Editor’s Note: ADANAI has a regular feature called “Say What?!” where a popular hip-hop song is translated into plain English. These songs will mostly be club hits that people sing along to but generally have no idea what the slang actually means. “Say What?!” rectifies that.
Translation by Cydnee Murray
Bandz a make her dance, bandz a make her dance
All these chicks popping pussies, I’m just popping bandz
Bandz a make her dance, bandz a make her dance
These chicks clapping, and they ain’t using hands
When it comes to interacting with ladies of the night, I’m no slouch. Before setting foot inside a den of iniquity, I make a substantial withdrawal at my friendly neighborhood bank branch. For purposes of organization, the teller arranges my withdrawal in separate rubber band bound, half-inch stacks amounting to a minimum of $1,000 dollars. If the bills come in $100 dollar denominations, I can get away with $10,000 dollar stacks.
The sight of my bundled bucks entices scantily clad exotic dancers to gyrate provocatively in my general direction. Certain of their highly advanced, vigorous twisting and jerking movements cause their buttock cheeks to smack together cacophonously. This physiology-defying feat is referred to as Twerking.
Short hair, like Nia long. Loose ones she don’t need a loan
Start Twerking when she hear her song, stripper pole her income
We get trippy and then some. So nasty when she rolling
She put that ass up in my hands, I remote control it
She give me dome when the roof gone, at the K.O.D. she leave with me
She got friends, bring three. I got drugs, I got drinks
Bend it over, Juicy J gone poke it like wet paint
You say no to ratchet pussy, Juicy J can’t
Racks er’where, they showin’ racks, I’m throwing racks
In the V.I.P., rubber on I’m stretching that
Rich niggas tipping, broke niggas looking
And it ain’t a strip club if they ain’t showin pussy
The stripper currently peaking my interest reminds me of “Boyz n Da Hood” actress Nia Long—she’s got Nia’s signature pixie locks. If the numerous singles protruding from her G-string are any indication, I’m not the only one struck by her aesthetic appeal. She’s making out like a bandit.
The house MC calls imitation-Nia to the main stage and she begins dancing that dance I referred to earlier—the one that sounds the way it looks. Like the consummate professional, she regards her stripper’s pole in the same manner a surgeon does a scalpel or The Pope does his scepter; with care and reverence.
After her set ends, she offers me an MDMA—otherwise known as Ecstasy— tablet and I graciously accept. She takes one as well and we fall to reckless abandon. More alcohol and illicit party favors ensue. I can’t say if it’s the drugs or our unspoken connection, but when she allows me to rest my hands upon her derriere, I feel as though I can control Nia’s every movement with the power of ESP. Like, I could command an entire army of strippers merely by making palm to rump contact. I’d call them the Twerk Squadron and I could act as General Dwight D. Twerkenhower. Man alive, I’m stoned.
All at once, I envisage a scenario whereby I’m driving my convertible with the top down as Nia simultaneously fellates me from the passenger seat. Sprung from this fantastical daydream, an idea surges into my heavily sedated head…This luscious lady should accompany me to my abode following her shift at Miami’s King of Diamonds Gentlemen’s Club.
Never one to play the chintzy card, I convey that she’s more than welcome to bring a friend or three along. With enough recreational mood enhancers at my place to go around, mi casa es su casa, you know?
Now, I know more disciplined men would heed the warning signs that accompany copulation with a stripper, but I just can’t help myself. Despite rational individuals’ attempts to deter me from women defiled and depraved, like a moth to a flame or Chester to Cheetohs, I succumb to having doggy-style sexual intercourse with them all the same. It’s not my fault, really. Sexual addiction affects tens of twenties of people a year – namely celebrities like Tiger Woods and David Duchovny.
On the level, I enjoy sex with just about anything that moves. So, you can imagine, for someone like me with the libido of a pubescent boy who just discovered Redtube, controlling my virile impulses around all these boobies is next to impossible. Show me the mammary and I’ll put forth the money, posthaste!
Nia guides me to a private V.I.P quarters, away from the prying eyes of philandering gawkers. Fully aware of her intentions and never one for unpreparedness, I make sure to sheath my rather large member with a prophylactic before we commence with the doggy-style fornicating. I may be a sex fiend, but I’m not looking for a Valtrex sponsorship.
Clientele at your average strip joint fall into two categories: those rich enough to buy a lady’s affections for the night and those who can only afford vicarious thrills. The latter makes me sick. Another bit of insight; a lot of titty bars abide by a strict no G-string= no liquor policy, but if you ask me, entirely nude is the only legitimate way to go.[Hook]
Ahh… Pop that pussy for a real nigga
Pull out my black card, that’s my lil’ nigga
Make a movie with your bitch, Steven Spiel nigga
Smoking on Kiesh, Cole give me chills nigga
Whats your real name and not your stripper name
I make it rain on yah, like a windowpane
Bandz a make her dance, Tunechi make her cum
Hit it from the side like a mother fucking bass drum
Two hoes on one fucking pole, two hoes on my fucking pole
I don’t tip I pay bills, bitches call me Buffalo
Her stomach in her ass out I’m flyer than the ones they pass out
If money grow on trees, I branched out
I’m just waiting on my bitch to cash out
Regarding the two aforementioned clientele categories—With Disposable Income and Without—I obviously fall into the former. Don’t believe me? Observe my titanium American Express Black Card as proof positive. Wherever I go, it goes.
