Time Moves Too Fast Life Don't Last Long Enough
Disclaimer: I own not a god damn thang Rocky Horror, tha pimped out Slick Rick O'brien do!
My fuckin brave Riff, mah dope, brave Riff yo. Dude fought so hard ta git our asses home, ta git me home. This pain dat I feel is unbearable yo. Dude risked his wild lil' freakadelic game fo' mah dirty ass. . .but I didn't expect dirtnap ta straight-up come. Dirtnap is tha sort of thang dat happens up in pornos, on tv, dirtnap happens ta yo' playas. Da last thug you expect dirtnap ta happen round is yo ass. But viola yo. Here I am fo' realz. Alone n' empty. I know you probably be thinkin itz tha battle, no, not tha battle ridin' solo. Da battle just juiced it up happen sooner n' shit. Yo ass see, eva since Riff was bout twenty da thug was infected wit a gangbangin' finger-lickin' disease dat had no cure, hell, it didn't even gotz a name cuz it wasn't heard of until Riff died. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! After they found his ass they did a autopsy n' tha sight wasn't pretty fo' realz. Apparently whatever tha disease was was smokin his ass kickin it n' skanky Riff didn't even know it yo. Dude lived thirteen muthafuckin yearz of his wild lil' freakadelic game without knowin da thug was dying. They holla'd dat tha lazer blasted helped his ass along wit tha dirtnap, put his ass outta his crazy-ass misery.
I knew mo' betta than dis shit. Put his ass outta his crazy-ass misery, biatch? What misery, biatch? Dude was perfectly fine except fo' dis unknown, unfelt disease n' tha fact dat we was wanted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. Well, da thug was tha one whoz ass was wanted yo, but they'd eventually smoke up dat I kept on tha down-low bout tha murders. But, up in a funky-ass bittersweet twist of luck, they found up no such thang. I be suprised they was sick enough ta give his ass a proper burial.
Da wind blows mah afro up in mah grill as a tear slips down mah cheek. I swear dis is tha last time up in mah adult game dat I was bout ta cry like a muthafucka. My fuckin arm reaches up ta tha gravestone n' mah fingers trace his name.
"Riff Raff." I whisper his name on tha fuckin' down-lowly. I shake mah head up in disbelief. I can't belive he gone. My fuckin body starts bobbin wit sobs. "Riff!" I cry out. I want his ass back wit me but itz no use. I know he'll never come back again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Well shiiiit, it sendz shivers down mah spine ta be thinkin dat his thugged-out lil' punk-ass buried, six feet under, bein smoked by bugs n' other creepy crawly crittas down there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. I just can't take dat shit. I want his ass up here wit me, comfortin mah dirty ass fo' realz. Assurin me every last muthafuckin thang is ghon be aiiiight like he always did yo, but no. Dat punk gone. I know he is. I know I gotta accept dis fact but I can't. I'ma be hustled until mah dyin day. It make me wanna hollar playa! 1942-1975 yo. Dude had such a short gamespan. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude shouldn't have takes a thugged-out dirt nap at such a early age, leavin me ridin' solo wit only mah dirty ass as company, me bein mah only consolation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. All I be be a empty shell now, nahmeean, biatch? Now dat I have lost Riff dirtnap seems laid back ta mah dirty ass. I straight-up want dirtnap ta come. I want mah gravestone ta be right next ta his sayin Magenta: Born 1944 Died 1975 And hopefully, hopefully dat 1975 date is ghon be todizzle.