Apologies to Clement Clarke Moore
A visit from some dumbass
‘Twas the night before the Ferguson looting season in da hood
Not a creature was stirring, not even a gangbanger;
The crackheads were slumbering and drooling without a care,
In hopes that Looting Season soon would be there;
The homies were nestled all snug in their cribs;
While visions of free sh*t danced in their heads;
And mamma in her urban burka, and I in my Crips crap,
Had just stewed up our brains from a long winter's toke,
When out on the lawn there arose such a loud-ass noise,
I sprang from my bed to see what the f**k be goin’ down.
Away to the barred-window I flew like a zip-head,
Tore open that sh*t up and put away my choom stash.
My moon hung out my pants and I snorted some new-bichin’ snow,
Gave a middle finger to all those homies hanging out below,
When what to my red-swollen eyes did appear,
But a tight-ass Caddy and eight motherf**kers,
With a little pimp driver so mouthy and sick,
I knew ‘fo sho this mutha be Some Prick.
More rapid than MAC-10 his curses they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called homies by name:
"Hey, Douchebag! hey, Dickface! hey Pimpledick and Virgin!
Yo, Cuz! yo, Coolio! yo, Dillwad and Blitzed!
Git da f**k offda porch! Git offda mutha-lovin’ lawn!
I gotsa git my black ass out ta lootin’, git the f**k away all y’all!"
