Bread Review: African Waist... Tiwa Savage

Many things have been said about the African waist and the booty that follows it. It's said to be the most flexible waist in all of waistdom, capable of thrusting in any direction, from every position. The African waist is so incredible that Tiwa Savage released an entire song about it called African Waist.

I quite like Tiwa Savage even though my affections are completely one-sided. First she married Tee Billz, and then she blocked me on instagram. But has that ever stopped any determined blogger? Though she may deny me access to her completely unprivate pictures, she cannot prevent me from listening to her silky voice on youtube.

As far as songs go, African Waist is  terrible. It drags on without rhyme, reason or agency, and some of its lyrics are senseless syllables that were probably written by a donkey on drugs. In most cases, entirely unoriginal references to lady buttocks are forgivable as long as they are accompanied by a devastatingly catchy chorus. In the case of African Waist the only thing you're likely to catch is a yet undiscovered visually transmitted virus that makes you believe that you're trapped in the newest iteration of the yet to be created television show, Nigerian Horror Stories. 

As if all of that weren't bad enough we've got Don Jazzy appearing as the perverted uncle who took life advice from fluorescent adolescent from the 1980s and a serial sex offender.

It's been a while since I encountered a loaf of music as unpalatable as this, but I have found a way that it may be enjoyed.

To enjoy this truly ridiculous offering you must do the following:
  • Slam your head into a wall repeatedly.
  • Snort Paracetamol through your nose.
  • Crucify your eardrums.
  • Colour out your eyes with a Sharpie. 
 If you make it through all that, then I'm sure that the lousiness of the song won't bother you. Ninety nine and three quarters per cent guaranteed.

This song gets no loaves from me.

Happy Days,

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