Tags: asshats, humor, music, sarcasm, sex, skanks, Timberland
I am the type of person who requires some sort of white noise in the background at all times. The news on while I’m cooking, the stereo on while I’m scrubbing the toilet, or even just the radio on while I’m driving.
I was transporting my 16-year-old daughter to school today when Timberland’s, “The Way I Are” came piping through the speakers. Have you ever listened to the words of this song? It’s a duet about a scrub and some skanky chick’s acceptance of his scrubiness.
I would like to take a moment to address Timberland and clear the air about what is acceptable, and what is not.
It goes a little somethin’ like this:
*Verse 1* (Timberland)
I ain’t got no money
I ain’t got no car to take you on a date
I can’t even buy you flowers
But together we’ll be the perfect soulmates
Talk to me girl
Ok, first, if you have no money and no car, what are you gonna do? Are you gonna walk to my house with the intentions of gettin’ a little lovin’? And trust me, even if you were lucky enough to hitch a ride with a homey, even if you hit the bell with flowers in your hand, you still ain’t gettin none. And to even consider that we might be soulmates is blasphemy. Soulmates are connected. I gots a job, I gots a ride. Accept your destiny, pal, walkin and beatin off.
*Bridge* (The chick)
Oh, baby, it’s alright now, you ain’t gotta flaunt for me
If we go there, you can still touch my love, it’s free
We can work without the perks just you and me
Thug it out ’til we get it right
Now, I’m no gold-digger by any means. But, if the boy ain’t got a job, money, or car, what hell would he have to flaunt in the first place? And to think she’s gonna consider “going there” with him… for free… without the perks? What perks? Massage oil? Happy Jack Rabbit? Sweet Jesus. I am going out on a limb here… she’s got to be very horny and/or very desperate to reproduce.
Let’s skip her part from here on out. It’s repetition of the previous desparation and her forgiveness of his slackeristic nature. Let us explore the remaining 2 verses of this mockery of man-li-ness.
I ain’t got no Visa
I ain’t got no Red American Express
We can’t go nowhere exotic
It don’t matter ’cause I’m the one that love you best
Talk to me girl
I wouldn’t care much that there is no plastic, so long as he has a J-O-B that results in some sort of cash flow. It’s nice if a man has the money to give birthday and Christmas presents that aren’t from a Cracker Jack box along with small tokens of his affection through-out the year.
No exotic trips? It’s mandatory to go somewhere to have sex, other than ones own bedroom, at least occassionally. A trip to the Keys. A trip to Vegas. Sex is good in Vegas. But, still he spouts that he’s the one she loves best. Again, most likely her poor self image. Get therapy.
*Verse 3* (The finale)
Baby girl, I don’t got a huge ol’ house
I rent a room in a house
Listen baby girl, I ain’t got a motorboat
But I can float ya boat
So listen baby girl, once you get a dose of D.O.E.
You gon’ want some mo’
So listen baby girl, when I make it
I want you back, want you back, yeah
He rents a room. Nice. A room in a house where other people live. Which means either the home owners are going to hear the headboard bangin’ and the naughty sounds coming from the room or we’ll only be gettin busy in my house. Uh, No.
No boat floating from you until you get a job, a car, flowers, some select pieces of jewelery.