I speak to you from the state of California, clearly the greatest of all American states. We have, among other fantastic assets, legal access to cannabis of such high quality that it has the adhesive power of rubber cement.
Every time I commit my genius to the written medium (i.e. drop a verse like it's hot), my colleagues and I acquire the pungent flower of the cannabis sativa plant, manually and methodically break the herb into small pieces, apply a source of combustion to said plant substance, and happily inhale the resultant air. I say this because you are impressed with it.
OK, enough about everyone else. I will now talk about myself. My greatest asset, among many, is my fantastic intelligence.
My articles are filled with such impenetrable diction that even Jeopardy champions go scrambling for the dictionary every time I lay down a piece. It does them, however, little good, as the arguments I formulate are so august and powerful that no commentator, no matter how intellectual, can dream of a rebuttal.
I have never been beaten in debate, nor have I even failed to embarrass my opponent to tears. My spectacular rhetoric seamlessly combines the eloquence of Winston Churchill with the brilliance of Aristotle. The ghost of Abraham Lincoln actually informed me that, had my genius been incarnated into the body of Stephen A. Douglas, the Lincoln-Douglas debates would have been won by the latter. The ghost of Franklin Delano Roosevelt also informed me that my superlatively profound arguments opposing his New Deal, had I been alive during the Great Depression, would have dissuaded him from conceiving the glut of government programs he unleashed on the American system.
I also drive incredibly expensive vehicles. I drive mostly BMW ///M cars, but I am known to switch exotic daily drivers on a weekly basis. Steve Dinan personally installed all of the aftermarket parts on my ///Ms, and every other vehicle I own has (at minimum) a Tubi exhaust, a conspicuous and ridiculous display of carbon fiber parts, and a flame-thrower alarm. I also have been known to strip the interior of my cars, including that of my Aston Martin. I am such an incredible person that I feel weight reduction is the paramount concern. Only milquetoasts need backseats, carpets, air conditioners, or any interior amenities other than Recaros bolted to a steel floor.
I am also unbelievably attractive. I am burdened with the inability to travel anywhere without magnetically drawing the gazes of every beautiful female. I would be named as Sexiest Man Alive but the socialists at People magazine respond to my natural advantage over every other human male by employing affirmative action to assist the chances of Johnny Depp and other men much uglier than I.
I am also a self-made billionaire - an impressive fact when one considers my rough upbringing in the concrete jungle of South Orange County, California. Nine-'fo-nine, suckas. Represent.
No rap is complete without my animadversion of various emetic individuals. Bill O'Reilly, Naomi Klein, Sean Hannity, Al Franken, Micheal Moore, Ann Coulter, Arianna Huffington, Jesse Jackson, Howard Dean, Paul Krugman, and Micheal Savage are profound embarrassments to the political scene. I challenge them all to battle (i.e. debate) my eminent genius.
Alas, all good things must come to an end, and this soliloquy is no exception. Peace through superior firepower, bitches.
[Chorus 1: R Kelly - Ignition]
Will an individual in the general vicinity with ready access to an automobile oblige me with two successive honks of the automobile's horn? The sound, if correct, should resemble, in onomatopoeia, "toot toot" and "beep beep."
This is a mere technicality, of course. It should not be interpreted that I need car honks to attract females. In fact, I have a female with me as I speak. She is displaying physical affection toward me, including, but not limited to, moving her hands repeatedly through my African-style hair.
I feel it necessary to announce that I speak, after all, in a subsequent edition of the song entitled "Ignition." Its relatively recent release allows it to be termed "hot", thus, it could be reasonably and accurately compared to a food item being delivered fresh from a kitchen.
Would you like more information about my surroundings? Very well. Another unidentified female in this nightclub - whose sexiness is sufficiently superior for me to use the Oedipal "mama" in regards to her appearance - is dancing lasciviously to the music.
Her sexual suggestivity is profound, sufficiently so to surely give every male in this nightclub establishment carnal desires to engage in coitus with her.
On the subject of my current activities, I am slowly consuming a beverage containing a mixture of Coca-Cola and Bacardi rum.
I am indeed intoxicated. However, I am unconcerned. Why, you ask? My justification for my belligerent state is, quite simply, that today is either Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. The day of the week itself deems it necessary for me to have fun - an endeavor clearly impossible without the consumption of massive quantities of alcohol.
[Verse 2 - J. Hartfield]
I am surrounded by exotic dancers when I step into the club. As I am hustled up into VIP, I come to realize why I am at the top of the rap game.
