>Da ghetto has chizzled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I feel it up in tha gin n juice n' shit. I feel it up in tha earth. I smell it up in tha air. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Much dat once was is lost. For none now live whoz ass remember dat shit. Well shiiiit, it fuckin started wit tha forgin of tha pimped out rings. Three was given ta tha elves, immortal, wisest n' fairest of all beings. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Seven ta tha Dwarf Lords, pimped out miners n' craftsmen of tha mountain halls fo' realz. And nine, nine rings was gifted ta tha race of men, whoz ass above all else desired juice n' shit. For within these rings was bound tha strength n' will ta govern each race.
>Well well, peep tha hood slicker pullin up in his wild lil' fancy German car!
Adrian Miller
no one is safe from sneed it seems
> One do not simply strutt tha fuck into Mordor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Its Black Gates is guarded by mo' than just Orcs. There is evil there dat do not chill, n' tha Great Eye is eva watchful naaahhmean, biatch? It be a funky-ass barren wasteland, riddled wit fire n' ash n' dust, tha straight-up air you breathe be a poisonous fume. Not wit ten thousand pimps could you do all dis bullshit. Well shiiiit, it is folly.
>Well la dee da, Mista Muthafuckin park avenue manicure!
Anthony Foster
>Sorry, I believe up in phat grooming.
Eli Brooks
>Did yo dirty ass eva hear tha fuck up of Darth Plagueis "the wise"? I thought not. It aint nuthin but not a rap tha Jedi would rap , biatch. It aint nuthin but a Sith legend yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. Darth Plagueis was a Dark Lord of tha Sith, so bangin n' so wise his schmoooove ass could use tha Force ta influence tha midichlorians ta create game.. yo. Dude had such a knowledge of tha dark side dat his schmoooove ass could even keep tha ones his schmoooove ass cared bout from dying. Da dark side of tha Force be a pathway ta nuff abilitizzles some consider ta be unnatural. Dude became so powerful... tha only thang da thug was afraid of was losin his thugged-out lil' power, which eventually, of course, da ruffneck done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Unfortunately, tha pimpin' muthafucka taught his thugged-out apprentice every last muthafuckin thang he knew, then his thugged-out apprentice capped his ass up in his chill. It aint nuthin but ironic his schmoooove ass could save others from dirtnap yo, but not his dirty ass.
I gots a straight-up boner fo' tha smell of napalm up in tha morning.
Cooper Wilson
heh
Brandon Brown
Muthafuckas keep askin if I be back n' I aint straight-up had a answer...But now, yeah, I be thinkin' I be back! So you could either hand over yo' lil hustla or you can take a thugged-out dirtnap beatboxin alongside him!
There is ghon be no foolish wand-wavin or wack-ass incantations up in dis class fo' realz. As such, I don't expect nuff of y'all ta appreciate tha subtle science n' exact art dat is potion-making. But fuck dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat fo' dem select few...
[stares at Draco Malfoy]
Pimp Severus Snape: Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck possess, tha predisposition... I can teach you how tha fuck ta bewitch tha mind n' ensnare tha senses. I can rap how tha fuck ta forty fame, brew glory, n' even put a stopper up in dirtnap.
[notices Harry scribblin on his thugged-out lil' paper]
Pimp Severus Snape: Then again, maybe a shitload of y'all have come ta Hogwarts up in possession of abilitizzles so formidable dat you feel Kool & Tha Gang enough ta not pay attention!
[steps over ta Harry]
Pimp Severus Snape: Mista Potter n' shit. Our freshly smoked up celebrity.
Men, all dis shiznit you hear bout Tha Ghetto not wantin ta fight, wantin ta stay outta tha war, be a shitload of bullshit. Gangstas ludd ta fight fo' realz. All real Gangstas ludd tha stin n' clash of battle. When you was kids, you all admired tha champion marble blaster, tha fastest runner, tha big-league bizzle playas n' tha toughest boxers. Gangstas ludd a funky-ass balla n' aint gonna tolerate a weak-ass muthafucka n' shit. Gangstas play ta win all tha time. Thatz why Gangstas have never lost n' aint NEVER gonna lose a war. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da straight-up thought of losin is hateful ta Gangstas.
Bonasera... Bonasera... What have I eva done ta make you treat me so disrespectfully, biatch? Had you come ta me up in thang, then dis scum dat fucked up yo' daughta would be suffering this straight-up day. It make me wanna hollar playa! And dat by chizzle if a real playa like fuckin yo ass should make enemies, then they would become mah enemies fo' realz. And then they would fear you, biatch.
