At least I don’t live in my mom’s basement!, she shouted.
Yeah well at least my mom isn’t gonna die next month
How do you know that? How do you know that! Mama’s boy!
Well…at least I’m trying really hard to get out
Really hard? Oh sweety, you spend all day writing on your blog. You poor soul. Now I just feel sorry for you.
Don’t feel sorry for me. Have a party for me. Bitches, balloons, Bacardi, and weed. And let niggas know that I died with the heart of a G.
Juelz Santana. Check him out.
Maybe I will!!
*Puts on headphones*
*3 minutes pass*
Great song. Oh Jose. This would all be so much better if you were successful.
I am successful – in my own eyes.
Studio Audience: Awwww
I slit a nigga’s throat. They found his body
On a boat.
So many cameras the next day
Who killed this nigga?
Wasn’t me, I whispered as I whistled past
When I got to work all people
Could talk about
Somebody killed this nigga!
Who do you think it was?
Wasn’t me but…what else is up?
I went home the next day…to my cottage
I’m reading a book, one arm bent back behind my head
I see the nigga slam his hand on the window
I thought this nigga was dead