Welcome to Target Practice, where bad popular songs of the past and present get shot. There’s no question that Beyonce is one of the biggest names in pop music. She has it all; the looks, the body, the talent, the money, the fame, an equally-famous husband. Beyonce is who every woman wants to be. But while she is one of the better pop stars out there, her music catalog isn’t perfect. A couple of man-bashing songs that are borderline misandrist and some failed attempts at a women empowerment anthem (Run The World, anyone?). Today’s Target Practice is the latter, so let’s get into Diva.
I’m a-a diva (hey), I’m a, I’m a-a diva (hey)
I’m a, I’m a-a diva (hey), I’m a, I’m a-a diva
I’m a, I’m a-a diva (hey), I’m a, I’m a a diva
I’m a, I’m a a diva (hey), I’m a, I’m a a di…
Na-na-na, diva is a female version of a hustla, of a hustla, of a, of a hustla…
If you’re gonna make a song like this, at least get the definition right. Moving on from that incorrect, repetitive shit.
I told you, gimme a minute and I’ll be right back
I done got so sick and filthy with Benjis, I can’t spend it
Been the number one diva in this game for a minute
Bet he better have a six-pack in the cooler
If you ain’t gettin’ money, then you ain’t got nothing fo’ me
Tell me somethin’, (tell me somethin’): Where yo boss at? (Where yo’ boss at?)
I wanna see her (I wanna see her), I’d like to meet ya (I’d like to meet her)
What you say? (NOT TO ME!), she ain’t no diva (she ain’t no diva!)…
“What’s yo age? ” That’s the question they ask when I hit the stage
She ain’t calling him to grade-up, don’t need him, her best maid
Yeah, yeah. You’re a diva who doesn’t need a man. We’ve heard this shit before. Tell us something else we don’t know.
This is a stick-up, stick-up (I need them bags and the money…)
We’re gonna stick-up, stick-up (You see them ask, “Where that money? “)
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why are you robbing banks now, Bey? You’re a multi-million dollar entertainer, not a character from Grand Theft Auto 5. Stick to what you do best. :sigh: Fuck this.
This song is an irritatingly messy ego handjob. The writing is bad, the flow is amateurishly laughable, the hook is repetitive, and the production is terrible. Seriously, the beat is just ANNOYING and that’s all thanks to the production style of Bangladesh (the same genius behind records like A Milli and 6 Foot 7 Foot). Being the top female has really gotten into Beyonce’s head for her to make this record. It seems when you get the money and fame, you start thinking your shit smell like roses. This isn’t the only terrible song Beyonce did, but I don’t think she has ever made anything worse than this and I don’t think she will (despite a few that comes close). Next Target Practice, we look at a Top 20 single from a Gwen Stefani knockoff.