This is a new rap by Jerusalem rapper Aryeh Bernstein, posted here with permission. He wishes to note that he generally eschews profanity in writing, but makes an exception here because proper translation of the characters into this genre requires it. Happy Purim!

The time is exilic, Shushan is the spot.
More chillin than Sunday in the park with Seurat.
The king got paid. His dollar was tall,
But hard to say if he was more tipesh or rasha. (“stupid or wicked”)
Party poppin’ more than Russell Simmons’s
Comin’ from 127 provinces
Riding in with bling, diamonds and pimp rims
Dissin’ the sistas, no respect for womens.
King’s like, “Check it out, my girl’s got it going on,
She’s got more curves than Warren Spahn.
I kiss her and conquistador like Ponce de Leon.
It ain’t wrong, y’all fawn, while I mow her lawn.
She’ll ride my lever, I’ll Nebuchadnezz-her
For each treasure she’ll pleasure me measure for measure
no pressure, but you’d better start to shake that tail feather
If you’re clever or whatever, maybe strap on the leather.
So, Bo’i, motek, Malkah Vashti. (“Come here, sweetie, Queen Vashti”)
Show us some booty and titpashti. (“strip”)
You off the hook, so fine and busty,
And if you don’t I’ll Ayatollah your Salman Rushdie.
Don’t be a bee-otch T, you my bitch, Vashti,
wrap around the pole and get really nasty.
I’m a mojo man, though I’m old and crusty.
Targi’i oti, baby, ki kvar ka’asti
(calm me, down, baby; I’m already mad)

Vashti! Where have you gone? The queen of mystery.
Vashti! Where have you gone? The queen of mystery.

“Oh, how gauche, you roach, Ahashverosh.
Madhim she-hitzlahta le-horid et ha-kos
(“Amazing that you were able to put down your cup”)
On my dignity you won’t encroach.
For y’all I won’t take off even Grandma’s brooch.
You done lost your mind with poppy seed hamantaschen.
Spilling old poppy’s seed with all the porn you been watchin’.
Settle down, boys, douse the fire in your crotchen,
I ain’t throwing my loins to your belt-buckle notchin’.
Yo, ‘Veros, read your Taros, cause your crew haven’t heard
Your narrow eros vanished, you stamina amateur.
Your limpin pimpin sags, man, grab on your catheter
Like Dickinson I’ll jag-slant your iambic pentameter.”
Vashti! Where have you gone? The queen of mystery.
Vashti! Where have you gone? The queen of mystery.
9-8-7-6-5-4-3
What the Helen of Troy happened to Vashti?
The ig’nant indignant shrill: “Killed by the king!”
But they illin’, the Megillah tells no such thing.
She disappears from sight, becomes a Dark Knight
In mystery, shines HIStory with V-Day light.
His game was to take her, saying, “Kiss me, Kate.”
She flies into the night in a bad-ass pink cape.
She whispers to the sisters, daring them to be aware
saying, “Girls, love your curls, Don’t straighten your hair!”
digs Jill and Lauryn Hill and chills at Lillith Fair
All you dudes with attitudes – you just hatin what you fear.

Vashti! Where have you gone? The queen of mystery.
Vashti! Where have you gone? The queen of mystery.

But Good Golly, Miss Molly, Chazal did wail,
They all holler, she belongs right back in jail!
She won’t give head, so they give her a tail
say her soiree for chaste ladies was a forced Chippendales.
But then the Talmud’s like the king – arbitrary, capricious!
Anarchy in Shushan, like Rotten Sid Vicious.
claiming she was vain, saying she was leprous.
Tradition?! God save the queen and God help us!
So you say, “But the Sages…!”, because they yo’ crew
You misunderstood them; that’s my news fo’ you.
The numbers don’t add up in your Sudoku.
On Purim they’re ironic: Ve-Nahafokh hu. (“It was reversed”)*

Vashti! Where have you gone? The queen of mystery.
Vashti! Where have you gone? The queen of mystery.

*–This is a quote from the Book of Esther (9:1) which becomes a theme for the Purim festival.]