then I bought a kneeboard.
Don’t ask what a skeet blanket is. Seriously, don’t. Well, you don’t really need to, since I guess it’s pretty fucking obvious. Not sure about the need for a broken keyboard, that just seems wasteful, but maybe Macklemore likes fixer uppers. But a kneeboard? Oh hell yes. Way better than tubing or waterskiing. Also good if you suffer from paraplegia.
Arguably the funkiest white man since Michael Jackson
Hello, hello, my ace man, my mello/John Wayne ain’t got nothing on my fringe game,
Hell no! I can take some pro wings make ‘em cool, sell those/ The sneaker heads will be like “Ah he got the Velcro.”
When I first heard these lines, I thought Macklemore was saying that John Wayne had nothing on “my French gay Elmo.” I like my version better. Fringe game makes a lot more sense though. Also, Velcro on shoes needs to come back. Laces are the worst.
I’m gonna pop some tags
Only got 20 dollars in my pocket
I, I, I’m hunting, lookin’ for a come-up
This is fucking awesome. (x2)
What you know ‘bout rockin’ the wolf on your noggin/What you knowin’ about wearing a fur fox skin/I’m digging, I’m digging, I’m searching right through that luggage/One man’s trash, thats another man’s come-up. /Thanking gran dad, for donating that plaid button-up shirt/‘cause right now I’m up in here stuntin’ I’m at the Goodwill, you can find me in the Benz, /I’m not, I’m not, I’m not searching in that section.
This is the part of the song that separates the dedicated lip-syncing sing-along assholes from the rest. These lyrics aren’t particularly remarkable except that they’re delivered so rapidly and so stylishly. I gave up just reading through this section. I do like the idea of a wolf on my noggin though. But according to Macklemore, I wouldn’t know anything about that.
Your grandma, your aunties, your momma, your mammy, /I’ll take those flannel zebra ‘jammies secondhand, I’ll rock that motherfucker. /They built-in onesie with the socks on the motherfucker.
Macklemore is going shopping with the females of your extended family. Further, he’s going to take that snuggie fad and turn it on its head by bringing back the adult onesie. Wait, did that already happen? I guess it hasn’t happened with USED onesies yet. Certainly not flannel zebra onesies. Personally, my feet always got too hot when I wore a onesie with the socks on the motherfucker. I felt that way as a 2-year old, I still feel it now. Macklemore can keep his zebra onesies.
I hit the party and they stopped in that motherfucker. /They be like oh! That Gucci, that’s hella tight. /I’m like Yo! That’s 50 dollars for a t-shirt. /Limited edition, let’s do some simple addition, 50 dollars for a t-shirt, that’s just some ignorant bitch shit. /I call that getting swindled and pimped, shit. /I call that getting tricked by a business. /That shirt’s hella dough/ and having the same one as six other people in this club is a hella don’t.
Peep game, come take a look through my telescope/Trying to get girls with brands, then you hella won’t. /Man, you hella won’t.
Macklemore now engages in an extended, poignant rant about the unreasonable, even criminal costs associated with modern style. 50 dollars for a t-shirt, indeed. The modern textile industry, evolved from its horribly abusive and exploitative relationship with cheap labor, has now begun to harmfully manipulate consumers. Not only is modern style too expensive, but with it also comes a lack of creativity. What brand could compete with the originality of Macklemore’s thrift shop-inspired style? Chumps who sport brand names certainly cannot keep up with Macklemore’s romantic talents, piss-smell and all.
I’m gonna pop some tags
Only got 20 dollars in my pocket
I, I, I’m hunting, looking for a come-up
This is fucking awesome.
I wear your granddad’s clothes, /I look incredible, /I’m in this big ass coat, from that thrift shop down the road. (x2)
Wanz now adds to the chorus, implementing the previous information about taking your geriatric elder’s style. Not only will he take said style, he will look really fucking awesome in it too. Get it? Fucking awesome? Yeah.
I’m gonna pop some tags
Only got 20 dollars in my pocket
I, I, I’m hunting, looking for a come-up
This is fucking awesome.
Is that your grandma’s coat?
Well, is it?
*Credit to RapGenius.com for its passive assistance with interpreting the lyrics and also intuiting certain concepts/phrases that my honky ass cannot comprehend. [1] NOT GUILTY BETCHES. I’m a grown ass man, amirite?
Sherman Ave 