Tha Fuckin' Game

the pasta
I had been single fo' a while, n' I was sick n' pissed wit dat shit. Bein 32 n' single is no bustin up matter; tha traumatic experiencez of watchin yo' playaz git married, have children, n' attain tha Gangsta trip is akin ta tha hopeless depression of tha schizophrenic menstrual patient. I wanted a hoe, I wanted kids, I wanted a steady thang. I was pissed wit hustlin at Burger Mackdaddy n' livin ridin' solo up in a funky-ass basement crib, n' I was almost certain I memorized ninety cement of pornstars on tha internizzle by name. Disgusted by tha company of mah left hand, I decided ta go up ta one of dem speed pimpin events.

I picked up mah dopest garb n' strutted up tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Keep it realz in mind, I hit dat shiznit at Burger Mackdaddy, so tha dopest threadz I could afford was some mediocre dress shirts n' tattered khaki baggy-ass pants I looted at WalMart durin a cold-ass lil clearizzle event. I strutted tha fuck into tha event, tryin ta display tha shred of confidence I had left. I was instantly discouraged when I saw all tha other competin malez n' they Armani suits, high class whiskey up in hand, n' auras reekin of not a god damn thang but pure self esteem n' conceit. Da ladies there was dressed up in fine dresses, a shitload of dem like low cut, n' smelled like a gangbangin' flower garden designed by Martha Stuart her muthafuckin ass. There was some straight-up lookers up in there, n' I swear mah baggy-ass pants shrunk a cold-ass lil couple sizes all up in tha sight of a shitload of these dresses.

Da speed pimpin started. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. Da first hoe I sat down wit was like young; a 22 year oldschool mutha of three. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch had done cooked up a shitload of mistakes up in her game, n' seemed far mo' than I could handle. Right off tha bat dat dunkadelic hoe holla'd at mah crazy ass bout how tha fuck dat biiiiatch was four minutes sober from methamphetamine n' was lookin ta settle down wit a sick playa whoz ass didn't be lookin like a walrus. I dropped tha next four minutes makin general lil' small-ass talk, like literally fearin fo' mah game. Once dat buzzer sounded, I rocketed outta mah chair wit tha speed of a gazelle. Da lil' biatch seemed offended. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! But straight-up, what tha fuck did she expect?

Da next biatch was way too oldschool fo' mah dirty ass. I had thought dat these events was age regulated n' had different meetings fo' playas up in different stagez of game. I be no pervert yo, but tha whole scam of takin her hoodie off n' seein two runny eggs nailed ta tha wall did not appease mah dirty ass. My fuckin decision was finalized as soon as da hoe brought up her grandkids; I can hardly handle one generation of lil' ones, much less two. I straight-up axed her if she needed help gettin outta her chair afta tha buzzer sounded.. fo' realz. Again, another dark look. I was battin 0 fo' 2 yo, but such pitches was ones dat I would gladly let tha catcher have.

Da next biatch seemed much mo' appealing. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was 26 n' studyin ta be a nurse at a local hospitizzle. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch loved lil playas but had none of her own, which was a relief ta mah dirty ass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch seemed well kept n' stable, n' wasn't a wack looker either n' shit. No lie, mah eyes did wander a lil' bit downtown a cold-ass lil couple times durin tha meeting. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch either didn't notice or didn't care, as she never pointed it out. I axed her if she'd like mah number as tha session ended, n' dat thugged-out biiiatch consented. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. I flipped open mah beeper n' entered her number as she read it out. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Smilin at her n' thankin her fo' her listenin ear (no wonder I had been single fo' so long...), I gots up ta tha next table. While bustin so, I closed mah beeper by accident n' realized dat I never saved her number, so dat shiznit was lost forever n' shit. For tha ludd of... 0 fo' 3.

Da next table was empty. What a joke. If I wanted ta sit n' stare at a wall, I would have stayed home. Nothang straight-up ta say here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Movin on.

