An Open Letter to Havoc and Prodigy From the Guy Who Stole His Phone

Dear Prodigy, Havoc, guys in their mid 30s who we’re Mobb Deep fans but have moved on to dance rap,

I’m sorry. I was at a gas station and saw an iPhone. What you want me to do b? I’m from the ‘hood nah mean? Since I been on that blackberry wave for a minute and since no real niggas use that shit anymore, I needed to get straight. Pause.

When I seen that iPhone, I got hard, pause. Temple Run. Angry Birds. Instagram. Got real wavy son. At first I was heated cause I seen that shit had a password. Luckily, I got in. Pause. Anyway, real shit. I couldn’t help my self from messing with P. Pause. Ever since Hov flashed that nigga on the summer jam screen pause, shit ain’t been the same, nah mean? New York been soft. Pause. These new niggas ARE SOFT. Pause. ASAP Cocky that nigga looks like he smears vaseline all over his face. Pause. Pause. Pause. Rewind!

My heart been pure b. Shit ain’t what it seems. Illuminati working over time b. They on niggas. Pause. I did that shit to motivate my nigga. Real niggas know what’s up. Real shit. No malice my nigga. I need that M O DOUBLE B in my life b. I need that passion. Pause. We need that shit b. Queens rides for yall. Pause. All this euro rap gonna die soon. We gonna win. Real shit. We need that murda music back. Up the crime rate and shit. NY needs shorty to bust that gun, forget school nah mean. All I needed was that Wu Tang double LP like RZA said and I was straight b. WORD.

I’ll kill myself if I have to sit through Action Bronson karaoke his way through Ghostface nah mean? Niggas straight karaoke. KARAOKE SON! All I got is this half ass Nore mixtape. Shit sound like Melvin Flint Da Shoe Salesmen. Know what I’m saying b?

NY needs real niggas. DMX gone. Ja gone. Max gone. All these hipster niggas messing up everything. Skinny jeans and v necks. C’mon son. That shit ain’t real. That shit ain’t hood. Niggas acting like they grew up in a two parent household. That shit ain’t real. This is real shit b. Real life. We need yall to come from behind my nigga. Pause.

My 38th birthday coming up son, word life, my only wish is I die real.

Real thug

Signed,
Real old angry black man that’s mad that listening to Mobb Deep in his teens influenced him into a life of crime (read: shoplifting), which he now regrets as he can’t get a job at the post office and has to work the door at a local gay bar where he’s paid under the table (literally).

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One thought on “An Open Letter to Havoc and Prodigy From the Guy Who Stole His Phone

  1. Okayyyyyyy…. this probably the amusing post you’ve  had  in like 2 years……. B, pause!? lol

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