What I Think: Politically Incorrect Analysis of a Politically Incorrect Issue by a Politically Incorrect Author

I recently had a conversation with a good friend of mine, and we were discussing the taboo subject of the vast difference between upper-class (as in educated, professional) black Americans and the difference between lower-class black Americans (and those who would be lower-class if they weren't really awesome at sports).

Playing devil's advocate, I posited this: Is it really any greater of a difference between lower-class and upper-class whites?

Very quickly, I reasoned a strong counter-point.

First, let's look at what the two races' upper-classes have in common--but differ from their lower-class counterparts.

1.) Most obviously, they have better jobs and make more money than the lower-classes.

2.) They are not only educated, they tend to have higher IQ's.

3.) They are less prone to--but not immune from--violent behavior.

There may be others--and you're free to add them via comments--but for the present moment, I find too much gray area in them.

In all respects, race itself is the only major difference between the upper-classes of the two races.

Now let's look at what the two races' lower-classes have in common.

1.) They are poor and have bad (if any) jobs.

2.) They have lower IQs.

3.) They are more likely than others to be convicted of violent crimes.

But what of their differences? What occurred to me during my attempt at Devil's Advocate was their music, and yes, I will be stereotyping here.

Think of your stereotypical, lower-class black dude. What music does he most likely listen to? Rap/Hip-Hop. What are the dominant themes in Rap/Hip-Hop?

1.) Having lots of money, as evidenced by "pimped-out" cars, and "pimped-out" cribs (i.e. homes).

2.) Getting it on with a variety of hoes/bitches (i.e. women).

3.) Violence.

4.) Drug (marijuana, cocaine) abuse.

5.) Hanging with the homies (i.e. friends)

6.) Trouble with the law, but not with women--you just smack and/or leave them.

Now think of your sterotypical, lower-class white dude. What music does he most likely listen to? Country. What are the dominant themes in Country?

Country:
1.) Working hard but barely eking out a living.

2.) Drug (alcohol) abuse.

3.) The importance of family and roots.

4.) Non-pimped out cars--usually trucks.

5.) Jesus/God/Christianity.

6.) Trouble with the law or the wife--both of whom can deny or allow conjugal visits.

There are some similarities: trouble with the law; trouble with women; drug abuse; cars.

However, even in the similarities, there are vast differences.

Rap/Hip-Hop glorifies trouble with the law.

Rap/Hip-hop glorifies misogyny (i.e. hatred of women).

Rap/Hip-hop glorifies drug use.

Country songs, on the other hand, tends to support the law--even if the protagonist of the story has run amok of it.

Country songs either lament the loss of a woman (e.g. she left) of praises her virtues.

Country songs treat alcohol abuse as either a problem or an escape. To this, there are exceptions, but not many.

Don't believe me? Sample the lyrics of Eazy-E in "Eazy Duz It" (Parental Advisory!)

(Little Girl Voice) He once was a thug from around the way.Eazy, but you should(Eazy-E Interupts with) Bitch, Shut the fuck up.Get the fuck out of here. Yo Dre give me a funky ass bass line.

(Intro Chorus) What fuck is up? In the place to be.Coming on the mic is Eazy Mothafuckin-E.Dre is on the beat.Yella's on the cut. So listen right close while we rip shit up.(Shit Up echoes while fading.)

Well I'm Eazy-E, I got bitches galore
You may have a lot of bitches but I got much more
Wit my super duper group coming out to shoot
Eazy-E, muthafukas cold knocking the boots
'Cause I'm a hip-hop thugster, I used to be a mugster
If you heard (cash register), you think I own a drugstore
Getting stupid because I know how
And if a sucker talks shit, I give him a (POW)
8 ball sipping, the bitches are flipping
Slow down, I hit a dipping, continue my tripping
Hitting my switches, collect from my bitches
The money that I make so I can add to my riches
Fill my stash box and start rubbing my gat
Feeling good as hell because my pockets are fat
A hardcore villian cold roaming the streets
And wit a homie like Dre just supplying the beats

(Chorus)
Because I'm a gansta having fun
Never leave the pad without packing a gun
Hitting hard as fuk, I make you ask what was it
Boy you should have known by now, Eazy duz it

I was knocking muthafukas out
What's your name boy
Funky, fresh Eazy-E
Kick, kick that shit
Where you from fool, Compton, yea

