Don’t call it a come back. Call it a muttar frumping resurrection. Well, maybe it’s not that grandiose. How about a respite from the dead? No matter how you spin it like Flex or rims, Ja Rule’s returned. And judging by the name of his new single so has his gonorrhea.
The song’s enjoying some revolution on the tubes. #50 Most Viewed Today in Germany. #25 Most Discussed Today in the UK. I suppose it’s not surprising considering the song’s cryptic content. Is Rule telling the world he’s going to hunt down “Em Laden?” Is Rule asking Hussein, “What’s happening, nigga?” Is he telling us he’s been keeping busy during his hi-hate-us slanging yay on soccer fields? Yeah. All of the above. But most importantly, it sounds like Rule’s communicating in that secret Masonic way that troubled souls tend to do through hip hop. We think Rule’s asking for help.
Let’s break this communique down together. Verse 2:
The Rule be “In Da Club” rude motherfucker poppin the bubbly
When shit get ugly I hug the snub closely
But usually we still see your bitches
dancin’ on some freak shit, trying to ride my dick
I can’t handle it, ‘long as they manage
To get they ass infront of my dick to dance to BIG’s “One More Chance”
Rule’s still caught up on his feud with 50, but that’s old news compared to what comes next. Rule’s setting the stage, providing the prologue for what will follow. Rule’s telling us he’s getting a lot of attention, specifically when he’s trying to behave in a club while surrounded by indecorous cretins. Rule’s a polite man. If your bitch wants to ride his dick, who’s he to refuse? Clearly Rule’s gracious to a fault for it’s this obliging nature that’s led him to the darker places he tells us about later in the song.
Give bitches the back hand, pimp shit, it’s not realistic
The game is helpless, (let’s) not get it twisted
I’m young, black, and gifted, but still at the bottom
And stuck somewhere between Gomorrah and Saddam
Rule’s 20% off at Borders; he’s an open book. Yeah, I’ll perform for you guys, because that’s what you expect, America, he says. I’ll pretend to be a gangster and slap women because that’s what you’ve come to expect from black entertainers. But Rule reminds us he’s suffering for his art, and hurting inside. Specifically in the urethra. Cuz that’s how Gonorrhea do.
Like Bush and Saddam, I’m a find out
Where Em Laden’s hiding and bomb him first
It could be much worse, I could be hotter than yo scrubs
Mask and glove, gun hot from burnin ass up
I’d rather be bossed up, wit a bunch of broads
The preachers daughter screaming out “Fuck the law!”
ya may have struck a chord, wit the Christians
But y’all got the freakiest bitches out of all the religions
Bouncing from politics to religion, war abroad to war with broads, Rule completes his exercise in narcissistic nihilism. You don’t have to be a critical theory scholar (though it helps, o/’ ) to tease out the ironic tone of the passage. “Gun hot from burnin’ ass up,” is clearly a reference to Rule’s scalding genitalia, the physical manifestation of his reckless approach to life. Of course Rule acts the way he does. What’s to encourage him otherwise? The law? Ha, even the preacher’s daughter says, “Fuck it.” What else? Morality? Ha, even the preacher’s daughter says, “Fuck it.”
In the Gospel according to Rule there is no right or wrong. There’s “Should”, “Would”, and that beautiful bayou of moral ambiguity, “Could”. As Rule wades into its waters, the lone passenger in a dingy dinghy, he looks back for signs of the life line that we should throw him. In the world view of Rule, when someone claps what do you do? You clap back.
We got you, Rule. We’re here to help with these words of advice. Get tested, homey.