Dionne Warwick, shut yo' mouf
Whaddup, chits. Daddy Lionel here with some words of wisdom. Yo, scratch that. I ain't got no wisdom. My babykid Nicole can attest. She's like "Daddy, shooooooot, throw me an engagement party!" and I'm like "Giiiiiirl, I'll put down my hedge clippers for 2.5 seconds to hook that shit up!" and then she goes and gets her dumb nigga ass unengaged. Baby girl, whatchu doing? Dear old Dad's about to have one of them heart attacks if you keep hopping from one brotha to anotha.
So yo, check it. I was chillin' out, doing my Poppa Lionel thing, content in my own litttle piano-lovesong-tainted by Oprah world, when word comes that J. Timbs is my son-in-law. Now, mad props to the whitest nigga this side of Alabama, but last I heard it was all bout that DJ AM PM fool. So poppa's out of hibernation going "Babygurl what's up??" turns out them niggas were just playin'. Yo, I laughed. That nigga be queerer than a five dolla bill $$$$.
Colin Farrell "came round" and made me fuckin' collard greens but that shit was nassssstay. Daddy don't play that Irish shit. He done cooked that shit up in the crockpot and served it up all elegant and shit. I'm going "Nigga please, you ain't had it real until you've had Granny Richie's greens." And he's going "Oi aye arrrrr just try it, Mister Richie." and I'm all hungry and shit so I'm like "Aiiight." and shit, bitch. Which is exactly what I did. Nigga ain't done left the john since. AND THEN THAT BITCH WENT AND TOOK A FUCKING PICTURE OF MY SHIT SPLATTERIN' ASS mid-crap and sold it to the fuckin' Irish tabloids. Yo, you know I never be without the mic. Don't front. Peace the fuck out.
So yo, check it. I was chillin' out, doing my Poppa Lionel thing, content in my own litttle piano-lovesong-tainted by Oprah world, when word comes that J. Timbs is my son-in-law. Now, mad props to the whitest nigga this side of Alabama, but last I heard it was all bout that DJ AM PM fool. So poppa's out of hibernation going "Babygurl what's up??" turns out them niggas were just playin'. Yo, I laughed. That nigga be queerer than a five dolla bill $$$$.
Colin Farrell "came round" and made me fuckin' collard greens but that shit was nassssstay. Daddy don't play that Irish shit. He done cooked that shit up in the crockpot and served it up all elegant and shit. I'm going "Nigga please, you ain't had it real until you've had Granny Richie's greens." And he's going "Oi aye arrrrr just try it, Mister Richie." and I'm all hungry and shit so I'm like "Aiiight." and shit, bitch. Which is exactly what I did. Nigga ain't done left the john since. AND THEN THAT BITCH WENT AND TOOK A FUCKING PICTURE OF MY SHIT SPLATTERIN' ASS mid-crap and sold it to the fuckin' Irish tabloids. Yo, you know I never be without the mic. Don't front. Peace the fuck out.
