I love absolutely everything about hick hop.

Hick hop is cultural appropriation grown self-aware. It's the South and white trash recognizing that they have more in common with black ghetto culture than they do with Lynrd Skynrd.

What I particularly love is that it's a bunch of striving rednecks willing to play up their redneck image the same as rappers played up their street image. Is there anything less country than professional golfing? Yet here we are:

Let's not lose sight of the fact that this is a genre that doesn't exist without Kid Rock... and that it went bizarre and virulent from there. That the production value and design is basically '90s Dre with the budget cut to nothing warms the cockles of my heart:

Note that I came at this from the bottom; I had two alcoholic contractors that didn't listen to "Florida Georgia Line" (more on that in a minute) but started me off in the absolute gutter:

You ask Pandora to spin you up a playlist based on Mud Cricket? You're in the land of Mini-Thin:

Eleven million views for confederate hockey masks. We've been here before tho:

"Florida Georgia Line?" That's the Fugees of hick hop. Take the scary white trash, throw them on MTV's cribs and sell them to teenagers at Walmart. Capitalism at its finest. Helicopters, explosions and Lauren Hill crooning over Enya.

There's a marvelous contradiction at the heart of hick hop: an adulation of black music and a hatred of black people. The tension is delicious and the irony is almost unbearable.