Crank That
Crank That!
Not so long ago, a man named DeAndre Ramone Way (who, keep in mind, is in no way, shape, or form related to a probably more famous Gerard Way) was growing up in Chicago, Illinois. Growing up in the 90's, this young man was around a lot of different genres of music, including a newer style of music: rap. Out of all the different genres of music he was exposed to, nothing influenced him quite like rap. He loved it with a passion, and he made a promise to himself that he would one day add a soulistic vibe to the rap genre.
The area in which this boy grew up was quite ghetto. In fact, his grandfather still faithfully drove his Ford Model T car from the early 1920's. He had other opportunities to buy a new car, sure, but nothing was quite like the car that he had owned ever since he had learned how to drive. DeAndre admired his grandfather for his loyalty to the car; he also fancied the car, although he didn't know much about it. Eight-year-old DeAndre didn't even know how to start it.
One day, his grandfather had promised to take him on a drive in his 20's-style car. He, indeed, kept this promise.
Grandpa Way began turning the crank device on the car to start it. Young DeAndre, not knowing much about cars, walked outside and stared at his grandfather.
"Yo, what are you doin', Grandpa Shiznit?" DeAndre questioned.
"I'm...startin'...the...car!" he said between grunts. DeAndre continued to stare at his grandfather.
"How?" His grandfather stood up after the car had finally started.
"You start the car by crankin' that thang," Grandpa Way answered while pointing to the cranking device.
"Whoa..." DeAndre mumbled, quite amused. "You gotta crank dat thang?"
"Chyeah!" DeAndre stared at the cranking device and finally got an idea for a song.
"Hm..." he mumbled. The two then went on their ride.
When DeAndre got back home, he briskly made his way to his room to get started on his song.
He mumbled to himself, "Hm...there should be a song called Crank That...and it should talk about cranking that...whoa, it could be a dance! Jizzy!" He was quite up to date with his gangster talk, although he was a very young child. "Jeezy fo sheezy! And there should be a dance called the Robot..." He paused. "No, wait, that's already a dance, homie..." He glanced over at the television in his room to see an episode of Cops playing. "Holy shiznit, it should be called the Robo Cop!" He quickly wrote down his note.
He began thinking of more lyrics, writing down everything that came to his mind. "I need a rapper name, too..." he muttered to himself. "I wanna put the soul back in rap...maybe I should call myself Da Soul Homie...ew, no, that's totally gay, homie!" He slapped himself across the face. "I'm a trooper when it comes to rap. A true soldier. Soldier... soldier..." An idea popped into his head.
"Soulja Boy!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Shizzy fizzo!" He continued writing down his lyrics.
"This song will be a hit!" he exclaimed very excitedly. And he was right.
The area in which this boy grew up was quite ghetto. In fact, his grandfather still faithfully drove his Ford Model T car from the early 1920's. He had other opportunities to buy a new car, sure, but nothing was quite like the car that he had owned ever since he had learned how to drive. DeAndre admired his grandfather for his loyalty to the car; he also fancied the car, although he didn't know much about it. Eight-year-old DeAndre didn't even know how to start it.
One day, his grandfather had promised to take him on a drive in his 20's-style car. He, indeed, kept this promise.
Grandpa Way began turning the crank device on the car to start it. Young DeAndre, not knowing much about cars, walked outside and stared at his grandfather.
"Yo, what are you doin', Grandpa Shiznit?" DeAndre questioned.
"I'm...startin'...the...car!" he said between grunts. DeAndre continued to stare at his grandfather.
"How?" His grandfather stood up after the car had finally started.
"You start the car by crankin' that thang," Grandpa Way answered while pointing to the cranking device.
"Whoa..." DeAndre mumbled, quite amused. "You gotta crank dat thang?"
"Chyeah!" DeAndre stared at the cranking device and finally got an idea for a song.
"Hm..." he mumbled. The two then went on their ride.
When DeAndre got back home, he briskly made his way to his room to get started on his song.
He mumbled to himself, "Hm...there should be a song called Crank That...and it should talk about cranking that...whoa, it could be a dance! Jizzy!" He was quite up to date with his gangster talk, although he was a very young child. "Jeezy fo sheezy! And there should be a dance called the Robot..." He paused. "No, wait, that's already a dance, homie..." He glanced over at the television in his room to see an episode of Cops playing. "Holy shiznit, it should be called the Robo Cop!" He quickly wrote down his note.
He began thinking of more lyrics, writing down everything that came to his mind. "I need a rapper name, too..." he muttered to himself. "I wanna put the soul back in rap...maybe I should call myself Da Soul Homie...ew, no, that's totally gay, homie!" He slapped himself across the face. "I'm a trooper when it comes to rap. A true soldier. Soldier... soldier..." An idea popped into his head.
"Soulja Boy!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Shizzy fizzo!" He continued writing down his lyrics.
"This song will be a hit!" he exclaimed very excitedly. And he was right.