No good will come of the unholy union that is “T-Wayne.” I can assure you.

Imagine you’re some young skripper, bartender or aspiring Superhead being wooed at 3:30AM by Teddy Ruxpin Pain with promises of being put into a mansion in his home state of Wis-Cain’t-Sing.

See… You can feel that hot-ass grill breath, can’t you?

[Note: I had a Teddy Ruxpin that broke. "Red & Yellow & Blue" sounds a lot like "Silver & Gold: Da Derrty Version" after Ted's been kicked around the project apartment for a bit. "You can make new Hennys for days and days when you mix them up in diff-er-ent ways..."]

Between Wayne being too cool to read and this “Wiscansin” shit, I think T-Wayne is going to influence the children to run away and join the damn minstrel show circus.

Oh, shit! That’s where I’ve seen this T-Pain nigga before he started “sangin’” through that plastic dick. He the damn rangmaster at Niggling Brothers Circus. [That'd be the most threatening minstrel show competitor to the Universoul Circus not named Flavor of Love.]

Damn, they got winged monkeys flying around and everything! T-Pain has regressed Negro kind back to the days of “The Wiz,” when we weren’t yet allowed to vote… for Shirley Chisolm. That’s not a place I’m trying to go back to–not for some skrippers. I don’t care how “fuego” they may be.

My main gremlin Lil’ Weeziana sounds like he just came out of appendectomy or some shit. For this, I’m well-pleased to finally have a visual for this song. I’m sure it’s a direct contrast to the near-comatose state Wayne must have been in during the recording process. He can’t fool me with all that dancing around and shit like he wasn’t halfway to ’98 B.G.-status in the booth spilling Tussin PM all over someone’s Crispy Asian Chicken carpet.

Sorry, B-Gizzle. The junk never leaves you alone. Neither do the haters.

For realsies, though. I didn’t understand a single word of Wayne’s verse. Don’t take my word for it, but he may have referenced his face tattoos and some Mexican lady cleaning “house sheets?” If he was pumping any of their usual Save-A-Ho propaganda in these trying financial times I’d like to remind the children that trickin is trickin–even if you got it. Don’t let the Lollipop King and the nigga who fell in love with a skripper tell you any different.

Questions? Comments? Requests? Still needing Consuela to change your house sheets? ron@ronmexicocity.com

P.S.: T-Pain in that top hat looks like he should be the icon for a “Monopoly”-esque ghetto board game called “Bad Credit.”