Is it my flow? No.
Is it my natural charm and suave sophistication? No.
Is it my ability to drop a bomb-ass article like it's Hiroshima? No.
Then what separated me from all of the other tools? I wondered. And then it hit me like a sack of Northern Lights to the dome.
It's my length.
I am at the top of the rap game because my sexual member is simply devastating in sheer bulk. I'm Peter North's long-lost cousin. The moment I was born, the nurse on scene passed out of extreme excitement. Much later I would have intercourse with that same nurse. I think I was 8. My personal G-unit has a gravitational pull similar to that of a small planet. Although, it strangely attracts the mouths of young Hollywood starlets more than any other object.
I even bought shoes on my Cadillac to match my member. That's right, 24" Spreewells. And you know they're chrome, son.
I represent the County of Orange, faggot. Respect the OC before it lashes out in a fit of furious rage and anger. The wrath of the OC is a sight to behold, I assure you, young buck. Pass the Dom, player, and light up another chocolate blunt. Let's take a ride in my Benzo on the Westside of Anaheim Hills.
I was once invited to the White House to serve as a special advisor to Bill Clinton. After a lengthy interview process, I was appointed Ambassador of Keeping it Gangsta. I held the Oval Office down, son. I was slanging like 5 zips a day to these Senators. Especially Feinstein, that bitch is a straight up freak. Slut liked kinky shit with hot wax, sex toys, and even live animals. Straight up ho, but you know I put the jimmy on extra tight, so its all good, godson. I used to pack Bill's cigars with chronic and coke. Nigga loved coco puffs, what can I say? In addition to my responsibilities with Keeping it Gangsta, I was also put in charge of shutting down Hillary Clinton every night to ensure she didn't overheat and to save on electricity.
Listen to me now if you listen to me ever. The top isn't lonely, playboy, because I always get to stomp on the haters anytime I please.
One Love, Africa- Tang
[Chorus 2: Nelly - Where The Party At]
I am concerned, at present, with discovering the approximate location of a venue at which there is a substantial amount of intoxicated individuals engaged in erotic dancing and general debauchery. I have a large group of promiscuous and attractive females joining me in my search for said party. Hopefully, while there, I will also be able to obtain substantial amounts of the alcoholic spirit Bacardi with reasonable efficiency.
Indeed, I am speaking of the desire to obtain several bottles (the acquisition of which requires substantial disposable income) and the presence of several highly attractive females employed as models.
However, I would never make the mistake of implying that I would be satisfied to engage in any of the aforementioned activities without my best friends from the public housing project in which I was born and raised.
[Verse 3- C. Lenz]
Permit my contemporaries to amuse themselves by discussing their abnormally elongated and mutated sexual organs. It is not the size of my unit that allows me to engage in endless hours of hedonistically promiscuous sex (although Chinese scholars have argued for centuries that I've been hung like a dragon since the Ming Dynasty), but rather the ominous size of my personal checking account. So you think you're a badass because you've got a black AMEX centurion card? I put Citigroup and Wachovia through Chapter 11 bankruptcy with my reckless display of exorbitant spending.
Others in my profession may be content rolling deep with a posse of 50 street thugs as a means of protection, but the lucrative nature of my vast empire permits me even greater tutelage. I shame presidential candidates and make merciless Muslim despots envious of my private detachment of independently trained Delta Force operatives. If your 50 street thugs want to start beef with my entourage, I won't just order a drive by on your ass, I'll blow up your whole damn neighborhood with precision guided ordinance. Been hit with a few slugs and now you walk with a limp? Start shit with me and they'll be cleaning you up for weeks.
[Chorus 3: Fabolous - Can't Deny It]
This point is impregnable and cannot be impugned: I am an individual who drives fine automobiles and generally pursues a luxurious and violent lifestyle. As such, if you value the preservation of your own life, it would be wise to avoid violent confrontation with me. In the trunk of the luxury vehicle in which I ride, I have various items of interest to law enforcement. Also, in said vehicle, I often exceed speeds of 100 miles per hour on public roads while changing lanes repeatedly. Aren't you impressed?
It would be impossible to deny my status as one who drives these vehicles and pursues the lifestyle of a so-called "rider." I also feel it necessary to repeat the inadvisability of confronting me. To augment the reasons for this, I shall cite the presence of my supportive entourage and my possession of firearms. Regards.
