Saturday, March 13, 2010

American Culture Night

And nothing further of interest happened in Berlin. Theeeee end.

I've spent the past week keeping busy with school work and other creative ventures. Tonight, in but an hour, is North American Cultural night at my folkehojskole. We are 18 Americans at this hojskole, and it is our solemn duty to spread the glory of our free society to the cobwebb'd reaches of the depraved minds surrounding us. They call themselves many things, Europeans, Africans, Asians, "Canadians," but after tonight they will all call themselves Free. They will learn of our culture, watch our history unfold before their eyes and witness the blazing fury of our culture as it sears its image into their collective subconscious.

We are recounting, in the form of a staged classroom discussion, a sort of false-history of the US. The teacher and the skits present horrible misrepresentations of important events in American history, like fictional messages left on King George's answering machines by his ministers during the American Revolution, and then the students present the correct information in an incredulous manner.

My part in this poorly-prepared fiasco of cultural exchange is to present the concept of Manifest Destiny to these peoples, who have never known the sheer beauty of unbridled westward expansion. Their nations were formed and the surrounding territories settled centuries before their births, but America is at its very core founded on the spirit of opportunity as set on the stage of a vast expanse of breathtaking beauty and bounty. The medium through which I will express the wind rushing through the tawny hair of the pioneers as they struck out across our great land? Why, that's a silly question to ask -- it really only has one possible answer: Gangsta Rap.

Ladies and Gentlemen, for your reading pleasure, Destiny is Manifest (Manifest Bestiny):

It's the Wild Wild West...Manifest
It's the Wild Wild West...Manifest

America, America, Home of the Free
England rolled up on this bitch with 13 colonies
They were complacent at first but would not stay on their knees
Said: You can front, you can step but don't tread on me

They rose in power, fortune and fame
Said “Hello, World. America's the name”
Began to multiply, getting busy neva tame
Filled up the East Coast and said “Man this shit is lame”

So they packed up all they things, saddled the horses
Loaded all they guns, and marshaled they forces
Drankin whiskey packin heat, lightin up like torches
Got my wagon tricked out, lookin somethin like a Porsche

Because my wagon is covered and my game is tight
Got my oxen train up front we gonna run it all night
My bizzy's got a bonnet on, she lookin' outta sight
If we gonna make it in this land we gonna do it right, Uh.

Struck out to the West, first stop Oklahoma
Said listen up girl, I just wanna be on ya'
So now we got 10 kids, all wanna be land ownas
Said nah this ain't no Oakland, took it straight to California

Looking for some land, people called us pioneers
Gold on my teef and diamonds in my ears
Suddenly in our path, some Indians appear
Spit rhyme like hot fire, 's why they call it Trail of Tears

But my flow would not abate, lyrics flyin like hot lead
Indians trifle with my crew, guess they wanted to get dead
They didn't understand, it was already decided
This whole land would be ours, from beach to beach-head

To Portland...Uh....
To Pacific Sands – yeayuh

From New York.. Uh
To L-AAAaaaahhh
Urbbody in America
Say “Hell YEEAAAAaaahhhh”

My lyrics are limitless, my rhymes are a mystery
Destiny is manifest, that's American History.

America, you can thank me later upon my return to thine hallowed shores. Video forthcoming.

-- DJ Fresh2Def a.k.a. Sizzle-Dizzle a.k.a. MC Manifestopholes a.k.a. Kid Capitalism a.k.a. The Great White American Hope a.k.a. Big G BootyScoops!


  1. It's Scan-din-a-via...well duh,
    It's Scan-din-a-via...well duh.

    A thousand years ago, before plundering was prime
    fearless raider Harold Bluetooth spit the first Copen-rhyme
    said ‘put it on the Jelling Stone, it’s no load of fark,
    that under God I’m uniting this land that I’ll call Danmark’.

    So they went, and they sailed, they had a sense for snow
    Greenland, Norway, to Newfoundland they’d go.
    Speaking a language, Germanic at root
    but taking so many bitches the whole point was moot.

    Then in 1500s the Swedes wouldn’t smile,
    saying ‘Frederik, Christian, you’re crampin’ my style.
    I gotta take my Cadillac and turn it to a Saab,
    so let me trick it out to escape your mob.’

    There was still hope for those crazy-ass Danes,
    but never again would there be military gains.
    In 1814 they would lose that Norway
    sayin ‘Forget those Oslo chicks, I’ve got another lay.’

    England came and stole the entire navy,
    Germany took another part, they weren’t getting ravy.
    Then a pimpin man by the name of Grundtvig
    said ‘Yo ‘sup Danmark, I’ve got something you’ll dig’.

    Højskoles! Jutland! Self-improvement! Parliament!
    Arne Jacobsen and governmizzle-paid rent.
    No need to conquer lots of land, here you better understand,
    together we’ll grow and be the prettiest band.

    With La Hacienda to my left and Vega to my right
    Tuborg, Carlsberg, to party all night.
    Everyone here ends in ‘sen’,
    but hello ladies, let’s have fun again.

    Aarhus! Odense! Hillerød!
    I hope you’re in a makin’ love mood.
    Lets’ ride that bitch the S-tog out the E-line,
    because in that knit black sweater you look mighty fine.

  2. gangsta rap is pretty much as american as you get, son.

    i think kid capitalism has a bright future...