chamillionaire ft. devin the dude - backup plan -- beautiful six minute plus slowjam, cham doing cham, siphoning the creamy princess cuts/candy paint off the top of gangrenous southside (like michael watts just took keke off the southside with major label money and/or the opportunity to work with mike jones and coota bang) and making them sound as smooth and beautiful as the similes and metaphors suggest, not just aspiring to tops dropping in the sc430 but aspiring to personify japanese efficiency and immaculate design against backdrop of pot-holed streets of acres home. he takes out the guns and dirty words and replaces them with emotionless, flawless lyricism, coming robotic in his abstract hustler mode, "see, getting money's like sex and i'm havin a menage-a-g / gold diggers can't eff with me like i'm havin a menage-a-me." and devin doing devin, representing the old guard of southerners acceptable to the sensibilities of the north's intellectual elite, and passing the torch to cham while spitting cute, goofy verse about balls and panties, invoking real hip-hop with scritch-scratch beatboxing.