Because of the power it wields when I whip it out, I liken my Black Card to a smaller version of my penis. That is to say, my actual penis is also very powerful. Speaking of, I shall use it to deflower a spoken for female on camera. Not to toot my own horn, but the production value of my lovemaking videos rival any Steven Spielberg picture.
Allow me to wax philosophic for a second. See this blunt I’m puffing on? It’s filled with a strain of prime grade cannabis known as Kush. Kush first originated out of India’s Hindu Kush mountain range. Hence, the name, which is all well and good, but what’s better than an Indian mountain range whose literal translation means, “Kills the Hindu?” Anything, I suppose, but definitely an American R&B artist. Keyshia Cole to be exact. Her name sounds similar to Kush. Keysh, Kush. Kush, Keysh. See?
So, let’s smoke some “Keysh” and celebrate the high life. Its euphoric influence sort of makes me want to get to know you on a more personal level. What’s your given name? The one you use when filing tax returns. Because I don’t believe for one minute your mother named you Bunny Sparklesizzle.
Brace yourself; here comes a large quantity of cash. Rather than handing it to you like a normal person, I prefer tossing it into the air willy-nilly. Sure you’ll dance for said cash, but remember, money won’t keep you warm at night. I can pleasure you in ways bankrolls never will. Here, let me show you by doing sex to you. I’ll sex you in such a way that my phallus acts as the analogous mallet to your lady part which—for purposes of this lascivious metaphor—we’ll call the drum.
What’s this I see, two dancers sharing one pole? Eureka and yes ma’am! I’d like two women fawning over me for the remainder of my sojourn in this establishment. Male koala with a bifurcated penis though I’m not, rest assured, I can handle two lovers at once.
Calling what I’ve spent on the women at this club a “tip” offends my sensibilities, considering it’s more than the average person sees in a year. If I haven’t already made it abundantly clear, allow me to spell it out: I’m rich—like, Bill Gates rich. To wit, the highest paid player on the Buffalo Bills doesn’t hold a candle to my nest egg. In summation, I’m as rich as Bill Gates, richer than the Buffalo Bills and my “tips” pay the bills so please address me as Bill henceforth.
Watching you strippers Twerk for me inspires my self-confidence. In fact, it makes me feel downright fly. Sorry? You can’t hear me over the music? I was just saying I feel “fly,” as in “for a white guy,” not to be confused with “flyer,” as in “circular, handbill or leaflet.” Bolstered by my fly mood, and of course, my unlimited money supply, I plan to sit here until your shift is over. Then, we’re taking this show back to Juicy J’s place where we can hear ourselves talk.[Hook]
2 Chainz, Fo bracelets
Let me see that ass clap, standing ovation
If yo girl don’t swallow kids, man dat ho basic
Got two bitches wit me, take a shot of one ho,
using her friend for a chaser
Bandz a make her buss it (Buss it), let me see you touch it (touch it)
Money talk you ain’t got none, end of discussion
Bandz a make her do it (Do it.) Pocket full of money (Money!)
Young nigga gettin head while the engine runnin’. Errrr!!
Let me see you wiggle, do it for a real nigga
I be laughing to the bank, all you do is giggle
Balling in my coupe, call it sports car
Drop the top and freak the chick dat bitch looks like a porn star!
Hi, I’m professionally known as 2 Chainz on account of you won’t catch me wearing less than two necklaces in a public setting. All jewelry interests me, not just necklaces. Earrings. Belly chains. Toe rings. Grills. And I love bracelets! Look, I’ve got four on right now.
Anyhoo, my buddy Juicy J told me you do this mystifying dance maneuver with your behind? He said it sounds like applause. Might I trouble you to show me what he’s referring to? I can’t really picture it in my head…Oh. Oh, I see what he means now. I guess, and this is splitting hairs, but I guess it’d be closer to a standing ovation since the move only works in an upright stance.
Not to be crass, but should one of you fellate me, I must insist that you do the respectable thing and swallow my ejaculate. Otherwise, it gets embarrassing for all of us. I don’t mind if both of you take a stab at it, but somebody has to go first so talk amongst yourselves and get back to me. I know, I know. You won’t do anything of the sort unless I cough up the Benjamins in advance. Here, this should get you started.
I feel for those unfortunate category two men without cash to burn, but their loss is my gain. As long as I keep producing bandz, these women are like putty in my hands.
Ok, down to brass tacks. Please proceed with the fellating. Only first, a caveat: while fulfilling your oral commitment, simultaneously do that buttocks dance if you wouldn’t mind. In exchange for your multi-tasking feat, I’ll happily extend further gratuity. After all, I want this mutually beneficial arrangement to satisfy each of us as the bee and flower satisfy one another.
Unfortunately, I don’t have a convertible like Juicy J, but if you’ll accompany me to my coupe for some love making, we can use our imaginations. Let’s pretend it’s a sports car and that you’re a lauded pornographic starlet. It never hurts to dream big.