I see that Kanye West legally changed his name again, this time to “Ye,” with no middle or last name.

For real. He said he did it because Ye is the most common word in the Bible, as in “Yo Ye. Thou art a narcissist.”

Most rap and hip-hop entertainers change their birth names, like J-Z, Dr. Dre, 50 Cent, Eminem and my main man Snoop Dogg, whose many monikers helped him go from rap star to Martha Stewart to the pinnacle of stardom, TV beer commercials.

Snoop was born Calvin Broadus Jr., and went by prior names of Snoop Doggy Dogg, Snoop Lion and just Snoop. (Truth: His mom called him Snoopy because he loved Snoopy in Charlie Brown cartoons).

Why do they do it? According to my Internet research, hip-hop’s first artists were in gangs, which gave out street names to create a bond and protect identities in times of crimes. (I’d need a sick load of aliases to cover-ID all my stupid stunts, capers and pranks).

Real names aren’t always catchy or easy to remember. Ice Cube is easier to recall than, O’Shea Jackson Sr., his birth name.

It’s not just rappers who name change. Retired NBA player, Ron Artest, rebranded himself “Metta World Peace.” (Metta gotta a lotta work ahead of him).

Some stage names are creative and reflect the artist’s desire to quickly roll in the bling, as in “A$AP,” whose birth name is Rakim Mayers. (He could have changed his name to “Rakim-In-The-CA$H,” and it would have been just as dope).

Names are important. They elicit images, can make life difficult or embarrassing, reflect your lineage and can just be plain dumb, like Richard Head (real name of a kid I knew in my youth). His parents must have been huffing glue when they named him.

I’m happy with being James Michael Pfiffer, although my last name is pronounced “Pie-fer,” not “Fife-er,” as it’s spelled. I’ve been called “Pa-fifer,” “Piper” “Pisser” and “Pie face,” by my good friend, Stoney, when he’s had a few beers.

I’m a man of many names, most of them bestowed upon me by schoolteachers. I liked to have fun, create laughter, play the dare devil and generally be the center of attention. My classmates called me “class clown.” My teachers called me “a future drain on society.”

Don’t get me wrong. I loved Southside High School in Elmira. It was six of the best years of my life.

I found it odd that I repeatedly got sent to see the principal, Mr. Harrigan, for “being smart,” as in “don’t get smart with me, mister!”

Isn’t getting smart the purpose of education? When a teacher told me to stop being “smart,” I cleverly replied, in a low and slow voice, “Duhhh. I’ll try to be dumber in the future, teach.”

That resulted in a trip to Harrigan’s office, where I was a regular. Had my own desk and chair. The office secretary asked me why I was there, again. I sarcastically explained that I was “guilty of being smart in class.”

She glared at me, and even more sarcastically, retorted “Are you, some kind of a wise guy?”

So, you see, I was right back where I started from – too smart for my own good.

That’s why teachers routinely labeled me: “troublemaker,” “immature,” “instigator,” “incorrigible” and “the F#!@>* reason I’m quitting teaching and joining the F#!@>* French Foreign Legion!”

My favorite moniker was “rambunctious.” I thought it meant I was joyful and lively. I looked it up and discovered it means “uncontrollably boisterous” (see: “fidgety loudmouth with ADD”).

Bummer.

An English teacher called me a “provocateur,” which I liked because it had a savvy French-sounding sassy sound. I even wore a beret to better provoke.

A visibly angry and shaking substitute biology teacher told me that I was “waaay out of line.”

I replied, “Whaaat line should I be in?”

Another visit to the principal.

I didn’t know the meanings of many of the labels affixed to me, like pernicious, truculent and insolent. I assumed they all meant bad things, so I didn’t look them up.

I’ve had enough given names. Now it’s my turn. I’m considering adopting a hip-hop street moniker. A good columnist needs to keep current and hip to the slangy language of the people. A totally coolio name might attract younger readers.

Know what I’m sayin’?

I checked online to learn the latest hip-hop lingo. I think I got it down pat and won’t sound like a Boomer when I rip-rap this riff:

“I was a high school pranksta’,

Not a ballin’ gangsta’.

Teachers didn’t know me,

Tried to mofoe me.

Gotta see the principal again,

Rap some more with Harrigan.

Don’t matter, cuz nothin’ t phaze me.

I’m not lay-Z or cray-Z.

I’m flexin for ‘shizzle,

Off da hook in da drizzle.

I’m stillin’ ‘n’ ‘trillin,’

Cuz I’m willin’ and chillin’.”

You feel me?

I’m going to initially change my name to “Pfif Daddy.” Has a nice and easy to remember three-syllable cadence.

When my column goes viral, I’ll change it to “P. Daddy,” “P. Diddy” or maybe “P. Diddy Daddy.”

When I publish my first book, I’ll shorten it to “PD.”

When I shoot my first rap video, I’ll cut it to “P,” which is what I must do now cuz I drank too much green tea.

Word!

Jim Pfiffer’s humor column is posted every Sunday on the Jim Pfiffer Facebook page, Hidden Landmarks TV Facebook page and TwinTiersLiving.com. Jim lives in Elmira with his wife and many pets and is a retired humor columnist with the Elmira Star-Gazette newspaper.