Rolling through the hood, cold tearing shit up
Stick my head out the window and I say what's up
To the niggaz on the corner cold bumping the box
But you know that's an alibi for slanging the rocks
A dice game started so I said what the fuk
So I put my shit in park and had to try my luck
Hard to roll wit my bitch jocking 24-7
Rolled them muthafukas, ate 'em up, hit 11
Got another point, I made a ten a fo'
Was taking niggaz money and was itching for mo'
Laughing in their faces and said you're all making me rich
Till one punk got jealous, cold slap my bitch
He pulled out his gat, I knew he wouldn't last
So I said to myself, homeboy, you better think fast
He shot (gunshots), Then I shot (gunshots)
As you can see, I cold smoked his ass (ha ha)

Chorus

(Wait a minute, wait a minute, who does it)
Muthafuking Eazy duz it
But how does he do it
Eazy duz it do it eazy
That's what I'm doing
STOP
Man whatcha gonna do now

Now I'm a break it down just to tell a little story
Straight out the box from the gangsta category
About a sucker, a sucker muthafuka
He's addicted, he's a smoker but in Compton called a clucker
he used to have a house car and golden rings
But the cooky cooky crack took all those things
he must of been starving 'cause he broke in my house
Caught the nigga on the street and straight took his ass out
Now I wanted for a murder that I had to commit
Yea I went to jail but that wasn't shit
Got to the station about a quarter of nine
Call my bitch to get me out 'cause I was down for mine
The bitch was a trip cold hung up the phone
Now my only phone call was in the ganking zone
All the SHIT I did for her like keeping her rich
I swear when I get out, I'm gonna kill the bitch
Well by now you should know it was just my luck
The baliff of the station was a neighborhood cluck
I looked him straight in the eye and said what's up
And said let's make a deal, you know I'll do you up
Now back on the streets and my records are clean
I creeped on my bitch wit my uzi machine
Went to the house and kicked down the do'
Unloaded like hell, cold smoked the ho

Chorus

From around the way, born in '73
Harcore B-boy named Eazy-E
It's '88 now, '73's obselete
A nigga wit a serious ass attitude and 100% street
And if you all wanna hear some more
In one way or the other, I'm a bad brother
Word to the muthafuka

Forgive this hack-job video clip, but "Gangsta Rappa's" didn't make music videos and didn't tour.

Now sample lyrics from Kenny Rogers in "The Coward of the County,"--also a song about relationships and violence.

Ev'ryone considered him the coward of the county.
He'd never stood one single time to prove the county wrong.
His mama called him Tommy, the folks just called him yellow,
But something always told me they were reading Tommy wrong.

He was only ten years old when his daddy died in prison.
I took care of Tommy 'cause he was my brother's son.
I still recall the final words my brother said to Tommy:
"Son, my life is over, but yours has just begun.

Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done.
Walk away from trouble if you can.
Now it don't mean you're weak if you turn the other cheek.
I hope you're old enough to understand:
Son, you don't have to fight to be a man."

There's someone for ev'ryone and Tommy's love was Becky.
In her arms he didn't have to prove he was a man.
One day while he was workin' the Gatlin boys came callin'.
They took turns at Becky.... n' there were three of them!

Tommy opened up the door and saw his Becky cryin'.
The torn dress, the shattered look was more than he could stand.
He reached above the fireplace took down his daddy's picture.
As his tears fell on his daddy's face, I heard these words again:

"Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done.
Walk away from trouble if you can.
Now it don't mean you're weak if you turn the other cheek.
I hope you're old enough to understand:
Son, you don't have to fight to be a man."

The Gatlin boys just laughed at him when he walked into the barroom.
One of them got up met him halfway 'cross the floor.
Tommy turned around they said, "Hey look! ol' yellow's leavin'."
But you coulda heard a pin drop when Tommy stopped and locked
the door.

Twenty years of crawlin' was bottled up inside him.
He wasn't holdin' nothin' back; he let 'em have it all.
When Tommy left the barroom not a Gatlin boy was standin'.
He said, "This one's for Becky," as he watched the last one fall.
And I heard him say,

"I promised you, Dad, not to do the things you've done.
I've walked away from trouble when I can.
Now please don't think I'm weak, I couldn't turn the other cheek,
Papa, I sure hope you understand:
Sometimes you gotta fight when you're a man."

Ev'ryone considered him the coward of the county.