If there’s one thing dat gets a nigga around here goin’, it’s standin’ in front of a hot bitch and watchin’ as she sinks to her knees, primed and readyin’ herself for a mouthful of steamin’ semen roadway.
Trust me – there ain’t nothin’ those girls love more than bringin’ up what they ate for breakfast courtesy of Big Slim’s purple headed throat ferret, ya feel?
And the pet name I give to these kinda bitches? Skull Fuckers.
Ya see, to your ordinary everyday gal pal, the act of fellatio can be somewhat of a misdeed. A cardinal sin which those precious little honeys avoid havin’ to carry out at all costs.
But for the ride or die kinda chicks, they just can’t help themselves when it comes to takin’ a big ol’ cock rocket between their lips.
Pain for these girls equals pleasure, and once the tent pole has been erected, they plead with you to stab their pharynxes silly with it.
Hey, Grimmy – it seems as though the stars have aligned and are leadin’ us back to bed at Pandemonium, homie.
Not for the first time, cupid has fired his love arrow in my direction, hittin’ a nigga directly in the domepiece – only this time it’s got an invitation for your Rewind Championship attached to it.
The fact you have requested my presence at Lambs to the Slaughter can only imply one thing, dawg: Dat you’re ready to go, round two, with Big Slim and get your white ass fucked all over again.
Ya see, Grimskull, I know dat pain is your paradise, and when I pop a chub in the ring this Saturday night, I’m bettin’ you’ll drop to your knees quicker than one of my motherfuckin’ floozies.
I’ll stand and watch as you drop to the floor like the sack of shit you are, look me up in the eye, part your lips, and wait for your self-prescribed torment to ensue, ya feel?
And should I refuse you the satisfaction, you’ll grab everyone’s favourite tonsil tickler, slap it straight into your mouth, force my hands around the back of your head, and beg for me to skull fuck you as only Drexl can.
Only once I start, Grimmy, I won’t stop.
I’ll ram my pink tractor beam back and forth down your oesophagus and leave you gaspin’ for air.
I’ll force your head so far into my cornholer it’ll make your eyes water.
Hell – I’ll gorge you with my meat popsicle so fuckin’ hard it renders you as blind as dat company of sightless white boys you keep.
Then once I’m finished with you, Preacher, I’ll finish in you.
The last thing you’ll see as you slump to the canvas will be the smile on my face as I place my boom stick back in my pants, zip up my fly, and walk away with your Rewind Championship.
Because whilst I’ll be the one gettin’ off on Saturday night, homie…
There’ll be no happy endin’ for your white ass.