Handin’ out beatdowns!

I’m headed up the river with a boat and no paddle
And I’m handin’ out beatdowns
I’m headed up the river with a boat and no paddle
And I’m handin’ out beatdowns [get your face down!]
Put me in chains, try to beat my brains
I can get out, but the grudge remains
When I see ya punk ass, I’m gonna getcha
Fucking do ya, shotgun go boo-yaa!

— Cypress Hill, Rap group, “Hand On The Pump” (1991)

I must admit, I have this love of certain gangsta rap lyrics. Not the weak Eminem and Southern crunk stuff out now, but the early 1990s stuff. Those lyrics above by Cypress Hill are so sinister, so poetic, yet humorous. Get mad at someone and say “I’m headed up the river with a boat and no paddle and I’m handin’ out beatdowns” and watch how they look at you. I did to a friend of mine that raised my dictator’s ire and the look he gave me was priceless. The look can be best described as a combination of “what the hell are you talking about?”, “I think crossed the line too far”, “You want to fight?”, and the verge of laughter. Priceless I tell you!

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