Fitty obviously doesn't need to rob strangers these days, but I like to imagine that he goes out for ski-masked ride-alongs with stick-up kids just for sport—like a hood version of Steven Segal: Lawman, or something—and after relieving some sap of his jewelry and money roll he whips off the mask, and sap's all over the moon because he just got jacked by Fitty. Wouldn't you be?
Whenever I encounter songs with this sort of lithe, ornate guitar interplay, I have to wonder whether the guitarists go in for needlepoint in their spare time—knitting, crochet, quilting, what have you.
Given the form and function of the tambourine as a percussive musical instrument, the idea of turning to glass as a substrata seems inherently oxymoronic. Contemplating this is infinitely more fascinating than any other aspect of this song, save maybe the chorus melody.
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