The pussycat is a fascinatin’ fockin’ creature wit’ their two cutesie ears, four legs, four paws, one wiggly ass tail, an’ as legend would have a nigga believe – nine motha fockin’ lives.
Despite all that – none of said shit ain’t even what gives those lil’ kitties their mystique.
What divides the pussycat from the rest of the animal kingdomia are those inquisitive fockin’ natures of theirs. Roughly translated? Those insatiable appeteezes to go snoopin’ around in matters that don’t concern ‘em.
Truss me when I say that those furry lil’ sons o’ bitches are always up to no fockin’ good, an’ worse still, they ain’ got naw respect for no nigga – particularly one with as much grip around here as me, ya feel?
Rumour has it there’s been one lil’ pussy in particular tryna get up in my grill of late, tryna dig up any kinda shit he can on me.
This ain’ some cute kittycat simply pokin’ round my garden, takin’ a shit an’ diggin’ up a bitsie of dirt on me neither. I’m talkin’ about some mean mug, pig motha focker doin’ everything he can to blow a nigga down
To what end or reason remains a mystery, juss like those damned cats, but the question you need to ask yo bad self, cracka, is what did curiosity do to the motha fockin’ cat?
Ya see, I have it on good authority that you’ve been meddlin’ aroun’ in my affairs by bein’ overly inquisitive about things that don’t concern yo white ass. The word on the street is that you’re nothin’ more than a five-o fockin’ wannabe who’s been griftin’ marks left, right an’ centre to try an’ open cans on me to spill to the APD.
But what you’ve failed to uncover through yo inquisitions an’ interrogations is that the Mack Daddy has niggas all over this town dishin’ dirt on you, wise ass.
This nigga’s been made fully aware of yo sleazy dealins an’ I’m tellin’ you to yo telltale face that dat shizz ain’ dope, dat shizz ain’ cool, an’ as long as yo homie to a phoney ass proceeds to step out o’ line on this nigga’s watch – dat shizz won’t fly.
You may well be the newest stool pidgeon on the block tryna make a name for yo self, white boy, but dropin’ dimes on Big Slim is the quickest way to an Arcadia motha fockin’ overcoat.
So I tell you what, pussycat – you bring yo big blabbermouth ass down to Olympus on Saturday night an’ let’s see how brass yo fockin’ neck is then.
When I’m stood in front of yo white ass an’ yo be lookin’ me dead in the eye, you’re gonna see every single one of yo nine motha fockin’ lives flash before you.
Ya see you might think yo the cat that got the cream, but come Saturday night, the only nigga uncoverin’ a damn will be this nigga.
Because Saturday night is right for fightin’.
And it ain’t gonna be no white boy day.
Heh heh heh.