At times I ponder how horribly dope it would have been to be an A&R circa '95. This Oxymoron is easy to explain. On one hand there would have been enough Champagne, women and money to throw at the ceiling. On the other hand you would have been a slave to little Jermain Dupri and his evil uncle. Imagine having to take orders from the little angry troll with the squealing ass voice. He'd chirp you from his power wheel Lambo pissed; "Why didn't you close that ni**ga for 3 albums instead of 2? My Uncle bout to page you in a min. You betta call back."