It was a James Brown grunt, a simple verbal emphasis: “You brought our tape with a check, ha / You wearin’ a vest, ha / You tryin’ to protect your chest, ha.” ![]() Over a beat that sounded like an evil robot’s spicy-food-before-bed nightmare, Juvenile, his New Orleans drawl a mile deep, mercilessly clowned some mysterious, all-pervading “you.” The “Ha” of the title wasn’t a laugh. ![]() In the fall of 1998, a 23-year-old rapper named Juvenile had erupted out of nowhere - or, more specifically, out of the CJ Peete housing projects in New Orleans - with a song so profoundly, overwhelmingly Southern that it felt like a transmission from some other, much funkier alien civilization.
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