Crash Davis, boasting freshly cleaned slacks, rings, expensive watches and Queens who don’t speak English, smooth as Luther Ingram, with chops like Coltrane and Mingus. Roc. Ordained. Heavy chains. Rocking the Isaac Hayes shades. His life changed. It was a phase. Now he’s like Denzel in a Pelican Brief, pushing the Porsche yellow as American cheese. Or maybe the gray Jaguar, seats as white as Terry Bradshaw. Ducking the sinners. Touching the Spinach. Chilling.
Twist the purp and hit him where they hurt. Accessorized neckties, cufflinks, rough link. Hookers rub feet. Crocodile down dundee. It’s a tough business, but not when you’re chilling. Every line is meant to make you provide your own ad-lib or scrunch face. There is no need to pop a molly to say “Woo!”
The new loosie from Roc is below the jump. It is magnificent.
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