This is where tha rap begins gettin dark. Da biatch I kicked it wit all up in tha next table was da most thugged-out bangin-ass of all yo, but not up in a wack way. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch had long, flowin dark afro n' chronic eyes. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch had dis thugged-out smile n' dude, what tha fuck a tight body on dis one. Black dress, black shoes, black every last muthafuckin thang. For one of mah thugs dressed up in such a gothic manner, dat freaky freaky biatch had such a funky-ass bubbly personality. Everythang I holla'd made her giggle, n' I felt like a mackdaddy just rappin' ta dis girl.

Added by FantasyPhantomYo, she was 27 n' currently unemployed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch was gangbangin a homeboy before yo, but dat schmoooove muthafucka had left her afta they two lil pimps took a dirt nap of leukemia. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch holla'd at mah crazy ass dat tha cancer was entwined wit her lineage, pimpin back as far as tha eighteenth century; therefore, up in a shitload of fitz of wack rage, her ex homeboy blamed her fo' givin tha lil pimps cancer n' left. Too pained by tha loss of her entire crew, she moved ta tha hood all dem weeks ago n' was livin on unemployment, unable ta continue hustlin at her thang cuz of tha cripplin depression n' panic her big-ass booty suffered as a result of her abandonment.

Despite tha torment up in her game, she never seemed pissed off bout dat shit. Either dat biiiiatch was incredibly optimistic bout game or dat biiiiatch was one of tha dopest hustlas I had eva seen; either way, I was willin ta take a shot. I axed her if she'd like mah number n' shit. Well shiiiit, it turned up dat dat freaky freaky biatch had some wack meetings at dis particular convention her muthafuckin ass, n' wanted ta take off ta do suttin' mo' fun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch tossed mah crazy ass a invite and, seein as I was a lonely 32 year oldschool dude, her dope ass didn't gotta ask twice.

I never understood what tha fuck her big-ass booty saw up in me over all tha other muthafuckas. I was beaten n' fucked up wit no aspirations ta mo' betta mah current thang. Maybe she understood how tha fuck I felt, thankin bout all tha pain she felt her muthafuckin ass, n' decided ta git ta know whoz ass I straight-up was under dis cocoon of emotionless insecurity. I sensed a thread of comboner intertwined between all dat stress n' trauma, willin ta lend a ear ta mah playas dat felt tha same pain as her n' shit. I was truly transfixed by her presence, drawn ta her character n' shit. I had never felt like dis before.

Us dudes decided ta git all up in a pool hall fo' realz. Apparently she used ta be a regular at another pool hall by her oldschool house, ballin local tournaments n' bustin a name fo' her muthafuckin ass, n' dat biiiiatch wanted ta check up tha scenery here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. I wasn't too shabby all up in tha table game mah dirty ass, so I was excited. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. Every blasted she made was perfect; tha balls just sank tha fuck into tha pockets like each pocket was a funky-ass black hole just waitin fo' suttin' ta trespass tha fuck into its field. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Out of tha seventeen game we played, I be thinkin I made round 23 shots, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch just kept hustlin tha table. Dat shiznit was funky, cuz she kept apologizin fo' bein so good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! I waived tha apologizzle n' complimented her on her skill, causin her ta giggle mo' n' mo' n' mo'. Every time she laughed, I fell tha fuck harder n' harder n' shiznit fo' realz. And, ta be honest, I was always buckwild when tha cue bizzle landed on mah side of tha table. Yo ass know, 'cause da hoe bent over ta take her shots, as nuff pros do yo. Heh.

We left afta dis shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch holla'd dat freaky freaky biatch had ta git home as dat freaky freaky biatch had some errandz ta run, bein freshly smoked up in tha hood n' all. I agreed, since I had a gangbangin' facebook application dat I had ta update (obviously I didn't give her dat reason. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Jizzy, what tha fuck tha hell is poppin' off wit me son, biatch? Passin up a dunkadelic hoe fo' facebook, biatch? Egh...), so we exchanged numbers n' parted ways. I couldn't believe it, I had straight-up banged up a funky-ass dope biatch. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Hell yeah.

