Or, "A visit from Kwanzaa Tookie" (For Little Whip....Merry Christmas)
~~**WARNING**~~
Racial references ahead; if you are offended by bad language and what some might consider "racist" terms, please DO NOT read further.
'Twas the night b’fo Kwanzaa, an’ all t’ru da ‘hood,
All da ‘bangers wuz bangin’ all da ho’s dat they could.
Not a one used a rubber, even though they might;
After all, bitch git herself pregnant, Welfare make it right.
We’s kickin’ in m’crib, all stoned up to da gills,
On a bad-ass combo of some cheap wine and some pills.
My bitch, she leaned her ass forward, and reached in her pack;
She pulled out a Kwanzaa surprise---some heroin and crack!
All night long, we’s smokin’ an’ shootin’,
laughin’ and gigglin’ at nothin’, but we’s hootin’!
Then, out in the street, I heard such a big fuss;
Dogs barkin’ an’ growlin’, makin’ a loud ruckus!
I staggered to da window, jus’ as slow as molass’
Tore down the damn curtains as I fell on my ass.
Pulled m’seff up to da window, to have a li’l peek;
Man, o’man, but I sure hadda take a leak!
Then what did my blurry, blood-shot eyes be scopin’ out?
Why, a pimpin’, gold ’76 Caddy; it was dope, no doubt!
That gold paint was a-shinin’, crushed velvet inside;
Da bass wuz a-thumpin’ "Gansta’s Paradise"; thas’ one sweeeeet ride!
From da spinners all a-spinnin’ to da solid-gold trim;
I knew then an' there, it jus’ hadda be him!
8 big dogs there wuz, a-pullin’ that car in;
Rottweillers an’ Pit Bulls, all slobberin’ an’ snarlin’!
The driver, he sneered as he called them out loud,
"Yo, Hennesey, yo, Courvosier, yo Colt .45 an’ Hurricane!"
"On Boone’s Farm, on Arbor Mist, on ripple an’ Cristal;
"Come on come on, gotsta slow da fuck down, y’all!"
He then jumped from his ride, all mean an’ angry-lookin’;
An’ quick as a flash, up my front steps he wuz a-bookin’!
The glint of a gun I saw in da light;
An AR, I could tell, he had held in his right!
A crash at my door as his boot kicked it in;
It wa’n’t that hard…da wood’s really thin.
An’ then, there he stood, in da door with a leer;
It was him! Kwanzaa Tookie wuz here!
My bitch, she done screamed, as she seen his get-up;
His orange prison jumpsuit, his shackles an’ his cuffs.
He raised up his gat, and with a cold smile,
Got his ass ready to fire on us a while.
His finger was callused, and it tightened on the trigger;
The gun it went off, an’ I yelled "Yo, Niggah!"
But as he fired, I saw, I had nothing to fear;
Where the bullets should be hittin’, no holes did appear!
Instead there were, all scatterin’ all aroun’;
Presents an’ presents, all fallin’ to da groun’!
Sean John’s an’ FUBUs, hip-hop CDs an’ gold chains!
Lotsa guns an’ lotsa drugs, an’ even more of the same!
There were .9 mm’s an’ shotguns an’ AK’s by the score!
A Tech-9, a .44, an’ ammo galore!
Crack pipes there were too, an’ the stuff used to fill’em,
He told us to smoke some, but to sell it, if we’s willin’!
Then he was gone, just as the smoke wuz a-clearin’;
An’ I heard’im outside, at his dogs he wuz swearin’!
He revved up the engine on that shiny, sweet Caddy;
An’ as he slammed it in gear he called to some Ho’s in the alley.
He laughed as they got in, and they laughed right with him;
Been twenny-fi’ long years since he’d got any trim.
I heard him shout out as he beat them Ho’s to stitches;
"Fuck you all! Happy Kwanzaa, you muthufuckin’ bitches!"