I Need Some Mo' Ross: A Tribute

Rick Ross [feat. Dre]: Blow
Southern Smoke #27: Disturbin' Tha Muthafu**in' Peace

"Ever seen a fat boy in a big body?"

Noted linguist Kelis once said, "I woulda never talked to you if I'da known you was a popular thug." Such is the tale of Ross & Haze. Two men (maybe) caught in a vacuum, bound by obvious appeal, repulsed by the game. Tumbling around in the void waiting for something to happen, anything really, that might eject us from this desolation, this desperation, this desecration. I admit right now, right here and forever: I was wrong about Ross. I will not apologize, for I am a person of resolve, just as I am a person with designs on humility, even if it eludes me most of the time. I realize, now, when faced with "Blow" that I do not just admire Ross. I do not just tout Ross. The truth is, I am Ross. Shimmering in a red jumpsuit, red flags flying in my face, signalling dominance of the real Miami. The MI-Yayo. I fuck with my shoes on. I hustle. Everyday. I flip that. I am that.

This is no chain-tug or life-pose. I'm as serious as a heart attack (please no "Rick Ross is having a heart attack right now" jokes. Thank you.) Somewhere, I could prattle on about strident production and glistening keyboards and falsetto hooks. The Mix Hut is not that place. The Mix Hut is salvation -- shelter from the storm of Baltimore house posters. When I first decreed Ross the doer of all I expected and loathed, the scourge of scourge-declarers, the Osama to my Gillette Mach III razor, the Ernie to my Bert, the distribution to my At-lantic, the Rocksteady to my Bebop, and clearly, the Lennie Small to my George Milton, I thought our relationship was doomed. I said, "Hey, you're just like Young Jeezy, except you're a piece of meerkat shit." I meant it. Resistance wasn't futile, but it wasn't a piece of rumcake either. Submission is a tough thing for Haze, ask Swagger or Curious. I'm really into distribution just as, like, a hobby. But now I see: There is only Ross.

A BRIEF ASIDE ABOUT THIS EXISTENCE: Mortal coils are still coils aren't they? Like slinkys but with guts? I love guts.