It's time for one of those entirely fictional and thoroughly emotional poem-rap thing lala's.

Roll up roll up for the great weed hold-up,
Holed-up with Jimmy Split as the crow tolls
Plastic, fast chicks bullets and brag;
The only snag
Two men with shooters, one's a cowboy one's a Rufus
Bullets sprayed, one's winged one's back is blown
Forever to be, an incapacity, it don't have to be
Like this son, Billy the Kid with his verterbrae split
Son you're a soldier, and here's my salute
Snatch your wallet, snatch your phone, snatch your loot,
Take aim and shoot, at your head, you're dead
Lying on the pavement with your brains running through
Your skull where the hole, whole bullet blowed
Dope flow, home-grown, No-Go Zone to my foes
Causality will also be the death of me
Kinetic forces, light travels faster than sound
But my super-solar-sonic rhymes will smash you to the ground,
Uh.