There’s just too much writing out there these days that teenage purveyors churn out in the hope of seeming very deep and intellectual without actually being that. Yeah. I just concluded that sentence with “that”. But I also followed it up with “concluded” instead of simply ending it. So it’s neutralized. I’m no different from them motherfuckers. I’m like Rob Lowe from Californication. And after stating that completely random piece of information, I will now get back to the point. The point, being, and pardon the excessive use of commas, yeah, I’m punctuous. Punctuous is a word I just made up that describes someone who is particular about punctuating their sentences. We so punctuous, we punctuate our writing even as some science hoe be dictating. WORD. Coz, we be punctuators. So we’s be like Punctuate that shit nigga! Punctuate that shit allnighlong!

Aaight. Peace out. Peace out my man, Peace out. Yeah. Peace the fuck out.

AW HAEL NO! *Whips out my piece. (that means gun. I ain’t no perv. Shut yo face nigga)*

Peace back in.

Yup. I am a closet racist. Not so much a closet racist as a sock-drawer racist. I also start off writing about something and then end up writing about something completely different. It’s my gift and my curse. Like I sift through her purse. Someday I’ma lift a hot nurse. And just like that, I made some grammy-level rap lyrics. With auto-tune and dub-step and tighty-whities pulled up to my hips and ma jeans fallin off, I be a rap artist. So prostrate yoself to me, boy. Coz I be a thug, you feel me? Huh? Huh whiteboy?

Okay. I’ma stop now. I’ma also confess to you. I smoked a Jj earlier today. That’s what we boys in the hood call a joint. A Jj. So pardon the preposterity.

I’ma finish ma rap song now. Interviews for ma thug passé be open to yawl.

Yo yo. This is ma rap.

An even dogh it sounds like crap,

Let there be no disrespect

Cause I am circumspect

It’s true.

Because I ain’t no jew

When I be small

Like a tiny infant small

They pin me down

And watch me cry

They slice it off

The top of ma hood

It hurt like hell

I cant even tell

BITCH, I CANT EVEN TELL!

But as I grew up,

I came to RE-Alize

That my junk is SUPER-Size

Alright Pause. Shut up Shut up.

*Booty Dance*

I’ma start over

On a different note

And tell you why this song I wrote

Cause this ain’t a poem

This is to show em’

That god be watchin’

Over us all

So I stand tall

Even as a thug

Of my generation

That loves play station

We bide our time

And suck on a lime

Cause I suck at rhyme

And I’ma stop now.

*Booty dance deux*

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