X GON GIVE IT TO YOU
(OR HOW DMX HELPED MY METABOLISM)
I hate doing cardio. But my wedding is 2 months away and I have set myself some fitness goals. So I make a playlist of songs called “Run Fast Little Feet”. I know only rap music will make it on this list. I scroll down my iTunes rap playlist, which used to be my LimeWire Rap library, which used to be my Napster Rap library. I put in every song that has a hard bass beat, every song that is angry and filled with force.
Two days later I am on a treadmill testing this list.
I realise Kanye works exceptionally well, as does Azalea Banks. Mos Def, not so much. Then DMX comes on the playlist. The track begins with a harsh dog bark followed by menacing growls layered over growing horns and the proclamation
“Yo don’t get it twisted, this rap shit is mine motherfucker” and a chant that tells everyone “Fuck what you heard. It’s what you hearing LISTEN” and my calves, my chest, my clenched fists are listening. The track breaks into its rhythm and I am pushing the speed up from my brisk 6km/h walk to 6.8 to 7 to 7.5 by the time the chorus comes on I am pounding at 11km an hour and nothing, and I mean nothing is going to make me stop.
I am directing every rage I have ever known into this run and DMX? He’s my hype man. “I’m getting down, down/like a nigga said freeze/but won’t be the one ending up on his knees/Bitch Please.” He’s telling that to the straight male poet who once told me with smug smile on his face that I was great for the diversity factor. Fuck you, say me and DMX to him, “First we gonna rock/then we gonna roll/ then we let it pop/ GO LET IT GO”. All the times somebody said something that made me feel smaller, every time somebody told me to calm down at a meeting, every time someone behaved like a shithead, dickhead, ignorant twat, “we gonna give it to you/fuck waiting for you to get it on your own/ we gon deliver to ya.”
Every injustice I’ve felt or seen around me, that time someone called my friend a faggot, every time a guy has talked over me, around me, when I was standing right fucking there. “I’ll break bread with the enemy/but no matter how many cats I break bread with/ I’ll break who you sending me.” My chest is on fire, my mouth is on fire, this track is on motherfucking fire. Watch me. “Fuck what you heard. It’s what you hearing, LISTEN.”
It’s hard being brown in this country. Everything you say or do is up for ridicule, your food, your gestures, your mother’s accent. It’s harder being brown and being a girl. It’s hard having breasts and curves and hair that doesn’t follow any rules. It’s hard being 5 feet tall and 53 kg and walking into a store and having the sales girl who resembles a plateau tell you that you might need the largest size. Sometimes it beats you down so much, you don’t know why you bother fighting back, why you keep trying to make your voice heard. Fuck. You. says DMX. Shut your weak shit.
“TALK TOO MUCH FOR TOOO LONNNGGGGG
DON’T GIVE UP YOU”RE TOO STRONG.”
And I push the button up to 12km/h.
