*ding ding*
(walks into a hiphop album store)

madd Professor: "yo, sup, got any madd production singles? just in? tight, here's a 20, keep the change"

(Nelly's "hot in herr" comes on the radio)

MP: "i'm outta here"

(pops the MP cd into his portable, starts to rap along with it)

MP: magnetic flow like a static headed fro/
yo hello, highlow, oh my extraterrestrial bro/
sister, i don't have neither that or its definition/
i'ma eat a rap and step to dissing, flipping two middle fingers/
be's my mission, my vision, visually adlibbin' to kids/
his highness getting higher not fittin' into his persona, "here bitch just bite this!"/
cry when i write this, DNA encrypted ink to give my -itis/
no more pink slips with my bubblicious gingivitis/
no more dick lips equipped for rubber-dick-itis/
or no fingertips micro-chipped with "yo dawg, i liked this"/
i'm like a giant writin' what 'you're in' like i write piss/

(pauses his portable, opens his eyes and sees a crowd gathered around him, someone claps in the back)

MP: right...

(turns his portable on and walks through the crowd, continues)

hired five psychiatrists to analyze my mind and find my glitch/
couldn't, i'm divine like a style switch, droppin' mean rhymes like my ink was a pit/
what's a bitch? who's a bitch? i'd name names but then names wouldn't mean shit/
be spit, free writ' into this epidemic/
be a headache that you don't wanna be with/
lie lying in my dead-wake still awake in pain/
this is the freeway of my aggression that i'm pressin'/
cats meow freestyles like skill was their possession/
like ill was their profession, i'm the rapper outta question/
outta interrogative needs, a string bean off its string, a mother fucking imperative speech/
fucking herbs... i'm gone again, crooked neck, mental twisted, you don't even compare to me/

(stops in front of his house, sits on his porch)

MP: "you stalking me? get that fucking tape recorder away from... "(static *click*)

________________________________________________


peace

signed,
~Professor~