Y 'all best recognize who be up in dis bia-bia! It's DJ Stripmall, droppin' that maaaad flava fo' you 2 savor - and I don't waver when punks be hatin' and proclamatin' cuz the honey I be datin' got a lot of insulatin'. You heard me, when fools be leavin' dem big girls at the bar, all unattended like, to go holla at some anorexic skin-and-bones hoochie pants, I roll up strong on homegirl with a fistful of $jack$ and a Wendy's double-stack -- THE STRAIGHT MAC ATTACK! And let me tell you something, them fat bottom bizzos be hella appreciatin' the way I be satiatin' while they fellatiatin'. Fat girls love a mouthful, WORD!

The way I see it, playa's who be bangin' on dem bony hoes are missing the point. Fatty-boom-battys eat faceloads of splatty, and a real jigga, like Yours Truly, knows the prose that gets da hoes to expose. For example, I was chillin up at the T-Bell a couple nights ago, thinkin' to mahself, "Damn, Stripmall, you ain't got yo'self a piece of nay-nay in the longest time - almost 12 hours! You best git up, git out, and git you some fo' yo' dick start to shrivel up like you be smokin the rock or something." So I hopped in my droptop, puffed up a fat hog-leg of that straight-up bubonic chronic, and hootie-hooed across the parking lot to the local Weight Watchers - the Sam's Club of Pussy - where I scoped the scene for my next Enchantress of Pant Largesse.

When I saw Rhoda's ass all a shimmety-shim, I knew I had to sample that supersized quim. So I dropped this here bit of playalisticism on her:

"Yo, I got a ham sandwich at my house. Let's fuck."

The Boobalatty didn't even deal with the meal fo' she squealed on my steel. Straight up knob gobbla! All I hads to do was find a fold and hold while the old tit boulders rolled -- the Funky Chunky, nigga.

peace and chicken grease,

DJ Stripmall