I saw Uncle Ray straight-up cryin'!

I saw him shed an ole tear! sucker straight up welled, right all at the end of that tom hanks flick The Terminal, where the russian guy lives at the airport. he din't peep me cause I was stealthin around workin on my paintball skillz. straight up tha Unc dabbed his tears and wiped them on the couch cushions! now I gotta get me a bean bag or something cause I sure as shizzito ain't sittin in his Emotionzz wet spot anymore.

his tears took three minutes to abate!

mistah H is a straight-up tinytime hoe

mr Hanolan dick ragged me, all. Hanolan's the trick daddy of computer class, and he flip-wigged when he saw my book armor. I had most of a trimmed cookie sheet drilled to my Understanding Computers hardback, all. Hanolan puss-pussied at that!

I was like Chill, Hanolan, lots of computers also have metal parts, as my textbook now has. He ain't had a syllable of that. He flipped and touched the fuse that hung out he own azz which summons the principle.

principal defenbaugh cold rolled in, knowing Hanolan been a nutjob since Bananas magazine. he ID'd that the book I screwed platelets all to was a discontinued copy and that Hanolan had no need to police that ish.

damn but aint it great that defenbaughbaugh plays in Uncle Ray's foursome some days, plus out all, it's a tight-as-a-hooley night.

Where I been, y'all?

none 'a yo b-yo. school is a mad dirtle latez, tha teach hell all on my back about not coverin my books with the grocery bags cause I instead used my imaginizzle and stone screwed metal plates to all the outside surfaces. my old algebra shrieker almost laid a sweet spot in the backa her tweedz when my A-Team cold rolled into class and hit tha desk like an iron steak. folks hella peered around and I could see the green in they eyes. come the bell I was sellin' blueprints and supply lists so all tha lemmings could create cold home depot clankers of they own. sucker teachs don't know my armored book revo' is gonna save a kid from a bullet one day, and they gonna rename the gym after me, ain't gonna be no J. Vincent J. Lemoni gymnazium, gonna have flamin' letters on the side spellin out THA LEWD all above the statue of me holdin my metal book with a bullet hole ins.

fuck that azn gangsta wannabe!

a little back y'all I laid it down about how Shirley Pang's old-country boyfriend tried to shank me, straight jumping me at Swensen's! all was down low the last couple weeks, but check it, today I was grufflin' some Arby's and the dude cold rolls up in his ricer!

purple puss cold aimed a barrel at me, but that ain't no. I yelled "rice boy ready fo' his money shot!?" and pointed up. he saw the security cam and yelled at his driver out to pull forward, but the camera cold followed them. I gave between-tha-bunzz tongue love to my Big Montana while they tried to dodge the lens. I got the plate and Uncle Ray ran it—he is chum pals with the police sergeant—and he got me their address with full blue backup. Uncle Ray and I got mad different ideas on my days, but blood is blood. he wanna see his LN avenged.

blue dropped me a couple blocks from this azn's hole-up, and I tiptoe the rest, cold same clothes as lunchtime, kevlar under the K. Malone. I see the civic in question, and I nod to blue, who pull up and cut the gas.

I'm all about a light step up their apartment stairs, and through their window I can see them workin their xbox on a Phillips fiddy. I wave a couple blues up and they bust down the door. I got a good look at the b/j who dry-iced me, and mock-capped him as they dragged him by.

sweet-ass night, all. gonna puff some dill and consider some ink on the premises, probly that mad band around the bicep, cold initials all worked in.