When the people of Arcadia crave a small somethin’ to supplement their egos, they come to me.
If a brotha from anotha is needin’ a pick me up to enhance his self-esteem an’ transform his ass from zero to hero at the drop o’ a dime, they come to me.
This nigga’s burner? It’s always on the hook for those wantin’ to become somethin’ greater than they are. All they gotta do is hand over the skrilla an’ I’ll prescribe the goods for them to ride the rails, ya feel?
Ya see, if there’s one thing that unites the people of Arcadia it’s the fact dat everyone’s consumed by the same fockin’ thing… Fear.
Fear is somethin’ that can be conquered via various different routes. Some like to talk about their fears, while others choose to confront ‘em head on – only both these methodoozies can be hard to overcome, ya feel?
Sometimes, it can be far fockin’ easier to harbour that shit deep an’ disguise yo self from the rest o’ society by wearin’ a proverbial mask an’ pretendin’ to be somethin’ yo not.
Take this hood as Exhibit-fockin-A. If you let yo motha fockin’ guard down aroun’ here, you’ll find yo ass beaten, ganked, or worse fockin’ still… Whacked.
This fear culture has people all over Arcadia runnin’ for their motha fockin’ lives; they be lookin’ aroun’ the joint for a hero to save them but no such thing exists.
So what do they do instead? They arrive at a nigga’s door an’ get their asses hooked up so they can deceive their janky selves into thinkin’ they’re immortal.
So that they can become the heroes themselves.
Heh heh heh.
Yo, homie, I’ve had many have-a-go heroes turn up on my doorstep lookin’ for a fast track to greatness.
You ain’ no different to the rest o’ those wanksta wannabe motha fockers who rock up to my crib needin’ a confidence fix to bolster their macho image.
The fact o’ the matter is you’ve already given up yo shit. Like them – you shroud yo self in a mask as though you were smokin’ rain through a fockin’ jib whistle, an you wield that sword like a pie-eyed pipero who just chowed down his first egg roll.
As far as my eyes can tell, yo be just another rat fockin’ junkie addicted to the feelin’ of feelin’ anything other than fear yo.
Call it heroism, call it faith… The truth is it’s all a fockin’ act to dupe people into believin’ yo own motha fockin’ hype.
To dupe yo self into believin’ yo own fockin’ hype, cracka.
But once the moon rocks wear off at Clash three-zero-one, Big Slim assures you that the comedown will hit harder than a drunken fockin’ stepfather.
I’ll give yo pale ass a nigga beatin’ an’ sober you da fock up.
Fight or flight – you won’t be able to save yo bad self from the comedown, D-Boy, cos the comedown is gonna be this nigga in all his motha fockin’ glory…
Heh heh heh.
An’ it ain’ gonna be no white boy day.