Since I never posted this, I thought I’d upload one of the many iterations of Ken’s and my drabble, using only phrases taken from Big Boi’s Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty, which has its own sort of idiosyncratic vocabulary.
With my ear to the street and my eye to the sky, Daddy Fat Sax, indeed it is I; Yes, it is I, the B.I.G. B.O.I. Trying to block my shine just ain’t gon’ happen so don’t try — Oh with my Southern drawl awkwardly I spray Yo DJ ain’t no DJ, DJ hit that instant replay Yo DJ ain’t no DJ, he just make them fuckin’ mixtapes Meanwhile the weak-minded are falling by the wayside — So many ghostwriters that the game is haunted by The angelic plucking of the puppet strings; Oh, my dear Tangerine, damn the American Dream.