In Which Cad Reviews the Musical Canon of Michael Brown and It is Obvious He is (was) a Black Supremacist and Imbecile

“I only like white men on my money (inaudible),  I ain’t racist really but I’m black and proud.  Those who were last shall be first whites on the bottom”.  1:01        08/15/14 Free$tyle Big’Mike Luh Vee

-Mike Brown, in which he states he is not really racist but still desires for whites to be on the bottom.

The Whytes of the American Nation are overcome with guilt for the condition of Blacks and as such pay no mind to the thousands of black on black murders each year nor such phenomenally sadistic killing sprees such as the one undertaken by Kansas Black Brandon Howell, who’s mention on America’s CrossRoads of Opinion Huffington Post produced a measly two commentators.   White people, I am reminded time and again, just don’t get it; “it” being the struggle of black America.

Music, they say, is a window to the soul, and Michael Brown was a veritable Maestro of the art of hip hop in which African men chant tales of their violent and sexual victories to the beat of drums much as is done today in their ancestral lands which are lacking in stability because white’s do not get “it”.

I have spent very many hours poring through the works of Michael Brown upon the Cloud of Sounds and have selected and transcribed “Big Mike Trap SMH Luh Vee featuring Big’Mike” and offer my thought process in discerning the lyrics in hopes of procuring a glimpse of truth and beauty available only to those who live a life committed to God.

The song begins with intense violins, perhaps a classical innuendo?  My god, now an infants voice breaks through the repetitive chords along with a menacing male voice:

I shoulda done this shit a long ass time ago (perhaps frequent marijuana use has latinized the negro)

But Always knew how to get money tho (I am curious as to why you are still then destitute?)

Lets get it (I assume we are getting money?  But still, by which means?  As I am a moral man I demand an answer before I participate)

Hey block (Given my linguistic Privilege I assumed Block to be another man but Block seems to be Mike who is perhaps schitzoid from his heavy marijuana use?)

I be countin money by myself, cash  (Perhaps an appeal for friendship?)

Ima rich nigga so i got that wealth, racks (wealth is better held in land or gold)

I fuck three side hos, by myself, DIkES (It is surprising that you denigrate them yet copulate with them, are you not filled with self loathing?)

While off smokin on them pills, doog. (Michael is a drug addict)

All my cidertown when the sun goes down, YOU KNOW IT (Cidertown sounds like an amusing fall fair in New England where there are very few Africans)

you in trouble now, thats all night parking, (Yes I confess to have often received tickets from…wait if it’s all night parking than why am I being ticketed?  Reparations?)

you aint know, we work them polls and we keep alone dont you call BOOM (Truly, I do not know.  And a BOOM to you, sir!)

thats Pinnochio, scotty pippin, lets get it, come with it, make you feel it, that glock (What a coterie!  And well armed!)

lets get it man, you know we do this shit by ourselves (Yes it is clear to Cad that you did this “shit” by yourselves as you have never had the discipline to excel in any intellectual professional or athletic endeavor).

turn it up (no)

turn it up (no it is sufficiently loud)

turn it up to two hundred (my speakers only indicate volume graphically you rapscallion)

fine line (what?)

swish swish swish (these are sounds)

chuckle (menacing!)

new party: turn it up, turn it up to two hundred (an amazingly monotone voice)

fine line, lets get it (you do not sound so motivated to get it)

devil get up off my back or i knock you off your feet another man down in my city watch me roll a fatty (I believe you are hallucinating because of your fatty and also enraged due to higher than average testosterone levels)

im raised from the dead now you cant look me in my eyes social security yeaaah (perhaps in death his eyes were lost to maggots and now he craves further social security checks in order to consume our nation’s finances even in his state of living death)

shakin my head, scratchin them boys, tryna take over but they aint making no noise (eagle call)    (I do not see how they making no noise negates the likelihood that they are trying to take over.  Would not one maintain silence as one attempts to take over?  Nor do I understand the relevance of the eagle call)

i roam the streets at nighttime (mhymmm) look for deadbeats then they steeaaal money,  ok?  whatchu be on? (I be “on” the Glory of the Lorde and also virtuous truth which I suspect is entirely absent from the producers of this tribal chant)

what the fuck you be on?  tryna impress these ratchet ass hos cause you know that you cant damn handle the truth because you never believe in me golfin, mhmmm, better believe that man.  (Cad agrees that a female’s orifice is overrated and distracting from intellectual development and that most men cannot handle this truth; it also seems that the Auteur wishes someone had had more faith in his golfing abilities and I agree that he verily should have, given golf’s proclivity to put one in good proximity to higher status males than oneself.  Shame on you, whoever did not believe in the singer’s golfing abilities.)

In conclusion, it is obvious that Michael Brown was a complete imbecile who lived a live of untruth opposite of Gods glory and thus was unable to express anything approaching goodness and verily reaped what he sowed.