Weeks n' months passed on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. We continued ta rap n' eventually fuckin started regularly dating. Da relationshizzle moved pretty quickly n' it seemed we was truly matched fo' each other n' shiznit fo' realz. After bout seven monthz of dating, I axed her ta bone mah dirty ass. I popped tha question on tha seventeenth, as thatz how tha fuck nuff game we played on our first date. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch found dat so horny-ass n' flew tha fuck into mah arms, beatboxin yeaaaa ta tha skies. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! Things was finally lookin up.

I moved outta mah shitbox crib n' tha fuck into her home. I always admired tha cozy feel of her two bedroom ranch house. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Somethang slick ta start a cold-ass lil crew in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. As I was movin mah final thangs in, I noticed how tha fuck much of a mess I was making, wit mah boxez of shiznit n' all. I apologized n' motioned ta tha basement ta finish movin mah thangs yo. Her grill instantly darted ta mine. In a hurried n' almost frantic voice, she assured mah crazy ass dat she'd take care of tha rest of mah thangs n' dat I should chillax. Dat shiznit was a lil' bit odd, shizzle yo, but dat freaky freaky biatch had been all up in so much excruciatin sadnizz all up in her game dat her havin a psychiatric illnizz is suttin' I expected. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. I complied ta her request.

Da next few months was pimped out. We never gots pissed wit each other, and, on our weddin day, tha lick we shared on dat alter was so special dat I firmly believe angels surrounded our asses n' serenaded our asses wit harps n' trumpets as our lips connected n' sparked so brightly dat tha entire room was illuminated. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. I be bout ta leave up tha detailz of tha honeymoon as dis aint a p-to-tha-ornotastic piece. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was always leery of me approachin tha unforbidin basement, sometimes ta tha deal wit jumpin off bout some shiznit wit me bout it yo, but, aside from that, I didn't peep any fault up in her muthafuckin ass.

