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.