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Satire
Suburban Thug Life
Let me stimulate ya’ mind, drop a rhyme, and I promise my words
will be worth your time. What’s up, G? I was raised as James
Carter, but my boyz from tha streets know me better as Jay Cartier,
iced out and gleaming like the watch. I was gonna be Jay-Z, but
some fool got the name before I did. From what I heard, that guy
has got a career going for him, making record sales that are off
the chain.
I’m in the middle class, so I can’t be bling-blinging
all the time, ya know what I’m saying? Here’s a little
story about how I’m living, BET style. I live in this ghetto-ass
town I called Sewickley. These peeps are straight clownin. All my
family talks about is going to “social events,” like fund-raisers,
Boy Scout meetings, and golf tournaments. Boy, let me set you straight
on how I roll. I am strictly hip-hop, and ain’t no brother
that I know is going to some golf tournament. Tiger Woods, who?
He doesn’t represent my people at all. He’s always dressing
up in them collared shirts like he’s so special. Yo, Tiger.
Why don’t you hold it down with some Tims on your feet and
some Phat Farm apparel? You could even go Sean John on us. We don’t
care, but you gotta keep it to the streets. I tell you, that boy
is whack!! He don’t know the first thing about the streets.
I keep talking about my territory, so maybe I should help you visualize
my world. People around here are like, the man. The man is that
crazy old dude trying to hold my brothers and sisters down. The
man drives around my town with the classic Mercedes-Benz or the
new school flavor of the Cadillac Escalade. His wifey usually rolls
in a mini-van, like my moms. She’s always taking my little
brother and sister to soccer practice, football practice, wrestling
practice or baseball practice. I’m not down with the school
bus either, so my homey, Dave (a.k.a. Dirty D-to-the E), rolls up
in his Nissan Pathfinder (or better known to the crew as Phatfinder)
and we ride to the sounds of my dogg, Dre. He pushed the envelope
with his album, “The Chronic.” It really opened me and
my boys up to a new world. A world of true meaning about the inner-city
streets, and the parallels we got here in dirty-town Suburbia.
You know, I gots some aspirations too. I’m always hearing my
name like Eminem (That’s my boy!!). I mean, every time I’m
in my damn private school, I gots teachers coming up to me saying,
“James, Where are you going to college next year?” or
“Hey Jim, how’s the old swim team coming?” I ain’t
about that cheddar, dogg. I just wanna be rhyming, stylin, and profiling
like the big dawgs. I’m gonna be on the cover of VIBE cause
my skizillz are just ridiculous. They call me P.Diddy cause I reign
supreme. Captain of the swim team, Valedictorian of my class, I’m
keeping it grimy for all my peoples. I make that other Diddy look
like a punk. I’m telling you, as soon as I get outta Dartmouth
with my Business degree, I’ll be set like CEO bailing out before
his company goes under. OHHHH, Damn!!!! Can you hear me droppin
these bombs on you like madd crazy. You know I gots me skillz, kid.
The one thing I really don’t like doing is my job. What kind
of fool is stuck lifeguarding at a public pool? I should be out
making some C-Notes dealing to all those kids that think they’re
all that because they be smoking trees. Personally, I prefer a blunt
in one hand and a nice Colt 45 in the other hand. You know me and
my boyz chill in the backyard living it up with all those “goodies.”
Sometimes, these fools from up the street try to come down and start
with us, but we squash it quick. The crew rolls deep, and we didn’t
come to play. Sooner or later, I’m gonna be pushing a tight
whip like my man Master P, while the Hot Boyz are rolling some L’s
in the back. For now, I’ll just settle for being the Diddy
of Sewickley. Holla back, youngn’!!!!!
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