Until every last muthafuckin thang I knew bout game was shattered.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">One day, dat dunkadelic hoe holla'd at mah crazy ass dat biiiiatch was goin ta tha grocery store. I noted dat I wanted some ground beef up in order ta make hamburgers fo' dinner n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch smiled all up in mah grill wit dat cute, adorable smile I have grown ta know n' ludd n' headed up fo' realz. After climbin Burger Mackdaddyz corporate ladder, I had finally attained tha posizzle of regionizzle financial manager fo' tha entire state. I was hustlin on some budget shiznit, assessin tha costz of all tha franchises across tha state. Dat shiznit was a long-ass n' arduous process yo, but I was gettin just above six figures fo' it, so I wasn't complainin fo' realz. After each report was straight-up completed n' evaluated, I moved tha filez ta a STD drive so I could upload dem ta a cold-ass lil computer fo' a cold-ass lil corporate meetin tha next day. It make me wanna hollar playa! To mah horror, wit only three reports left ta finish, tha computer crashed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! If I didn't finish these reports, I would surely lose mah thang.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">I called mah hoe, askin her if dat freaky freaky biatch had another computer or suttin' I could use yo, but her dope ass didn't answer n' shit. I rummaged all up in tha doggy den ta find suttin' ta finish these reports wit ta no avail. Desperate times called fo' desperate measures, so I took tha darin risk of approachin tha basement. Da handle was unusually cold n' tha door was locked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Frustrated n' defeated, I slumped ta tha couch up in a thugged-out depression. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. That is, until I realized dat there was a specific flower pot dat mah hoe always guarded wit her game. On a hunch, I went ta it n' found tha key all up in tha bottom of tha pot, under tha dirt.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">As soon as I opened tha door, a rancid n' tangible odor beat down me like a gangbangin' fallin wall from a thugged-out decrepit building. Da entire basement looked as if dat shiznit was wastin away; a cold-ass lil clear contrast ta tha rest of tha house. Da heavy layerz of dust upon every last muthafuckin surface suggested dat tha basement hadn't been accessed up in years. Usin mah cell beeper as a gangbangin' flashlight, I guided mah dirty ass down tha stairs n' flicked a light switch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Surprisingly, tha bulb still worked.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">Da walls looked molded, tha wood was breakin down, tha stench was putrid, n' tha entire place was up in disarray. I encountered a phat sense of dysphoria afta settin foot up in tha room, so I quickly searched fo' some oldschool computer wit tha intent of hustlin upstairs as quickly as possible. To mah luck n' astonishment, there was a oldschool laptop n' charger up in tha corner, hidden under some boxes n' books. Oddly enough, one of tha boxes was one up in which da hoe brought down afta I had first moved in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I had not peeped a shitload of dis shiznit up in a long-ass time... Ignorin tha nostalgia, I seized tha computer n' charger n' raced up ta tha masta bedroom.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">After givin tha laptop all dem minutez of power, I booted it up. Well shiiiit, it ran on windows XP n' was like tha technological dinosaur compared ta modern shiznit yo, but it had Microsizzlez Office so dat shiznit was acceptable fo' realz. As soon as windows finished bootin up, a system message rocked up on tha screen notifyin me dat freshly smoked up sources had been added ta tha tagged vizzle cache, n' if I'd like ta check dat shit. I had never peeped a system message like dis before. I know dat snoopin is generally taboo yo, but curiositizzle overcame mah dirty ass.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">I was taken ta a hidden file dat required a password ta access dat shit. Rollin mah eyes, I moved mah cursor ta X outta tha program when suddenly, suttin' typed tha password up in fo' mah dirty ass fo' realz. A bit frightened at dis point, I was sucked tha fuck into tha screen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. There was four vizzles, entitled HIM.avi, ONE.avi, TWO.avi, n' WHY.avi fo' realz. All four thumbnails was pure black. Curious, I clicked on tha file entitled HIM.avi. I should have never done dis shit.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">Da vizzle was mad shaky n' grainy. I could barely make up tha figure of a playa tied ta a cold-ass lil chair wit some sort of a metallic rope fo' realz. A biatch, movin as if dat biiiiatch was floatin on air, not movin a single bone up in her body but yet bein able ta slowly hover round tha room, came tha fuck into tha picture. To mah horror, da hoe brought up a knife n' started slowly cuttin tha man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da playa screamed up in brutal pain as tha biatch slowly cut his ass ta pieces. Blood poured from his crazy-ass grill n' all his fuckin lacerations as tha biatch dug tha knife up in deeper n' shiznit yo. His threadz was slowly stripped from his body and, afta each article was removed, she used a lighter ta set all of tha newly exposed hairs on fire. Covered up in horrific burns n' terrifyin cuts, tha playa had stopped beatboxin n' was now simply bawlin yo. Dude occasionally screamed out, "WHY?!", fo' dat was all his schmoooove ass could musta n' shit. Each time da ruffneck did, tha biatch jabbed his ass again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch fuckin started bustin up as tha playa fuckin started vomitin blood n' entrails. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch picked up tha lil' small-ass solid piecez of tha vomit wit tha knife n' slowly licked tha knife clean, gigglin like a schoolgirl. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch then proceeded ta gouge tha manz left eye up while da thug was still kickin dat shit, yo. I couldn't peep no mo', so I closed tha vizzle.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">Yo, shaken n' horrified, I clicked on ONE.avi. I had ta know what tha fuck was goin on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. This time, dat shiznit was a lil' boy, bout eight muthafuckin years old, bound tha fuck into tha chair yo. Dude looked trippin n' innocent. I shook mah head n' fell tha fuck tha fuck into tears. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Such a thang was not bout ta befall dis boy...

