As a recent citizen of Georgia, I have come to realize the evident difference in southern culture, specifically here in Atlanta. This material-fueled world is somewhat overwhelming, coming from nights on the F train headed towards the Lower East Side in dingy combat boots and shorts to being coerced into 8-inch stilettos and a face full of make-up. While I have easily adapted, and sat in front of YouTube for hours in an effort to perfect my winged liner, I began to wonder where the pressure-free, less image-intense places of the city were.
Finally, like a phoenix from the ashes, the great Gucci Mane rose. It was just your typical Wednesday, filled with mid-week blues and weekend expectations, when the social media news reporters (you know who I mean) began to inform the world that Gucci had been miraculously released from prison. Many of us have been awaiting the return for years, with false prophets telling us it was only a matter of days or weeks. But then. OH BUT THEN, Gucci made his heroic return to rid us of these “Gucci clones.” (His words, not mine.)
As soon as news spread, the City of Atlanta was in a slight uproar. Everything shy of a massive parade was planned for his homecoming, although he was locked away temporarily before returning home to the A.
My biggest dilemma was deciding which “GUCCI’S HOME!” party to attend. I wanted to head to East Atlanta but I figured that was a little much.
My friends were beyond lit, anxiously awaiting 5 o clock when we could succumb to our trap music urges. “When life gives you lemons you get GUCCI” was sent to my phone by my friend Rachel. Clearly we weren’t focused on work, our minds were clouded by the Trap Gawd, and rightfully so.
So all this begs the question, what was I to do after work to celebrate the homecoming of Gucci Mane?? I picked up a teeny bottle of Hennessy, because it’s only right, and headed to a friends for pure debauchery. As soon as I arrived I was overcome by the soundtrack of Radric Davis playing over the speakers. I Milly Rocked my way to the collection of snacks and joined my friends in Gucci Karaoke. Except we didn’t have the lyrics onscreen.
We flawlessly rapped over numerous Gucci songs, ranging from Slumber Party and Candy Lady to Lemonade and Photoshoot. We rapped his features and sang the infamous opera intro at the top of our lungs.
Moral of the story, Gucci is out. Get in formation.