Hip-hop doesn't usually reward being "weird." In 2010, the industry was still obsessed with radio-friendly hooks and polished pop-rap crossovers that could play in a CVS. Then came Nicki Minaj. She didn't just walk through the door; she kicked it down while making gremlin noises. When Pink Friday dropped, everyone expected more tracks like "Your Love" or "Super Bass." Instead, they got Did It On Em.
It’s nasty. It’s filthy. Honestly, it’s one of the most disrespectful records ever to hit the Billboard charts.
Bangladesh, the producer behind Lil Wayne's "A Milli," provided the beat. It sounds like a haunted circus. There’s this heavy, distorted bassline that feels like it’s vibrating in your teeth. Over that, Nicki isn't just rapping; she’s sneering. She’s literally laughing at her competition. For anyone who thinks she only became a "Barbie" to sell records, this track is the evidence of her underground, gritty mixtape roots.
The Shyne Factor and the Art of the Diss
You can’t talk about Did It On Em without talking about the beef. At the time, Shyne—the Brooklyn rapper who had recently been released from prison—wasn't feeling Nicki's vibe. He called her music "rubbish." Most new artists would have ignored a veteran like Shyne or offered a polite "no comment" to Vibe magazine.
Nicki went the other way.
She didn't just address him; she buried the criticism under a mountain of braggy metaphors. When she says, "If you could see my thoughts, you would see a bunch of numbers," she isn't just talking about money. She’s talking about the data. The sales. The cold, hard facts that she was winning while her critics were stuck in the past. It’s a power move. It’s also incredibly petty in the best way possible.
The song’s hook is basically a playground taunt turned into a million-dollar anthem. People often forget that the term "shitted on 'em" became a literal cultural reset for how fans talked about dominance in rap. She took a gross-out concept and made it a badge of honor.
Breaking Down the Bangladesh Production
The beat is a skeleton. Seriously.
If you strip away Nicki’s voice, there isn't much there besides a thumping percussion and that eerie, high-pitched synth whine. This is the "Bangladesh Sound." He creates space. Most rappers get lost in that much empty space. They over-rap or try to fill the gaps with unnecessary ad-libs. Nicki uses the silence. She lets her punchlines breathe so you can actually feel the insult.
- The 808s are tuned to a specific frequency that makes car speakers rattle.
- The repetitive "sh-sh-sh" sound in the background adds a layer of anxiety.
- There’s a total lack of a traditional melodic chorus, which was a massive risk for a debut studio album.
It worked. The song peaked at number 2 on the Billboard Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Songs chart. It went Platinum. It did all of this without a catchy singing part. That just doesn't happen for female rappers in the mainstream very often.
Why the "Mean" Persona Mattered for Women in Hip-Hop
Before this era, female rappers were often shoved into specific boxes. You were the "Street Girl," the "Sexy Girl," or the "Lyrical Girl." Nicki refused the box. In Did It On Em, she is the aggressor. She isn't responding to a man; she is asserting herself as the "king."
She uses the word "son" constantly. In New York slang, "sonning" someone means you’ve established yourself as their superior—basically acting as their parent because they’re so far below you. By "sonning" the entire rap game, she flipped the gender dynamics of the 2010s.
It’s also about the voices. The Roman Zolanski persona peeks out here. She’s growling. She’s screaming. She’s using a British accent for half a second just to mock you. It’s theatrical. It reminded people that rap is a performance, not just a diary entry. If you listen closely to the second verse, the way she plays with the cadence of "All these bitches is my sons" set the template for the next decade of female rap flows. Everyone from Cardi B to Megan Thee Stallion has, at some point, utilized that staccato, punchy delivery that Nicki perfected here.
The Cultural Footprint: From Vine to TikTok
Even though Did It On Em came out years before TikTok existed, its DNA is all over the app. Short, punchy, disrespectful lyrics are the lifeblood of social media transitions. The song saw a massive resurgence because of its "attitude."
There’s a specific kind of confidence required to post a video with this song playing. You aren't just feeling yourself; you’re feeling better than everyone else. That’s the "Nicki Effect." She gives her fans—the Barbz—a sense of untouchable ego.
Interestingly, the music video is a bit of a departure. It’s a montage of tour footage and behind-the-scenes clips. Usually, a song this aggressive would get a dark, cinematic video. But by showing her "real life"—the pink hair, the screaming fans, the private jets—she grounded the arrogance of the lyrics in her actual reality. It wasn't a character. She really was doing it on 'em.
Technical Skill: More Than Just a Catchphrase
Let’s get into the actual lyricism. "Put on my jewelry, just to go to the grocery store." It sounds simple, right? But the delivery is what matters. She’s mocking the idea of "normalcy."
She also references "The Exorcist," comparing her success to a demonic possession that the industry can't get rid of. The wordplay isn't always complex in a "dictionary" way, but it’s rhythmic. She treats her voice like a drum kit. Each syllable is a snare hit.
"I’m the big bad wolf, where the three little pigs at?"
It’s a nursery rhyme, sure. But in the context of a track that sounds like a nightmare, it’s terrifying. She’s reclaiming childhood imagery and twisting it. This is a recurring theme in her early work—taking the "Barbie" aesthetic and making it sharp, dangerous, and expensive.
The Legacy of the "Pink Friday" Era
Looking back from 2026, Did It On Em stands out as the moment Nicki proved she didn't need a feature to carry a hit. A lot of her early buzz came from the "Monster" verse with Kanye West. People thought she was a "verse artist." This track proved she could carry a whole song on pure, unadulterated venom.
It also solidified her relationship with Young Money. You can hear the influence of Lil Wayne’s "Martian" era in her weirdness, but she polished it. She made it fashionable. She made it "Pink."
If you’re looking to understand the evolution of rap in the 2010s, you have to start here. You have to look at the way she balanced the underground with the charts. Most artists have to choose one. Nicki chose both, and she used a song about, well, "doing it on 'em" to bridge the gap.
How to Analyze Your Own Favorite Nicki Tracks
If you want to dive deeper into why this specific sound works, you should look into the "Minimalist Trap" movement of the early 2010s. Compare this track to "Beez in the Trap" or "Chun-Li." You’ll notice a pattern:
- Heavy focus on the "one" beat.
- Repetitive, hypnotic ad-libs.
- A refusal to use a traditional melody in the verses.
- Lyrical themes of "sonning" the competition.
To truly appreciate the track today, listen to it on a high-quality sound system. The nuances in the Bangladesh production—the way the bass drops out and comes back in—are lost on cheap phone speakers. It’s a technical marvel as much as it is a cultural one.
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Start by revisiting the Pink Friday tracklist in order. Notice how the album oscillates between "Check It Out" (pure pop) and Did It On Em (pure rap). That whiplash is exactly what made Nicki Minaj a superstar. She never let the audience get comfortable. Just when you thought you knew who she was, she’d turn around and do it on you again.
Check out the original 2011 tour footage to see how the crowd reacts when that first bass note hits. It’s visceral. Even fifteen years later, that beat is an instant shot of adrenaline for any hip-hop fan. Pay attention to the "Roman" growls; they aren't just random noises, they are timed to the percussion to create a "dual-vocal" effect that very few rappers have been able to replicate since.