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">This vizzle waz of tha same qualitizzle as tha last one; however, tha background was much brighter n' shit. They seemed ta be up in a abandoned household, fallin apart n' up in ruin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da biatch floated over ta tha boy, much like her dope ass did up in tha last vizzle, n' busted his ass gently on tha cheek. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch slowly brought heat lamps (the source of tha brightnizz mentioned before) over ta tha boy, one by one, until tha entire vizzle was white fo' realz. After a while, tha camera was dimmed so dat tha pimp could be peeped again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da innocent look once peeped up in tha beginnin of tha vizzle turned tha fuck into one of excruciatin pain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da heat lamps slowly fuckin started burnin his threadz n' skin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Bubblez n' blistas fuckin started rapidly formin on his skin as tha pimpin' muthafucka too screamed up in pain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. As wit tha playa up in tha last vizzle, da perved-out muthafucka screamed "WHY?!", n' was punished each time by bein brutally lashed wit a funky-ass belt studded wit piecez of what tha fuck rocked up ta be fucked up glass. Da blistas fuckin started ta boil as tha lil pimp was roasted kickin dat shit, yo. Eventually tha beatboxin stopped n' tha pimp fell tha fuck tha fuck into seizures fo' realz. At dis point, tha same gigglin up in tha last vizzle could be heard again, dis time even louder n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch then took a knife n' carved "I DESERVED THIS" tha fuck into tha childz meltin torso as da perved-out muthafucka screamed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Eventually, tha pimp stopped moving. I closed up at dat point.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">I needed ta peep tha next one. I had ta witnizz all dis bullshit. This had ta be stopped. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! With such a thugged-out determination, I clicked on TWO.avi. This time, there was no one strapped ta tha chair; instead, a infant hoopty seat was up in tha chair wit what tha fuck seemed ta be a newborn infant tightly strapped inside. Like tha previous vizzles, a biatch floated over ta tha child. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch rubbed itz head n' briefly went off camera. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch came back wit a syringe n' violently stuck it tha fuck into tha childz body, injectin a funky-ass blue liquid tha fuck into tha child. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Unique ta tha collection, tha vizzle fuckin started fast forwardin fo' realz. At first, tha infant seemed normal, happy, smiling, n' carefree.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">As tha fast forwardin progressed, tha lil pimp grew mo' n' mo' uncomfortable. Well shiiiit, it started coughin n' wheezing. Well shiiiit, it fuckin started pukin up a white liquid n' fuckin started bustin up, almost as if it too was sayin "WHY?!" fo' realz. A dark forty was briefly placed up in front of tha camera, n' tha lyrics TASTY JUICE was freestyled upon dat shit. Da forty was turned over ta reveal its contents; a funky-ass blue liquid dat sizzled when it reached tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Bloodcurdlin screams erupted from tha baby as it fell tha fuck tha fuck into mo' of a unstable condition. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. As tha shriekin lil pimp grew closer ta dirtnap, tha same gigglin up in tha previous vizzlez presented itself yo, but, dis time, dat shiznit was far louder than before. Determined ta make it ta tha end, I fixated mah eyes upon tha screen despite how tha fuck much they was tuggin all up in mah grill ta look away. Da biatch was beatboxin up in laughter louder than tha baby was at dis point. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch floated over ta tha lil pimp again, unstrapped it, grabbed it by tha legs, and, ta mah utter shock, swung it head first as hard as dat thugged-out biiiatch could all up in tha wall. Da childz head blew up like a muthafucka upon impact, leavin cranial viscera n' fluidz draped all over tha wall. Da vizzle then went black.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">Yo, bobbin, I forced mah dirty ass ta click on WHY.avi. Before tha vizzle played, I noticed dat dis file was modified within tha last hour fo' realz. Almost blinded by fear, I swallowed mah apprehension n' opened mah eyes. This time, there was just tha biatch. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. No other thug was present. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was facin away from tha camera n' was bustin lyrics up in a thugged-out demonic tone. I can't recall exactly yo, but herez a paraphrased transcript of what tha fuck her big-ass booty holla'd.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">"Hello. Clearly by now you know dat I aint tha thug you thought I was. I be a sick n' twisted biatch. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I gots a straight-up boner fo' all dis bullshit. Well shiiiit, it make me so aiiight ta peep some muthafucka die, especially at mah hand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I know you watchin this, n' I know you terrified. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da pimpz of dem I have capped is swarmin round you up in dis biatch, spittin some lyrics ta you ta pull away from tha screen, ta save yo ass. Yet you still sit there n' peep it, waitin fo' some aiiight endin or reasonable explanation as ta tha events you have just witnessed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! There is no special effects here; what tha fuck you saw was real. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. I gots a straight-up boner fo' watchin dis footage, even so much as ta pleasure mah dirty ass ta it yo, but I had ta hide dat shit. Yo ass couldn't know. Yo crazy-ass lonely piece of shiznit dome would rap ta turn me in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo ass was so desperate fo' love... Yo ass fell tha fuck up in ludd wit a serial killer."

