”Grab a pu..y”…graphic lyrics spoken to a thumping beat, reverberating with a deviant, repetitive monologue.

Say what…I am snuggled in under my Tommy Bahama umbrella reading, One Hundred Years of Solitude, on a hot, cloudless weekend and the zen moment is violently interrupted.

I freaked out as that phrase made me freeze thinking Agent Orange had infiltrated the holiday Santa Monica beach.

The commotion was a posse of 5 who invaded the beach at 10am to film a rap video on the temporarily unoccupied lifeguard stand.

The music and lyrics made families with children scurry for a profanity free zone.

We held firm because we were sitting in our favorite spot, enduring the pounding, sexually demeaning lyrics, exuberant bumping and grinding between the two bloated, unmasked principles.

The beach patrol showed up 30 minutes later and told them they were polluting the sanctity of a perfect beach day.

And the hits (not theirs) keep on coming.

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