Get your Laws off my Language

In my constant effort to stay fly I decided that I would buy some brand-new, shiny Air Max 90s at lunch, because frankly, Stunting doesn’t happen by itself.

I like to think globally and cop locally so I called the Downtown Blends sneaker shop to inquire about their current selection. The girl on the other end seemed kind of trife from the get go, our conversation went something like this

Ring, Ring…

Shoe broad: hello, Blends
Me: Sup, I was wondering if you guys had any fresh Air Max 90’s on deck right now
Shoe broad: what?
Me: what Air Max 90s do guys have right now?
SB: (laughing) who is this?
M: Just a customer trying to cop some Nikes
SB: is this another store?
M: What, why?
SB: Because noone really talks this way
M: what way?
SB: like you!
M: um, yo, I’m really not sure what you mean, I’ma just come down and look for myself
SB: ok
M: aight then


When I arrived I picked out the lovely red and black numbers you see pictured here. I was fucking with a dude clerk and all but forgot about the strange interaction I had with shoe broad on the phone. Then, sauntering out from the back room comes a damp-rat of a white girl with an ill fitting Adidas track jacket and an air of retarditude. Homegirl looked more like she should be working at Mervyn’s or REI than Blends. I asked her what was up with weirdness on the phone.

She proceeded to explain that I used “a lot of text book Hip Hop terms” that to her sounded contrived.

Bitch, what?

I’m not sure which text book she brushed up on before deciding it safe to come downtown but bitch needs to go back to Costa Mesa and brush way more upper. She’s way to used to selling Creative Recs to sluts and surfers.

I spit classics. Not a game…life.

The only way you’ll get my slang from me is by prying it from my cold, dead lips.