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oh shit
SPADECOOLEY:
I hold Stanleys that’ll CUT YA THROAT, give me $3,000 and I’ll send ya LOVE BELOW
Last round we saw: you want to battle in binary, I’ll end up going ONE AND O.
I mean, you’re not even meant to be here, it’s DISGRACEFUL, MAN, a BLATANT SCAM
First round CRAIG WENT HAM, then CRAIG JUST RAN, so you REPLACED HIM? DAMN.
Craig’s like Henry Hill: after he got pursued by a Choppa he just CHANGED HIS PLAN.
I mean, it’s not original to say “I’m gonna scar Face”, but lemme switch it, spell “scar” S-K-A
Because NO DOUBT, it’s MADNESS during an ENGLISH BEAT down you think I won’t pull a SPECIAL AKA
And you’re always defending Pakis. Are you the kind of Indian that EATS RICE or puffs PEACE PIPES?
So fuck it, I’m an ethnic cleanser of that Zyklon B’S REICH, the shit that made HEAPS DIE, HEEBS CRY
Methane isn’t noble, so when I say that I gas Face, it don’t mean I’m dancing with PETE NICE.
FARTFACE:
Gibreel, the tuneless soloist, had been cavorting in moonlight as he sang his impromptu gazal, swimming in air, butterfly-stroke, breast- stroke, bunching himself into a ball, spreadeagling himself against the almost-infinity of the almost-dawn, adopting heraldic postures, rampant, couchant, pitting levity against gravity. Now he rolled happily towards the sardonic voice. "Ohe, Salad baba, it's you, too good. What- ho, old Chumch." At which the other, a fastidious shadow falling headfirst in a grey suit with all the jacket buttons done up, arms by his sides, taking for granted the improbability of the bowler hat on his head, pulled a nickname-hater's face. "Hey, Spoono," Gibreel yelled,
SPADECOOLEY:
I hold Stanleys that’ll CUT YA THROAT, give me $3,000 and I’ll send ya LOVE BELOW
Last round we saw: you want to battle in binary, I’ll end up going ONE AND O.
I mean, you’re not even meant to be here, it’s DISGRACEFUL, MAN, a BLATANT SCAM
First round CRAIG WENT HAM, then CRAIG JUST RAN, so you REPLACED HIM? DAMN.
Craig’s like Henry Hill: after he got pursued by a Choppa he just CHANGED HIS PLAN.
I mean, it’s not original to say “I’m gonna scar Face”, but lemme switch it, spell “scar” S-K-A
Because NO DOUBT, it’s MADNESS during an ENGLISH BEAT down you think I won’t pull a SPECIAL AKA
And you’re always defending Pakis. Are you the kind of Indian that EATS RICE or puffs PEACE PIPES?
So fuck it, I’m an ethnic cleanser of that Zyklon B’S REICH, the shit that made HEAPS DIE, HEEBS CRY
Methane isn’t noble, so when I say that I gas Face, it don’t mean I’m dancing with PETE NICE.
FARTFACE:
Gibreel, the tuneless soloist, had been cavorting in moonlight as he sang his impromptu gazal, swimming in air, butterfly-stroke, breast- stroke, bunching himself into a ball, spreadeagling himself against the almost-infinity of the almost-dawn, adopting heraldic postures, rampant, couchant, pitting levity against gravity. Now he rolled happily towards the sardonic voice. "Ohe, Salad baba, it's you, too good. What- ho, old Chumch." At which the other, a fastidious shadow falling headfirst in a grey suit with all the jacket buttons done up, arms by his sides, taking for granted the improbability of the bowler hat on his head, pulled a nickname-hater's face. "Hey, Spoono," Gibreel yelled,
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