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PC: Jesus, Lord. [Sings.] "Girl you're in the kitchen/ cooking me a meal/ Something makes me wanna come in and get a feel..."
DJ: Who does that, man? Like, "You know what? I'm looking at her. Yeah, that right there. Tomatoes!" [Scribbling on an imaginary notebook.]
PC: R. Kelly is a talented dude. He's just a sick motherfucker in the mind. The dude is an incredible songwriter. Motherfuckers be clowning him when he say this shit, but he really is like the Marvin Gaye of this era, as far as longevity, his track record, his records as far as his hits go. Dude can do it all, but he's a sick motherfucker. I can't support his music no more.
INDEPENDENT WEEKLY: But he was acquitted, you know?
PC: Yeah, he was acquitted, but that don't mean he didn't do the shit! I saw the tape ... I still got his old stuff, and he's got songs I'm still a fan of. If we judged artists based on their personal lives, there wouldn't be nobody we listened to. But, with this case for me, it was one of the few times where I was like, "I can't support this motherfucker no more." Clearly, dude has a problem, and—until somebody makes him seek help for that shit and people stop enabling him and if we as an audience keep supporting him, we ain't helping it none—I ain't buying no more of his records.
DJ: He looks in the camera!
PC: ["Sex in the Kitchen"] represents why so many people fuck with him. It really is some common man shit. You just chillin' at the crib and you see your girl like cooking it up in the kitchen and she has her little lace panties on, you end up getting it on in the kitchen. "Fuck it. Just put the oven on 350. It ain't gone burn. Now get your ass on this counter."
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