So I’m in my car, listening to the radio heading to an appointment, when a Lil’ Wayne song comes on.
I turn it up, as I oft do when I hear anything I like from Weezy.
‘Turn it up’ is a genteel way of saying I crank it.
Before you know it, I’m driving on 280 with Rick Ross and Lil Wayne screaming out of the windows of my white Benz.
Sunglasses on.
Dreads whipping around my face.
…And AK47 is my f*cking address….
To be honest, reggae is my favorite genre, but I’ve always had an affinity for hip hop.
But it’s only recently (during that ride, in fact) that I realized how enamored with it I actually was.
You see, I failed to mention that on the aforementioned trip, I had one of the kids in the car.
Typically, my radio-cranking of ghetto anthems only takes place when I ride alone.
I’m not really trying to have my kids listening to some of the ignorant misogynistic lyrics rappers push these days.
But when I’m alone, I can rock out unfiltered.
So, when I finally come to, and remember that I’m not alone, I turn the volume down and start flipping through the stations to find something a little more…appropriate.
But then my son, Fuji, hits me with ‘Daddy no!’
Mind you, Fuji is only two, but he was clearly not checking for daddy changing the station from Weezy.
So I turned it back…and turned it up.
I’m not a star, somebody lied…
I got a chopper in the car.
I got a chopper in the car.
I got a chopper in the car.
Even though he’s only got a few words in his vocabulary, I’m pretty sure I heard Fuji say, he too, had a chopper in the car.
Stephen Chukumba 