The New Witchcraft Live

Delphic Truths as Expounded by Iggy Azalea

You know, top of the line, bitch, número uno

New coupe, two door, two high, Pluto trippin'

Said he wanna kick it like judo?

Miss him, Iggy been pimpin', listen

Ah, well, one is nearly moved to tears by the sheer *grandeur* of these lyrics—verily, Homer himself must be turning green in his ancient grave, knowing his epics have been so thoroughly outclassed by this modern masterpiece. Here, we find not the plodding tales of Achilles and Odysseus, but something truly lofty, where one woman declares herself “the strip club,” in a feat of self-identification worthy of Pythian oracular transcendence. Can we not hear echoes of “I am Delphi itself!” in such declarations? Of course, the Oracle herself would be beside herself with admiration.

The speaker’s insistence on “big bags, big cash” and designer goods as the pinnacle of enlightenment rivals any Delphic directive. Imagine, if you will, the Oracle chanting down from her lofty perch with these immortal words, “Keep designer on me! dollars on me!” a declaration of values so clear it nearly embarrasses the ancient “Know thyself.” Indeed, Homer’s obsession with the heroic seems child’s play next to this heady treatise on the luxury of self-assuredness and independent wealth.

And then, of course, the “pole”—a symbol of mysterious significance—transforms this text from mere lyricism to ritual, as she worships not with laurel but with lap dance. The pole rises as a modern pillar, likely to become the focus of archeological reverence itself, someday found and dusted off in temples of “entertainment.” It fills my heart to think that one day, esotericists of the future may fill their grimoires and books of shadows with the magical phrase, "fat ass, lap dance, pop it on a handstand."

In sum, the verses contain all the trappings of epic poetry and then some. Homer was content with his heroes; this modern poet surpasses him by embodying not only heroism but sheer, self-contained divinity. Yes, it’s astonishingly well-crafted, nearly overpowering in its grandeur. Perhaps Homer should have taken notes—if only he’d known that one day, a simple phrase could rival the Trojan War in poetic importance. I am the, the stripclub, indeed.