So far, I’ve been listing these songs in pretty close to chronological order, and we’ve nearly made it through 1992’s birthing of the Bounce. We still have to get into the all-important 1993 and the rise of Cash Money Records. But I’m jumping out of order today and taking you to ‘94. Because today, you see, is a 3rd Ward holiday. You see, today would have been the 41st birthday of one James Adarryl Tapp, Jr. aka Magnolia Slim, better known to the world as Soulja Slim.

Slim had this mischievous swagger and sarcastic tone that probably caused all of his teachers to look at him on the first day of school and think, “Yep, that’s gonna be my class clown.” He would step into the studio booth and spray words like chopper rounds with a dynamic flow which alternated effortlessly between snarling threats, snarky punchlines, and racy sexploits. As with my previous two entries (Black Menace and Ruthless Juveniles), Magnolia Slim wasn’t a Bounce artist per se. No, see, Slim was a G. And with his gold-filled grill, certified street background, blunt/brash/boastful demeanor, and an accent thicker than an overstuffed po-boy, Slim transcended Bounce. Slim was New Orleans. And because he was New Orleans, he could Bounce when he wanted to.

In 1994, Slim released his debut EP Soulja Fa Lyfe. The 6 song project was remarkably well balanced, featuring sex (“Lil’ Bit”, where he expressed preferring virgins to women whose heartbeats were in full view when they opened their legs), drugs (“Powda Bag”, where he had a woman snort a line of cocaine off of his genitalia), violence (“Soulja Made For Walkin’”, where he took pride in leaving a Reebok print on a hater’s face and beating him until he turned green and purple), street credibility (“Soulja Fa Lyfe”, where he said the word “soulja” over a dozen times, half of which were in the lines: “Niggas claim to be a soulja, but dem souljas ain’t no souljas / The souljas is the mothafuckin’ souljas out the ‘Nolia / So getcha mind right talkin’ ‘bout 7th Ward souljas / ‘Cause the souljas out dat ‘Nolia? Dey bigger, and bolder…”), and a diss song (“Bitch Nigga”, where he roasted local rival Daddy-Yo, professing, amongst many other choice insults: “And dissin’ me, ya did the wrong thing when ya did it / Plus ya came with one Bounce song; dat dere was shitty / A lot of people like it ‘cause it have a Triggerman beat / But boy ya fake; ya shoulda gotchu a Bitch-Ass-Nigga-man beat…”)

But to kick off side two of the cassette, Slim gifted us with his one Bounce offering:

“Giggada gots to be real to boot up, biiitch, biiitch /
Awright, awright, where dey at? In dat 3rd; get the gat /
Say ha ha, ha ha, yo dat shit ain’t funny /
Dog hoe, ya betta have my money…”

I don’t think any Bounce song did a better job than “Kick It For Dem Hoes” of transcending the Bounce formula while still embodying many of its elements. Next to “Run Dat Shit” by Ruthless Juveniles, it may well be the most musically dynamic Bounce song, full of beat switches but never resorting to any of the standard Bounce samples like “Drag Rap”, “Brown Beats”, “Ain’t You Fresh Co”, or “The Tower”. And lyrically, Slim checked off all of the Bounce boxes while making the flow very much his own. Ward pride and project shoutouts? Check. Street storytelling? Check. Entreating the listener to bounce and/or pop and/or shake and/or twerk? Check. Rattling off sexual conquests while name-checking various women as well as the infamous Rochambeau Motel? Check. Extending the word “bitch” to last for half a bar? Check. We’d heard it all before, but we’d never heard it in Slim’s signature snarky voice painted with his playful humor. And after righteously reprimanding a woman who had the nerve to ask him for an outfit (in a couplet which must have mentioned the Esprit brand more than it’s ever been mentioned in any song), Slim presented what I dare say was the best Outfit Wishlist of any Bounce song ever made:

“I say, biiiiitch, ya must be sick /
Ya betta buy Magnolia Slim his outfit /
I want a hundred dollar ‘Lo, a pair of Girbaud /
My hair cut and a pair of Bally bucks…”

That had to have been at least a $500 outfit, putting Juvey’s Polo socks and Reeboks and Jubilee’s “white t-shirt, khaki pants, All-Stars and some money for the dance” to shame. And why did no one else ever bother to ask for a haircut? Brilliant, Slim!

Also, much has been made of mid-aughts Lil’ Wayne and Cam’ron with their penchant for purposefully mispronouncing words in order to force a rhyme. But I would note that when Slim did it some 10 years prior, it never seemed forced or even like a strategy. It just felt like a natural attack of his vernacular. From dat Southern-soaked 3rd Ward throat of his, Slim mispronounced words so confidently it was like you were being dared to correct him. This is nowhere more evident than in the most memorable line of this song:

“Shake it like a dog /
Hop like a frog /
Ride it like a horse /
Scream and holler ‘til you lose your voice…”

Here, Slim made “horse” sound like “hearse” and “voice” sound like “verse”, thus mispronouncing two words to make them rhyme. And we were too caught up in the music of his verse, I mean, voice, to even care. So smooth. So Southern. So Slim.

“The homie Slim got murdered right when he was about to blow / It’s fear and loathing in the N.O. . . .” – Curren$y

Magnolia Slim would go on to change his name to Soulja Slim and sign with No Limit among other labels. His natural charisma, authentic avenue energy and lethal lyricism propelled him to a Southern stardom which was approaching greater national success just as his life was tragically cut short. Like too many of New Orleans’ local lights, Slim was extinguished by the grim danger and envy pervading the very streets he celebrated in song; shot and killed on his mother’s front lawn. A legend in life, he became an even greater legend in death, earning a hero’s funeral with his name raised in toasts to this day. So here’s to you, Magnolia aka Soulja Slim, you gold-grinned, shit-spitting, Uptown villain. Happy birthday, Slim, and may your Soulja Ree’s keep stomping through the 3rd Ward of Heaven.

(Editor’s note: I strongly recommend Nik Cohn’s touching frontline memoir Triksta: Life, Death, and New Orleans Rap. An unblinking book-length love letter to the warts and wonders of New Orleans, it features not only a whole chapter on Slim and what he was for New Orleans, but also a rather thorough immersion in New Orleans musical culture.)