Lil wigga Pottah and some shit about stones.
DA BOY WHO AIN'T GOT POPPED
Mr. D and her hoe, of numbah foh, Privet Drive, they be proud of not bein cray cray at all, so thank you.
They be the last mothafuckers y'all expect to be into in anything weird or crazy shit, aight? Because they just ain't holdin up with bullshit.
Mr. D was the main wigga of a shop called Grunnings, which made
drills n' shit. He was a big, beefy mothafucker with no neck y'all, tho he got da
big stash n' shit, ya know what imma sayin. Dat wigga Mr. D's hoe was all slim n' shit like a real cracka, a blonde chick and had two times a neck, is all cool cus she be all grinding up on
those fences n' shit like no tomorrow, spyin on all da other fuckas in da hood.
Da D's had a lil D too and their ain't no bettah wigga around than he,
ya feel?
Da D's had all da shit a wigga would want, but they be keepin a secret ya know?
I ain't a snitch but cuss, I tell ya. They don't want no snoopin around n' shit.
They be worryin about da Pottah's
What if all these mothafuckers found out that Mr. D's hoe was related n' shit to dat bitch Queen La Pottah. But they ain't been seein eachotha foh years man.
Foh real, Mr. D's hoe straight up pretends she ain't have a sister, that shit cray.
Cus Queen La Pottah and her man, a useless wigga. Was no near a real D as the D's ever could be, ya feel? Da D's be paranoid, what will all the other fuckas in da hood say, if da Pottahs came to holla in da streets. Da D's be knowin dat Pottahs had a lil wigga along too. But he be a invisible wigga, cus da D's ain't seen him. This lil wigga was another reason foh keepin da Pottahs at a distance; they ain't no havin it mixing with a lil wigga like that. That shit ain't money, ya feel?
When da D's woke up on a slow ass Tuesday our story begins, there ain't no shit in the clouds outside dat tells there gonna be weird and crazy shit happenin in all da hoods soon.
Mr. D was picking a tie foh work, humming som crazy tune I don't give a fuck about. Mr. D's hoe? She was all up in dealing with da Lil D, settin dat wigga straight. Smilin n' shit,
while Lil D was all screamin like a bitch ass wigga he is.
Not givin a fuck about that big ass bird, what they call it? An Owl? Doin a flyin driveby past the window.
At eight thirty, Mr. D had his fucking briefcase in one hand, and his baby momma, Mr, D's hoe in the other. Smoochin all over her like money rainin on a stripper. Tried to kiss Lil D good-bye, but like a stormtrooper from that movie Star Wars, he missed that lil wigga,
