MOOD: Bored as hell and I wanna get ill . . .
. . . so I go to a place where my homeboys chill. Fellas out there tryin' to make that dollah, I pulled up in my six-fo Impala.
Greeted with a forty, man, I start drinking, and from the eight-ball my buh-reath starts stinkin'. I gotta get my girl to rock that body; before I left I hit the Bacardi.
I rolled to her house to get her outta the pad, and yo, the b***h said something to make me mad. She said something that I couldn't believe so I grabbed the stupid b***h by her nappy-a** weave. She started talking s**t! Wouldn't you know, I reached back like a pimp and I smacked the ho! When her father stood up and he started to shout, I threw a right cross and knocked his old a** out.
The boys in the hood are always hard. Come talking that trash and we'll pull your card. We know nothing in life but to be legit.
Don't quote me, boy -- I ain't said s**t.
 dyejob · Thu Mar 01, 2007 @ 03:26am · 0 Comments |
