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My Hiddles, My Hiddles

One of the most entertaining feats of twisted logic I have enjoyed in the past month has been the local music station's attempt to air the song "My Ni**a" on a daily basis. Now, because the title phrase occurs in the song one million six hundred and five times, this is quite a challenge, and so they've had to really get creative with the radio edit. And, thanks to the lovely people who bleep and blur, I HAVE THE BEST SONG EVER.

Normally, with a song this edited, the lyrics stop making any sense because you can't hear about half of them. But this time, it is glorious. Because, my friends, the version I hear every day no longer sounds like "my ni**a," but "my Hiddles." I SHIT YOU NOT.


Of course, this is as it should be. So next time you hear this song, thank whomever you routinely thank for the glory of radio edits, let us all rise together, and sing the chorus as one:

I said that I'ma ride for my motherfucking Hiddles Most likely I'ma die with my finger on the trigger (Anyone else prefer to sing this as "I'ma die with my finger on my Hiddles? I do.) I've been grinding outside, all day with my Hiddles And I ain't going in, unless I'm with my Hiddles My Hiddles, my Hiddles My Hiddles, my Hiddles (my motherfucking Hiddles!) My Hiddles, my Hiddles (My Hiddles, my Hiddles) My Hiddles, my Hiddles

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