(1993, Loud Records)
The following was also written for the dumpin.net Top 100 All-Time Hip Hop Jamz list, but this was never seen as it was in the top 20 songs that stupid Mike never finished writing for to post on his stupid blog, which he doesn't care about anymore because he's got some gay-assed podcast or some shit. So I will just let this PREVIOUSLY UNSEEN OPINION FOR YOU FROM LIKE TWO YEARS AGO tell the story of me and this single...
I am going to be completely honest and admit that I bought this 12-inch in the record store first time I saw it, but was not able to wrap my brain around it. I had seen a small blurb in The Source about Wu Tang, and in a music genre full of posturing and flashiness, a bunch of grimy motherfuckers in camo, wearing stockings over their head, holding torches in front of an abandoned building with barrels full of fire hanging out, that was some shit I could get behind 1000% percent. You see, I am a child of the soil, growing up in the country... more specifically, the rural south, where blacks and whites of little wealth blend together and playa hate upon each other but combine together to build muscle car hot rods, outlandish clothing styles, and mulatto babies. So the first time after seeing that blurb that I saw this single at Willie's on Broad Street in Richmond, I dropped the $4.77 on it (still has the pricetag, so I know that's what singles went for back then, which was after they raised it from $3.99, which was okay because $4.77 plus the taxes came out to like 3 cents under a five dollar bill). I didn't get into "Protect Ya Neck". In fact, it was the B-side "Method Man" I got into, and apparently the rest of the world got into as well, as that handheld video was the one that got a lot of play on Rap City back then.
But it was inevitable; Wu Tang blew the fuck up big-time, beyond belief, and I was a HUGE Wumark for a long minute (probably until Wu Tang Forever came out, which I felt was a giant step backwards into glossy hypocrisy from their grimy ass group and solo debuts), and I still have that "Protect Ya Neck" 12-inch (from the re-issue put out by Loud when they signed them, not a blank white sleeve one I bought from like Master Killa back in the day out of the trunk of his Camry), and can pretend to be old school whiteboy Wu Tang master listener #1. Shit, what do y'all motherfuckers even know about twelve inch vinyl singles, with y'alls rapidsharing and shit? Y'all probably think Wu Tang Forever was the shit and loved that RZA book and everything. Stupid fucking kids. I hope ODB's orphaned kids use pimp psychology to train Darfur refugee lost boys who have relocated into America into a ruthless terrorist cell to murder you all with an anthrax that floats through wireless internets straight into your fucking wack-ass mind.
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