FoCus Lyrics Review – Black Milk’s Sunday’s Best/Monday’s Worst
Right back on the single of the Black Milk’s album ‘No Poison, No Paradise’, artist whose universe consists in oxymorons and other paradoxes.
Bass jazzing and grooving, drums kicking, MC freestyling in the mic’…
More than a single that hits you back with its catchy hip-hop tempo and rhythm, the choice of such a beat is to evoke the Youth’s freshness, still shining from a blessed and happy life.
This fast tempo of the beat is to oppose to the style of the story-telling in this song:
This is the story of a naive child still unaware of what is good or bad; some say that « Ignorance Is Bliss ».
What is more, this is the story of a child full of life, bored to death each time happens the seventh day of his week.
From that bored state of mind, flows a narrative and descriptive speech, which, despite the speed of the beat, make us perceive the daily rhythm in a very slow-motion.
Besides, the alliteration « deacon speakin’, preacher preachin' » translates obviously this boring routine and the fact that the child doesn’t listen anymore to the preach: same old waffling.
Quick instrumental stops may translate how much the kid isn’t synchronized to this rhythm of Sunday’s lifestyle, this is not the kind of music that speaks to his soul (yet).
The tempo changes, as so does the story.
This new tempo is to oppose, again, to the new style of the story-telling.
This is the story of a good kid that has gone bad… or rather, a good kid that has gone in the bad way.
This is the story of a kid whose life seems darker and miserable.
The narration is faster, with less descriptions. Certainly, the narrator wish to end this sad story quickly, as too regretful,
Even if the soulful voices in the chorus tend to put a spell on his soul so he could come back to the right path.
The main stylistic device is the ‘announcement effect’.
As a kid, the protagonist says to himself he « can’t wait till this day ends ».
Then we see how much he prefers guns and video games, and the abundance of cash.
The voices and the « old head » (he, who’s still alive, unlike the kid’s friends…) repeat « Never too late »
And, last one: « Somebody ‘bout to stumble out of this club drunk
Without having that chain tucked »
Everything happens to come at its end, and then it’s too late:
The hero’s days will end, as he’ll eventually be « stumbling out the door lookin’ for my car on the street ‘Til I see this black-hood wearnin’, staring nigga tryna stick up; Shots go off », falling victim because of a real gun in the hand of someone in lack of money and values.
This stylistic device is to translate as the fate waiting on you at the end of the path, path which is up to our choices and responsibilities.