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Only in the mind of his own fictional self’s eye is Shyne any sort of criminal kingpin. In “Let Me See Your Hands” he even calls himself “America’s number one dope man.” Word? You got it like that money? Why are you even wasting time rapping then? Oh, obviously you aren’t – with that money you would have beat the charges, or hired somebody else to do the hit, or paid bail and skipped town to a country with no extradition treaty.
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He repeatedly makes threats, shoots rivals, snorts cocaine, and sells drugs to everyone. If Shyne committed all of the fantasy acts he raps about on this album, he’d have long since been a victim of manditory minimums and life sentences. Life it seems has an ironic way of providing consequences for your actions even when you live like you are above them and in his raps Shyne certainly does – the club hit “Bad Boyz” being no exception.īitches walkin topless with G-strings, menageĪnother charge? Hardly one. Now facing charges for at least three counts of attempted murder in relation to a club shootout on December 27th of last year, Shyne may in fact have a lot of time in prison to reflect on the same realities he fails to acknowledge in his raps. The contradiction of logic is easily solved by changing the equation – Shyne isn’t a gangster because America made him that way, Shyne CHOOSES to be a gangster because he enjoys the money and the power REGARDLESS of the consequences of his acts. Here he is constantly professing that he is not the victim that he is in control of his own world, and financially successful within it. If Shyne is what America made him, then he is nothing – which contradicts the very “bling bling” he professes is a Bad Boy thing. If you play the victim though you will GET victimized. They sell narcotics, they shoot rivals, they slap up women, and they live in a fantasy world where it’s all okay because they are victims of society so hey, it’s only payback for being wronged. That’s what’s so perplexing about Shyne and other rappers of his variety – there are virtually no repercussions. Nobody said being gangsterous wasn’t fun – living life with no consequences is a roller coaster ride, but eventually it slams to a stop and you get thrown off. Hip-Hop seems to slowly be losing touch with that gritty realism – the kind of gut check that rappers like Scarface, Ice Cube, and Schoolly D routinely put in their lyrics. The contradiction between his fiery passion to live and the bleak outlook that death was inevitable because he was a young black male was the fuel that fired all of his best works. Tupac Shakur made similar fatalistic victimization fashionable, but Shakur also injected it with nihilism that clearly stated playing the victim was akin to becoming the walking dead. Regardless of who he sounds like or what he flows like though, his emphatic proclamations in the “Dear America” intro that “I’m only what you made me – young, black, and FUCKIN CRAZY” require rebuttal. It’s probably not fair to take this problem out on Shyne Bad Boy’s newest prodigy and a Johnny-Come-Lately who has been accused (and not inaccurately) of sounding like the late Christopher Wallace b/k/a/ The Notorious B.I.G. Somewhere along the line, reality got bent a little. He’s just doing what he has to do to survive – it’s not evil, it’s just real.
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Racism, society, impoverishment and lack of opportunity put the coke in his hands, the gun in his waist, and the finger on his trigger. Why do I sell crack, they ask? The answer is that we are all at fault. Status quo among the cliches of today’s rap pharmaceutical entrepeneurs (read: drug dealers) is they are the true victims of society’s ills.