Here, it gotz nuff every last muthafuckin thang you need ta find yo' way ta tha golden glow. [handz his ass a empty fortune cookie] Think Leroy dawwwwg! Yo ass have just opened a gangbangin' fortune cookie without a gangbangin' fortune, freestyled by a masta whoz ass do not exist, ta find a solution ta a problem whose answer you already know
Mystery Man: We've kicked it wit before, aint we? Fred: I don't be thinkin so. Where was it you be thinkin we met? Mystery Man: At yo' house. Don't you remember? Fred: No. Fuck dat shit, I don't. Is you sure? Mystery Man: Of course fo' realz. As a matta of fact, I be there n' aint a thugged-out damn thang dat yo' ass can do. Fred: What do you mean, biatch? Yo ass is where right now? Mystery Man: At yo' house. Fred: [pause] Thatz fuckin crazy, man. Mystery Man: Call Me. Dial yo' number n' shit. Go ahead. [Fred dials tha number n' tha Mystery Man answers] Mystery Man: [over tha phone] I holla'd at you I was here. Fred: [alarmed] How'd you do that? Mystery Man: Ask mah dirty ass. Fred: [angrily tha fuck into tha phone] How tha fuck did you git inside mah house? Mystery Man: Yo ass invited mah dirty ass. Well shiiiit, it aint mah custom ta go where I aint wanted. Fred: [into tha phone] Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck is yo slick ass? [Both Mystery Men laugh] Mystery Man: [over tha phone] Give me back mah phone. [Fred gives tha beeper back] Mystery Man: It aint nuthin but been a pleasure poppin' off ta you, biatch.
WESTMORLAND: O dat we now had here But one ten thousand of dem pimps up in England That do no work to-day!
MACK HENRY: Whatz tha pimpin' muthafucka dat wishes so? My fuckin cousin, Westmorland, biatch? Fuck dat shit, mah fair cousin; If we is mark'd ta die, we is enough To do our ghetto loss; n' if ta live, Da fewer men, tha pimped outa share of honour. Godz will! I pray thee, wish not one playa more. By Jove, I aint covetous fo' gold, Nor care I whoz ass doth feed upon mah cost; It yearns me not if pimps mah garments wear; Such outward thangs dwell not up in mah desires. But if it be a sin ta covet honour, I be da most thugged-out offendin ass kickin it. Fuck dat shit, faith, mah coz, wish not a playa from England. Godz peace biaaatch! I would not lose so pimped out a honour As one playa mo' methinks would share from me For tha dopest hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmorland, all up in mah host, That da thug which hath no stomach ta dis fight, Let his ass depart; his thugged-out lil' passhiznit shall be made, And crowns fo' convoy put tha fuck into his thugged-out lil' purse; Us thugs would not take a thugged-out dirtnap up in dat manz company That fears his wild lil' fellowshizzle ta take a thugged-out dirtnap wit us.
This dizzle is call'd tha feast of Crispian. Dude dat outlives dis day, n' comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when dis dizzle is nam'd, And rouse his ass all up in tha name of Crispian. Dude dat shall live dis day, n' peep oldschool age, Will yearly on tha vigil feast his neighbours, And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian." Then will da perved-out muthafucka strip his sleeve n' show his scars, And say "These woundz I had on Crispinz day." Oldskool pimps forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember, wit advantages, What feats da ruffneck did dat day. Then shall our names, Familiar up in his crazy-ass grill as household lyrics- Harry tha Mackdaddy, Bedford n' Exeter, Warwick n' Talbot, Salisbury n' Gloucester- Be up in they flowin cups freshly rememb'red. This rap shall tha phat playa teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From dis dizzle ta tha endin of tha ghetto, But we up in it shall be rememberèd- We few, our crazy asses aiiight few, we crew of brothers; For tha pimpin' muthafucka to-dizzle dat shedz his blood wit me Shall be mah brother; be he ne'er so vile, This dizzle shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen up in England now a-bed Shall be thinkin theyselves accurs'd they was not here, And hold they manhoodz skanky whilez any speaks That fought wit our asses upon Saint Crispinz day.
Nathan Butler
>CIA: If I pull dat off will you die? >Bane: It would be mad fucked up naaahhmean, biatch? >CIA: Yo ass be a funky-ass big-ass muthafucka. >Bane: For you, biatch.
Sebastian Parker
Yo ass know, Peter, wit pimped out juice comes pimped out responsibility. Rudyard Kiplin called it tha "White Manz Burden." Myself, I just call it as I peep it: tha responsibilitizzle of tha masta ta discipline tha servant. >Lil' Bow Wow looks directly all up in tha camera. Da nizzles, tha spics, tha chinks... It aint nuthin but our responsibilitizzle ta civilize dem wild-ass muthafuckas fo' realz. And if we can't, biatch? Then they asses shall dangle from tha elm tree. Da Dizzle of tha Rizzle is near, Pete. We bout ta have every last muthafuckin nizzle up in dis ghetto dead or up in chains up in 10 years, n' may Dogg have me blasted up in a cold-ass lil carjackin dis straight-up night if I be wrong. Dogg bless tha Gangsta Nazi Party.
Now back in the day neff, when I was just a youngblood, just about yo age, this Snoop Doggy Dogg just started beatin' his meat and barely even got his nut. Now word was goin' round the school block, and young Snoop Double-O-G thought his little black ass was sick. One day, Papa Snoop had sipped one too many 40's and got off the shits - I'm talkin' blacked out fo' shizzle! So I snuck up in my papa's crib and started crankin on his thang until he finna nut like a muthafucka! Snoop was shook fo real neff, I hit the dip set!
So do all whoz ass live ta peep such times. But dat aint fo' dem ta decizzle fo' realz. All we gotta decizzle is what tha fuck ta do wit tha time dat is given us
