1001 Black Men–#625



Lakeshore Avenue, Oakland, California.


If you can’t afford a fancy paint job or racing tires and chrome rims, then you can rely on your body language to give the car a little extra style. The way you and your friends sit in the car, the way you position your seat, and the configuration of limbs you drape outside of your window can say almost as much as if you were driving around on a set of Yokohama tires. I haven’t even mentioned that large, loud speakers can elevate the coolness level of even the oldest, dirtiest, rustiest hooptie. You don’t need a new or customized vehicle if your car stereo has some seriously window-rattling bass.

And now, a poetic homage to the hooptie:

My hooptie rollin’, tailpipe draggin’
Heat don’t work an’ my girl keeps naggin’
Six-nine Buick, deuce keeps rollin’
One hubcap cause three got stolen
Bumper shook loose, chrome keeps scrapin’
Mis-matched tires, and my white walls flakin’
Hit mickey-d’s, Maharaji starts to bug
He ate a quarter-pounder, threw the pickles on my rug
Runnin’, movin’ tabs expired
Girlies tryin’ to dis ‘n say my car looks tired
Hit my brakes, out slid skittles
Tinted back window with a bubble in the middle
Who’s car is it? Posse won’t say
We all play it off when you look our way
Rollin’ four deep, tires smoke up the block
Gotta roll this bucket, cause my Benz is in the shop

–Sir Mix-A-Alot in “My Hooptie”

Ajuan Mance

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