Perhaps I’ve been watching too much of The Wire with mom, but I’ve got to get something off my chest:
Let’s get one thing straight.
I’m a dawg.
I might mostly be a dog, and a lovely one at that, but I’m a dawg at heart.
Because every good dog has a little bit of bad dawg in him. Ya feel me? (Or feed me. I’d almost prefer that.)
So take a look. And don’t forget what you see.
I know I usually write like the sweet and loving dog I am, but tonight’s a little different. Tonight I’m a dawg.
And if you don’t like my tone, or if I’m curt with you, that’s because time is of the essence and I’m one bad ass mother-loving pupper.
So what does it take to be a dawg, you ask?
First of all, you gotta be, act, and live hood rich.
Take a hot second and look at my crib.
Pup pimp lights:
And more bling than I could fetch a stick at:
And let’s not forget my main pig. She cooks good, looks good, and loves good. Mad love 4eva piggy baby. You always gonna be my main pig.
But to be a real dawg, you can’t just live da life, you gotta love da life.
Go on and marinate on that a minute. (And marinate something for me while you’re at it. Daddy gotta eat.)
I don’t just sleep in, I sleep until 3.
I don’t just have a posse, I coordinate with my peeps.
And I don’t just have threads, I look better than you ever will.
So, now you see I’m not just a dog, but a mighty fine dawg.
Ten pounds of dawg-gone, dawg-walkin’, dawg-talkin’, mother-loving dawg.
And if you don’t agree with me, you can go on and shut the pup up.
Mad dawg love to my peeps and pups.