Iggy Azalea, not to be confused with that one cartoon cat that chases cockroaches, is an American singer that has risen to prominence, not only thanks to her song “Fancy”, but also thanks to her feud with America’s most adorable excuse for a contribution to the world of lyrical profundity: Nicki Minaj. Apparently the latter is critical of the former’s work, as if her getting put in the American Idol jury as the U.S.A’s prank on themselves suddenly makes her qualified to judge anyone.

For realsies, though, maybe Minaj is right about Azalea? She very well could be, which is why I bring you this episode of Song Commentaries. Surely, if it’s bad enough that even Nicki Minaj looks upon it with disdain, it must be bad enough to warrant a spot on one of my Commentary segments too, right? Right. Let’s see how it is…


(Audio posted above, as usual)

First thing’s first,
I’m the realest (realest)
Drop this and
let the whole world feel it (let them feel it)

And I’m still in the Murda Bizness
I could hold you down,
like I’m givin’ lessons in physics
(right, right)
Oh rappers, you do amuse.
You should want a bad bitch like this (huh?)
Drop it low and pick it up just like this (yeah)
Drop what low and pick what back up again? This is confusing, but I guess I’m supposed to ignore the fact that these lyrics are random strings of words at best and instead focus on the fact that I can easily twerk to this kind of music. Is that how fans of this type of shit normally judge music or am I way off? I wouldn’t want to seem uncool.
Cup of Ace, cup of Goose, cup of Cris
High heels, somethin’ worth
a half a ticket on my wrist (on my wrist)
I can see it in front of me now. A person sitting at their writing desk in the middle of the moonless night, trying to think of what to jot down next. Desperately he picks up a menu paper that was mailed to him by the local café and promptly starts putting the names of various drinks into his text. I’m assuming this is all white girl ghetto lingo for something completely different, but now that I think about it, I don’t care.
Takin’ all the liquor straight,
never chase that (never)
Ah, references to alcohol. As a member of a teen demographic I am obligated to be intrigued.
Rooftop like we bringin’ ’88 back (what?)
Bring the hooks in, where the bass at?
Champagne spillin’, you should taste that

Yeah you just go ahead and bring back 1988 while I acquire some hooks, locate the nearest bass and lick the spilled champagne off the floor. Oh, and something about a rooftop, I guess. We good? Good.

I’m so fancy
You already know

Are you? Prove it.

I’m in the fast lane
From L.A. to Tokyo
I’m so fancy

Oh well that settles that.

Can’t you taste this gold?
Remember my name
‘Bout to blow

I can taste something alright.

I said, “Baby, I do this,
I thought that you knew this.”
Can’t stand no haters and honest, the truth is
And my flow retarded,
each beat did depart it

Mmm! Rhymes that would make Poe himself jealous. Whenever I see lyrics like this, I get to thinking. This is a song that exists in our timeline. The existence of this piece of writing is the result of the birth and evolution of the English language. The art of writing itself has changed over centuries upon centuries in just such a way that a rap song by a girl named Iggy could come into existence in 2014; one hundred years after “Ode of Remembrance” was published!

Huh. Maybe this song is more thought-provoking than I’ve been giving it credit for.

Swagger on stupid,
I can’t shop in no department
To get my money on time,
if they not money, decline

We must see if they money! If they not money, we kill they’s chief. If they still no money we ooga-chaka, ooga-ooga-ooga-chaka, Iiii-I-Iiii-I-Iiii’m hooked on a feelin’!

And swear I meant that there’s so much
that they give that line a rewind
So get my money on time,
if they not money, decline

Alright Iggy, give it a rest! Your English was only funny the first time.

I just can’t worry ’bout no haters,
gotta stay on my grind
Now tell me, who that, who that?
That do that, do that?
Put that paper over all,
I thought you knew that, knew that

I said give it a rest, Iggy!

I be the I-G-G-Y, put my name in bold
I been working, I’m up in here with some change to throw

Y’know there’s a character in the Wheel Of Time books that talks kind of like you. “Aye, this here be me vessel and I be Captain Bayle Domon”. Good times!

I’m so fancy
You already know
I’m in the fast lane
From L.A. to Tokyo
I’m so fancy
Can’t you taste this gold?
Remember my name
‘Bout to blow

I’m still not tasting the gold and I’m still not sure what driving in-between L.A. and Tokyo has to do with being, as you repeatedly put it, “fancy”. Also, is your NAME about to blow or are YOU about to blow? If it’s the latter, I would suggest you go find help ASAP. You never know what sort of bombs the totally-not-made-up-bullshit organization Illuminati could have wired to your brain whilst you were sleeping without your tinfoil hat.

But then again, at least it’s not a snuke. This time.

Trash the hotel
Let’s get drunk on the mini bar

And twerk and talk about boys! How dare you forget that?! Tisk tisk!

Make the phone call
Feels so good getting what I want
Yeah, keep on turning it up
Chandelier swinging, we don’t give a fuck

tim 1tim 2tim 3tim 4Beautiful!

Film star, yeah I’m deluxe
Classic, expensive, you don’t get to touch

I’m good, thanks!

Still stunned, how you love that?
Got the whole world asking how I does that

Yes Iggy, tell us how you “does” that.

Hot girl, hands off, don’t touch that
Look at it I bet you wishing you could clutch that

Don’t flatter yourself now. Also, don’t say the word “clutch”. I took my driving test today and my brain is worn-out from all the memorizing of traffic rules. Man, they should invent trigger warnings for people who don’t like driving. Can we get the social justice sweethearts from Tumblr in on this?

Oh right… the song’s not over yet. Where were we again?

It’s just the way you like it, huh?
You so good, he’s just wishing he could bite it, huh?

Christ, the only thing that’s missing from this piece of classiness is someone using the word “hoes”.

Never turn down money,
Slaying these hoes,
gold trigger on the gun like

*SLAMS HEAD INTO DESK* Okay folks, that’s enough rap music for me. Besides, the rest of the song is the chorus being repeated and Iggy putting forth the ever thought-provoking question “Who dat?” a few time more before it ends. Delectable!

Well, I can’t see much of anything worth being mad about just by looking at the lyrics like this. Take it easy, Nicki. Go write a song about hoes and you’ll feel better.

That’s it for now! Always know where your towel is!