My daughter has been challenging me to rap battles lately. Is this what all lovely young ladies her age are doing with their mothers?!\u00a0 Because \u2013 and I say this with nothing but the greatest of maternal affection \u2013 she’s really, really bad at rap. Her raps usually last for one line and then just turn into rhyming noises, not even actual words.<\/p>\n
But I?\u00a0 Being a time traveler from the 1980’s, I have a serious stockpile of the three rap songs to come out of the decade. And as a result, I’m able to beat her in battle. \u00a0Every. \u00a0Time.\u00a0 And yes, yes, I’m counting.<\/em><\/p>\n Example A:<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n Sissy throws it down with, “The car goes rahr…duh, duh, duh, duh, dahr!”<\/p>\n And since it’s on like donkey kong about the car theme, I naturally reply with, “You get in your car and you drive real far and you drive all night and then you see a light and it comes right down and lands on the ground.\u00a0And out comes a man from Mars.\u00a0And you try to run but he’s got a gun.\u00a0And he shoots you dead and he eats your head…”[1]<\/a><\/p>\n At which point Sissy says, “Stop, Mom. No. That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” like I didn’t just winner winner chicken dinner all over her with the Man from Mars biz.<\/p>\n Example B:<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n We’re going somewhere & the car radio’s playing. Sissy looks over at me and starts in with, “I don’t like this song on the rad-i-OH!\u00a0 It’s badie, daddy, dad-i-OH!\u00a0 Wucka wucka wucka.”<\/p>\n To which I say, “A\u00a0hip hop, hippie to the hippie. The hip, hip a hop, and you don’t stop, a rock it. To the bang bang boogie, say, up jump the boogie. To the rhythm of the boogie, the beat!”[2]<\/a><\/p>\n Sissy, open-mouthed (I say in awe, she would probably say it was total disgust) says, “No, absolutely not. That’s totally dumb.”\u00a0Look who\u2019s talkin\u2019\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n Example C:\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n This past week-end I walk into the family room and Sissy starts in with something awful along the lines of, \u201cThe light above your head means that you\u2019ll soon have to go to bed, vuffee, vuffee, vuff!\u201d<\/p>\n To which I reply, “Superman looked up at me; he said you rock so naturally. Jam on it. Jam on it. Ja, ja, jaja, jam on it!\u201d[3]<\/a><\/p>\n This particular mother\/daughter Rap Throw Down is Hubby’s first witness to the magic. So for a second he sits there stunned.\u00a0 Then he says, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You can’t battle unless it’s your own original stuff!”<\/p>\n Huh?!?\u00a0 Who knew?! \u00a0Who knew there were even RULES for Rap Battles?!?\u00a0 Not me.<\/p>\n And just like that,\u00a0Rap Battles in our house?? Done.\u00a0 Because Home Girl ain’t gonna play if Home Girl can’t win with her professionally written\u00a080’s raps.<\/p>\n Wucka, wucka, wucka.\u00a0 Vuffee, vuffee, vuff!<\/em><\/p>\n [1]<\/a>\u00a0\u201cRapture\u201d by Blondie released January 1981.<\/p>\n