rips it open
with a confidence like, "Yeah,I'm eating all these bitches."
Rips it open,
starts rooting aroundin there,
doing this cotton-candy thing.
Rooting around,but he's not looking in the bag.
He's looking up and offinto the distance
with this look of glazeddetermination on his face.
The kind of look you only seeon the faces of people
that are neck-deepin swamp water
'cause they're gonna catcha catfish with their bare hands.
You know, just like--
"We gonna get 'em!"
Pulls his hand out,
he's got two or threejust in a grip, in a fist.
He's not going discreet,under the chin.
He's not going like,"Hey, I'm sorry for this,"
under the chin.
He's going over the top,
just, like,'93 Jordan layup style,
Dropping 'em in,
then looking aroundwith an attitude
after each bite,like,
Boom! Jealous much?"
Are you [bleep] me?
I'm a Delta Gold member.I gotta sit next to this?
No syrup?You go straight to hell!
'Cause I don't knowwhere you'd get syrup
in a situation like this.
Probably another bag, seeingas how this dude operates.
But even then, unwritten rulesof decent society state
you open upthat bag of syrup,
you pour it intoyour original bag of pancakes,
and you tie it offnice and tight
and shake it aroundfor even coverage.
'Cause you might be makinga bit of mess,
but at least peopleare like, "Well,
he's not gonna eat them dry,like a psychopath."