Style No. 28: Gangsta

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Style No. 28: Gangsta

(First time here? Click to find out what’s going on, or read the original anecdote in the margin.)

Gangsta

Yo, for real dog, there was like this mad-fly young playa all oranged-out like he been dipped in an Orange Julius blender or some shit. And check it, he blowing on this muhfugging whistle like he making love to your grandma but thinking about some other ho at the same time. Then this other young G from his clique got his arm all up around this whistling-ass muhfugger, and he be mad-dogging the crowd like some dirt about to go down, for real.

But what tripped me about the whole thing? Yo, this grandma, this great-grandma, walks by, and I know she holding. She got it all up under her do-rag, yo. She headed up to the crack spot, I’m telling you, dog. I could see it in her eye, mad nervous and all. Like the cops about to bust down her shit and she going to catch a case off that yayo. Yeah dog, that’s a fucked up grandma, for real.

Hey but at the same time? This muhfugger behind acting like he trying to start something. He got that look in his eye, yo, that serious look. And I’m like, yo even though he looking the other way, I know he be tripping. He better check himself, for real.

Yo dog, there was like this mad fly dungeon being all like ‘What’s up sky, you my bitch now,’ and I was like, dog, Paris is the bomb, for real. Clicked this shit at Vincennes in 2011.

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