Don’t you see the cops right there,” G-money barked angrily. “Man fuck the police,” Skip shot back stopping at the red light. “I’ll slap the shit out of one of those crackers if they try to arrest me.” “I don’t care about all that, just slow this mutha fucka down when you see the fuzz you dig?” “I thought if anything ever went down we could call that faggot, Detective Nelson, to get us out,” Skip asked. “Fuck Detective Nelson. I don’t trust nobody that got blue eyes, you smell where I’m coming from,” G-money asked taking a long swig from his bottle of Henny that sat on his lap. “I can dig it, but if you’re so worried about us getting pulled over, then why you got a big ass bottle of Henny sitting on your lap?” “Listen B, I’m a tell you like this.” G-money hogged spit out the window before he continued, “I do this for all my niggas that’s locked up, you dig? You know how many mutha fuckas in jail would love to be getting drunk right now? How many of them would love to be getting high right now, getting money, and fucking bad bitches every night?
