I find particularly relevant, albeit somewhat troubling, the line
"...Nigga, you's a baby fro, I be pick-ed out, soul glow"
One tends to discern, in such afrolicious lyrics, an ominous vision of the singer's skin getting all "ashy" and yet it is as if the singer intentionally neglects that merely surface crisis and chooses instead, as an empowered strong Woman of Color, to borrow her partner's hair pick and then taunt he/she/zhey. The dialectic tension in this incredible rap is one of THANG vs. THONG, and here we are speaking both generically/globally of the Thang and simultaneously locally and precisely of Lizzo's thong. The act itself is one of radical curation, an assemblage of feminine power. And when Lizzo lays that fine assemblage on my face you KNOW I be down for the count till I come up for air with her song in my soul and her thong in my teeth. It makes a body downright positive, as far as ontological reification goes.But you also need a chiropractic adjustment when Lizzo rolls off of you . . .
I find particularly relevant, albeit somewhat troubling, the line "...Nigga, you's a baby fro, I be pick-ed out, soul glow"
One tends to discern, in such afrolicious lyrics, an ominous vision of the singer's skin getting all "ashy" and yet it is as if the singer intentionally neglects that merely surface crisis and chooses instead, as an empowered strong Woman of Color, to borrow her partner's hair pick and then taunt he/she/zhey. The dialectic tension in this incredible rap is one of THANG vs. THONG, and here we are speaking both generically/globally of the Thang and simultaneously locally and precisely of Lizzo's thong. The act itself is one of radical curation, an assemblage of feminine power. And when Lizzo lays that fine assemblage on my face you KNOW I be down for the count till I come up for air with her song in my soul and her thong in my teeth. It makes a body downright positive, as far as ontological reification goes.But you also need a chiropractic adjustment when Lizzo rolls off of you . . .