the feature presentation

...fillies been trying hard to code bloods shit into their dialogue. y.b.c. to me's young b8tches cumming t8 me, my condom off. I did that shit to dul because his mouth ran off 'bout my youngin' shot up on 4-3 wyalusing ave. slumpers depart slumbers. :4.13x25 su: it's wackioo how I'm a' regulate the bloods circulation. u don't got a clue, huss'. the beys wwiiith me, got whole turkeys basted. the bitties whole bitches to me, and since there's no witness to me, how I got a way wwiiith murder's my own black inc. writ'-up proof-reads. brotherly love's got bloods stuck. pest-control? somebodies paid the price a visit, popsickled him to a corpse. new parents gave him life. so who's meek now? somebodies gotta' pay the price. the pawns is ripe for being picked-off left-and-right. the game's done, I won't spare his life. it's too late for luc', cannon. his brains already on fifty-sixth and l.a. back in overbrook two years ago. some nifty trick...

...and if blacc sam turns out to be haile selassie, I'll cover him, but the war's mine not his. jamaicas' lives worth what they're coveting. I been warning jib what I'm on. selective hearing won't save 'em. my god who has forsaken me is the clothing jib must wear then. jib the acronym of judas isc. brutus, now moore rice can't land. ay look, yes it's the fucking tony-christ show, god. your bitch can't win. :5.24.25 sa: I scene tales from the hood on times square, alright, so what's the times squared? with a bronze statue of my cuzn tee-tee inbetween white glares. look, tease a dead bitch if shes not holding it down for me. I'm here. look, trees to rednecks so when my axe hits the stumps, they'll be all dead, all headed to pallbearers put in graves with 'em. they'd be all scared. how lucyfer thought I'd give shits about 'em? bull shit be all smeared in minstrel make-up. wwiii all hear. bamboozled, huh. I'm beyond cares. I'm beyond ufo's, I'm beyond space stations, I'm beyond stares. I'm grounded though, put underground, cremated, and still feet on-square. the mothers'hip domed the party mix, earths not weaving these bald-heads...