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">Da biatch turned round instantly n' I recognized tha grill of mah hoe. I couldn't even feel emotion at dis point. I didn't give a fuck what tha fuck ta think. My fuckin memory had fallen ta pieces. I didn't give a fuck where I was, or whoz ass I had been, or what tha fuck I was bout ta go all up in cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Everythang up in mah game took a dirt nap as I saw tha once aiiight n' bubbly eyes dat I once saw up in mah hoe become vapid n' emotionless fo' realz. A smile crept across her face, one dat make me quiver up in malaise upon tha slightest thought of dat shit. This wasn't possession. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. This wasn't menstrual illness. This was just... Evil. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So evil. Da vizzle continued.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">"It aint nuthin but like a muthafucka. I straight-up loved yo thugged-out ass. Our thugged-out asses had dis passion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Hehehe. Remember tha giggle, biatch? I made you fall up in ludd wit mah dirty ass. I tricked yo thugged-out ass. I lied ta yo thugged-out ass fo' realz. And, wanna know tha dopest part, biatch? I knew you would smoke up. I couldn't keep tha secret forever n' shit. Eventually you'd find tha key ta tha basement, eventually tha stench would become too strong, eventually tha decayin foundation would begin ta topple tha house, n' eventually you'd finally realize dat mah lil pimps never had leukemia n' dat mah homeboy never left... I capped em fo' realz. And, they closer than you think. Why do you be thinkin tha basement smells so bad, biatch? You'd be surprised how tha fuck easy as fuck it is ta cement human remains tha fuck into tha floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Yo ass stepped on mah dead lil pimps n' homeboy. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Feel proud as a muthafucka of yo ass?

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">"I...

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">"I know you watchin all dis bullshit. I just made dis vizzle. I know what tha fuck you've done."

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">I fuckin started bobbin mah head, fearin what tha fuck I knew I was bout ta hear fo' realz. A cold sweat crept upon me as I suddenly felt two eyes bore tha fuck into tha back of mah head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I was paralyzed.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">"Those noises you hearin aren't tha pipes. Turn around."

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">I slowly turned n' froze as I kicked it wit tha psychotic eyez of mah hoe. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch fuckin started ta giggle.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">I don't give a fuck what tha fuck happened afta dis shit. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I been holla'd at by tha five-o dat playas heard screams comin from mah doggy den durin mah attempted cappin' n' called tha police. I was holla'd at by physicians dat I was violated wit tha sharp end of a screwdriver n' dat she placed a funky-ass block of bangin' ice on mah lap. I was tied ta a cold-ass lil chair, tha same one as was used up in previous vizzles, n' was vizzletaped. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! All tha vizzlez is now up in five-o custody, n' I refuse ta peep mine.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah hoe was given tha dirtnap penalty. I was present all up in tha execution. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Her last lyrics was ta tell me dat dat biiiiatch would never leave me, dat dat biiiiatch would always know where I was, dat dat biiiiatch would never give up on mah murder, n' dat she never left a thang unfinished. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch was shizzle ta tell me dat I would peep her again, dat she'd bust another minion ta finish tha thang. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch finished by spittin some lyrics ta me dat I would never be safe. Ever.

<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">Yo, she survived tha straight-up original gangsta three attempts at lethal injection yo, but took a dirt nap on tha fourth. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was smiling, n' she giggled like a lil schoolgirl right before her dope ass died.

Added by FantasyPhantom<p style="color:rgb(212,212,213);">I done been all up in extensive therapy, and, muthafuckin years later, I done been able ta overcome tha horrific trauma I saw n' experienced. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I still make six figures a year, I have done cooked up a phat network of playas, n' mah game has been incredible. I feel accomplished n' successful, suttin' I never felt before. I be now confident. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So confident, up in fact, dat I be goin on a thugged-out date tonight wit a girl. Dat hoe thugged-out too, wit dis long, dark, flowin afro n' vibrant chronic eyes