B Rad;
Man, I can't believe you did that to me, that's hella bootsy. We's supposed to be tight yo, letin' you roll up in my flossy-ass ride, vo for yo with my homs, not peepin when ya you playin' like yo a mac when you ain't nothin but a hood-rat splitin' skud. Yo act all gansta when you're really just a swanson. You better check it, Ese.
As for you, Policy Adjustment Accessory;
Your name is as whack as the dil piece you try to talk up. Bamma, go home and curl up with the latest Women's Weekly, shoot off some knuckle children and keep it on the DL. No need to lay all dat shit bare. You're lucky I'm all the way out in the cut. Hear me, I'll be Schmabbin’ next time you're ridin. And FYI, yo backpack is mega jankity, mega.
In closing, ya'll can shove it and get outta my grill cuz I ain't frontin', I'm more street than you can handle. We ain't cuzins no more, we aint even zucks. Wu Tang Mo' Fo's! Wu Tang.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
I'm not going to dignify that with a response. If you hear chiddy chiddy bang bang, duck.
Post a Comment