Y’all check this out. I got myself a biznatch, and she comes up to my waist — the perfect height, know what I’m sayin’, holmes? Anyway, this biznatch of mine used to be rich as shit, with all them stocks and shit. Like Scrooge McDuck with a vault o’ dollas, right? But she lost all her bling blang when the economy collapsed, and now my biznatch ain’t rich no more. Obama, dawg, everyone says you’re hype. Show my shortie some love and give her a tax break. She’s small in stature, broke as a motherfuckin’ joke, and needs a lil’ a-s-s-i-s-t.

Ya feel me?

Cause, like, she ain’t got nothing right now. Biznatch ain’t tall, so she can’t be a model and shit. She’s broke, so she can’t support my coke addiction. She said, “I’m not gettin’ you coke, unless I get a tax break from Obama.” Mr. President, a man needs his crack, especially a man who’s addicted to crack. You been there, right? I know you have.

You do this for me, man, and I will hook your white hizouse up. What do you need? Speakers? Shit, I can get your Oval Office into that 5.1 surround shit for $50. No, I’m playin’, it’d be free. Give my biznatch her tax break and I’ll throw in my hardcover Calvin and Hobbes collection. That tiger’s funny as shit, especially when I’m high. Only the kid can see that tiger — what the fuck’s that shit about?

Tax break for my small biznatch — do it up.

And I’m out.