Only Death is Real.

Yo, yo, check it out, check it out, BOOM! It's time to make some cakes up in this piece! What? What? I got the cake mix, the icing sugar, the cherries, an egg and my gat - what else a nigga need son?
So, i got the cake mix mixed in with the egg and laid them motherfuckers out in the little cases yo. That's mad cakes kid! Yo, there's like 20 or some shit. I gotta get my whole click up in here to DEVOUR this shit, know what i'm sayin'? Damn, son.
Right about now I got 15-20 minutes to kill while them shits bake like cakes. I got this fat bag of Tony I gotta cut before I can move it with my connection in Brooklyn...
YOOOOO! JOOOOOKES KID!! That's just icing sugar, for real son. Damn, you think I'm a discussin' my business on the net? Shit! Yo, I might get a little crazy sometimes on the corner but I ain't a stoopid motherfucker.
Yo, that shit looks real dog! Notice how I threw the bag of cherries in there to confuse the Feds - I know those niggas be checking my blog an' shit. Like my nigga Biggie said I ain't got no info for the D.E.A. - R.I.P. son.
Wooooooord! Motherfuckers be cooked yo! All I gots to do is ice them shits. And I ain't talkin' diamonds kid. Whilst they been cookin', I been mixin'.
Whaaaat? Yo, there ain't enough icing bitch!! What the fuck dog? I mixed that shit just like it said on the motherfuckin' label and there ain't enough to cover all the cakes. Yo, it's lucky they caught me whilst i'm under house arrest or I'm a be gunning for them icing-sugar-packing-motherfuckers at the factory. Fortunately they gave me crazy cherries so I got enough to put two on each of these niggas. Nah, I ain't a greedy motherfucker, I'll save 'em for some next shit.

Yo, I'd like to thank my whole area for having my back and holding down the streets for me while i'm baking care of business on lockdown, know what i'm sayin'? My niggas Bruce and Amy for donating the cake baking kit, one love. My man Richie-J, smoking blunts and chilling in his room during his day off - grab a cake roomie! My niggas Ghostface and Biggie for soundtrackin' this whole episode - yo, without your rhymes them shits would never have risen correctly in the oven.

I gotta regulate, go put some greaseproof paper over the motherfuckers before my kitchen be swarming with mad flies.
2006 kid. I'm out.