While the lyrics of Waka Flocka Flame’s debut classic, “O Let’s Do It,” read “Yeah! O let’s do it, hey!” my ear catches something more activating: “Oledoit, ey!” The lived experience of a sonic mumble, an intracultural invitation of revival and hype. To my reading eye, the official lyrics seem out of place and almost proper. But my ear witnesses a rise of camaraderie at the first bass drop, and I catch a case of the mumbles, a rooted flow I know from my soul. The quick connection of every syllable into one phrase sounds similar to my grandfather’s hymn lining of “Guide Me O Thou Great Jehovah” in Dawson, Georgia, at ATOC African Methodist Episcopal Church. His lining of the hymn begins the worship service as the congregation rises slowly and the words meet the end of each other. Layered with moans and oohs and aahs, his lining sounds like a slow phrase, but it is often five or more words connected. Yet, when I hear “Oledoit, ey!” it is an edifying call to those who can hear what it means to be young, gifted, and Black, assuming one would make a trap version of Nina Simone’s words of power and celebration. The edification of Blackness is happening in sound, requiring an oral imagination.