Wednesday, September 22, 2010

“Ridin’” Verse III

Know what you thinkin, so I try to let you go
Turn on my blinker light and then I swang it slow
And they upset fo’ sho ’cause they think they know
That they catchin me with plenty of the drank and dro (No)
I know that you are thinking of pulling me over, law enforcement officer,
So I attempt to elude you by turning on my vehicle’s signaling device
And then drive much more slowly.
The policemen are certainly upset because they believe they know
That they are catching me with codeine and hydroponically-grown marijuana. (False!)
So they get behind me, tryin to check my tags,
Look in my rearview and they smilin
Thinkin they’ll catch me in the wrong—yeah, keep tryin
Steady denyin that it’s racial profiling
Houston, Texas, you can check my tags
Pull me over, try to check my slab
Glove compartment, gotta get my cash
’Cause the crooked cops’ll try to come up fast
They drive their automobiles directly behind me,
Attempting to verify my vehicle’s registration.
I look in my rearview mirror and I see them smiling.
They think they shall catch me in violation of the law—attempt on, constables!
(They continually deny that they are racially profiling me.)
My tags are registered correctly to the city of my residence: Houston, Texas.
Feel free to examine them! Direct my automobile out of the line of traffic!
Investigate my “slow, loud, and banging” automobile
In all its customized adornment!
In the glove compartment I keep a bundle of dollar bills
To pay my bail if particularly unscrupulous policemen,
Who attempt to swiftly catch me, arrest me on spurious charges.
And being a baller that I am I talk to them,
Giving a damn ’bout ’em not feeling my attitude
When they realize I ain’t even ridin dirty
Bet you’ll be leavin with an even madder mood
And being the profligate spender who I am, I talk to such policemen.
I do not give a damn about them not appreciating my petulance.
How I gloat when they realize 
I’m not even riding with illegal substances in my possession!
Tut-tut, mister policeman! 
You’ll leave angrier than you arrived after chatting with me!
I’m-a laugh at you and then I have to cruise
Yeah, my number two on some more DJ Screw
You can’t arrest me plus you can’t sue
This a message to the laws: Tell ’em, “We hate you”
I shall laugh at you, officer of the law, and then I must be off again.
My lyrics (referred to here as my fecal matter)
Adorn music mixer Robert Earl “DJ Screw” Davis, Jr.’s mixed tapes.
You cannot legally arrest me, nor can you file a lawsuit against me.
I have a message to policemen, collectively:
Tell those bluecoats we loathe their very lives!
I can’t be touched, tell ’em that they shoulda known
Tippin’ down, I’m sittin’ crooked on my chrome
Bookin my phone, findin a chick I wanna bone
Like they couldn’t stop me, I’m-a ’bout to pull up at your home
And it’s on
I am untouchable by the hand of the law
—Also, tell the policemen they should have known my status as untouchable.
I’m allowing my 30-spoked fifth wheel to dangle, 
While I sit lopsided due to my vehicle’s hydraulics.
I’m looking through the contact list on my cellular phone,
Attempting to locate a real tomato I want to penetrate vaginally.
As if anyone could halt me in such a venture!
Now I’m about to arrive at your residence 
Where the penetration will shortly get underway!

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