12 December 2005
Gizoogle

Filed under Web

Previously, I wrote a short piece called Experiment. Here is Gizoogle’s version:

Late night. Jizzle n’ shit. Good jizzazz, tha kind wit tha sweet sounds of a muted trumpet play’n in front of a upright piano . Im a bad boy wit a lotta hos. The sounds of tha sett’n keep’n it real yo. Conditioned air falls across mah face, up mah nose, into mah insides, become one wit mah be’n. Motherfucka fliznick rizzy off tha windshield lazily, tha fleet’n marriage of drop n glass destroyed by tha steady rhythm of tha blade, cutt’n through tha darkness with my hoes on my side, and my strap on my back.

The road winds around tha bend cuz its a pimp thang. It’s cuz its a pimp thang. late . Real niggas recognize the realness.: too late fo` such a trip like this. Eyes droop, close, open to increase tha peace! Re-focus . Hollaz to the East Side. Jizzy cracka more air blast’n into mah face. Wizzle a difference a day makes .

The road straight from long beach nigga. A sea of oily bliznack. Wet wit condensizzle perspirizzle animation, but not enough ta remove tha slick mess of a hundred, a thousand, a million million ridez before me cuz its a pimp thang. My shiznip rolls wit tha hills, pitches in tizzy ta tha steady beat of Thelonious Mizzay of Jizzy Coltrane. Chill as I take you on a trip. We move ta tha measured score, mah shiznip n I, march’n forth while men in smoky rooms n jazz bars play they songs n bitchez wit husky voices sing sadly of bitch pizzy.

Destinizzle . Hollaz to the East Side. The 24-hour-supizzle a warehizouse of bright light n empty aisles. Anchor tha ship, chizneck fo` motherfucka realize that it’s too late fo` even mugga ta be out with the gangsta shit that keeps ya hangin. Step out. Lock n we out. Purposizzles wizzay cuz I’m fresh out the pen. Man wit K-I-Double-Tizzy litta leaves store, too embarrassed ta look at me. Who buys K-I-Double-Tizzy gangsta at 1 AM?

Aisle 1. Aisle 2 and my money on my mind. 3 fo’ real. 4 . Im a bad boy wit a lotta hos. A-ha in tha hood! Aisle 5. Remind S-to-tha-izzelf thizzay in future, oil is stored in Aisle 5. Wizzy kind? Unclear. Vegetable wit da big Bo$$ Dogg. Canola fo’ sheezy. Olive. Olive? No. Not olive . Keep the party crackin while I’m steady rappin’. And thiznen there were two. Vegetable. Canola but real niggaz don’t give a fuck. Canola fo gettin yo pimp on. Vegetable. Fizzle a coin in tha dogg pound. Pick a pusha. If a train leaves Vegetable at 45 miles per hour, n a train leaves Canola… What is tha difference between oil anyways? Bizzy label. Green label . You’se a flea and I’m the big dogg. Does oil go bad? Oil is oil cuz I’m fresh out the pen. Vegetable cheapa.
Think `bout purpose of said oil. Two bottles of vegetable like this and like that and like this and uh.

Checkout. Sciznan. Beep. Scizzay with the S-N-double-O-P. Beep. Five even with my forty-fo’ mag. Hizzalf a sawbuck fo all my homies in the pen. A Lincoln. The bill crizzisp. Immaculate. As I hand over tha money, I am too embarrased ta look at tha cahsia. Who buys vegetable oil at 1:05 AM?

Purposizzle walk. Life now gang bangin’ cuz this is how we do it. Be kiznind, pleaze rewind fo’ real. Every action has an equal n opposite . Keep the party crackin while I’m steady rappin’. Unlock so bow down to the bow wow. Step in. Raise tha anchor, Gangsta Coltrane yaba daba dizzle! We lurch forward, mackin’ up steam on our return voyage, bizzy from tha briny depths fizzle whiznich we came ridin’ in mah double R. We is alone on tha dark roads in tha vast nothingness of Suburbia in all flavas. As tha nizzay claims us, mah S-H-to-tha-izzip n I, we embrace Her, engirth Her, n we is Ha.

Relax, cus I’m bout to take my respect.

 ::  Adam