Tuesday, May 12, 2009


Homicide would know the profile.

Once you cross the line, man, you're in a different world. Everything seems...strange. It's like the whole world is made of cardboard and people's heads are made of eggshells.

My cleaner came in, as usual, and then I yelled at her.

"Pick it up, bitch! Or Imma pop a cap in yo ass, motherfucka!"

She flipped the bird.

Goddamn ghetto girls.

"Ain't want yo koochie, chica!"

"Besa me culo, esse!"

Eh! Menjawab! Melayu habis.

So I pulled out my Graviton Energy Transmitter.


And took down a wall.

I hear sirens. No, wait, that's just the baby next door crying.

I went to the park and got me eight joints.

War goin' on, man. Somethin' comin' down tonight. I got to do the lay-low from the five-oh.

Out on the LAM, bitch!

I am so fucking hardcore. I'm hardcore like, like Milli Vanilli. OG, yo!