Yo, fuck wit' dis shit ma'. I be smokin' on da street but I'm da Random Man so's I can do what da fuck I wanna y'all. Gots dis job, fuuuuck... Working at da Notting Hill Carnival an' shit. Ain't seen no Goddamn Hugh Jackman or Grant or whatever da fuck dat whitebread mah'fucker is called. See'd dat Russell Grant tho. Big, fat motherfucker he is. Shiiiit, he can take his horoscopes and shove 'em up his bitch made ass where all those cockadoodle doos be going. I'd hate to see that motherfucker in bed, shit, too much horror to scope if you git my drift. Hot as fuck out here today and deres dis white bitch standing on the corner like a ho battin' her eyes at me. Shit, I should go over dere and give dat bitch a taste o' my hot chocolate. Then I'm gonna steal her purse and buy my woman a diamond necklace. You can't blame a player fo' dat now can ya? Yo' know what they say "Don't hate da player, hate da game!". Yeah, I like it, I like it. Hey, where'd dat bitch get to? Oh well, maybe next time.
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Little does he know I'm sleeping with his woman.
He's going to throttle me when he finds out, and mark my words, he will find out.
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