I used tah hustle big time on the streets. What, in my hood, they'd call: The HNIC, and if yah didn't know that lil text abbreviation would be, The Head Niggah In Charge! Damn right bout that! I didn't sell dope. Shit no! But I kidnapped the dope dealahs or one of their beloved family membahs. You would be surprised how a mothah fuckah crumbles when you have their perspective asses duct taped, playing footzies with them with a blowtorch. Compliant can't even come close.
"Now listen here niggah, you's can get outs this shit by handin ovah two-hundred gees'." Done! Yah undahstand? Or showin'em ah picture of their lil love child they done had with one of their stable of bitches while they drop'em off at school; and oh yes, now I got'em in my possession and it will only cost you oh, half-ah-mill. Done, again! Easy-peasy-lil-weasy...
But the gig was up fo sho when the damn criminals started goin tah the fuckin cops. Andwhadahyahfuckinknow? The damn cops come knockin on my fuckin doe? Ain't that some shit?
So I had tah start a new hustle. One that was clean, less stressful and mo respecful. Fuck this criminal/cop alliance bullshit I've been witnessin' and unbeknownst livin. Sheeit! And what I came up with was a fuckin goldmine! Mothah fuckahs throwin money at my Black ass! Fo real! The fuck?! What took a niggah so long?
I studied The King James Version of The Holy Bible fo ah whole yeeah. Got it memorized and shit. If you told me the page and asked me the verse...done!
The fuck was I thinkin hustlin all those yeeahs out on the streets. The fuckin money was in the Lawd! I have mo money and bitches now than I know what tah do wit. And these mothah fuckahs even callin me the second comin.
But chew can just call me, Bishop Benjamin G. Moore.
Praise Jesus!
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