We gunna kill em in da club wit dis un.

This morning an up an coming white gentleman urban rhyme poet from Miami has entered my headphones. His name is not Vanilla Ice. His is Pitbull, and his beats include a tympani. It is weird but it works, unlike the tuba used in Glenn Campbell's "Galveston". Besides the idea of death by way of kettledrum, there is nothing particularly fresh here. However, I remain feeling Dirty South while listening to this.