Lyfe Jennings Ain’t Playin’ Witcha
“Deeper situations tend to lead to deeper music and prison was one of those deeper situations. (Music) gave me an opportunity to express emotions in an unemotional environment.” -Lyfe Jennings
This nigga shit finna be deep as fuck then. Prison life must be nice.
Oh, stop looking at me like that. I had to. You know you thought about that video’s ominous beginning too.
Chester “Lyfe” Jennings just sounds like the kind of disturbed individual that will set fire to your shit over his missing Positive K tape. He don’t care if grandma-nana in there sleepin or nothin. At least he was just an arsonist and not that other thang his given name would suggest. (See: Dana Dane)
I bet the only reason he didn’t try to bring that old thing back is because a gallon of gas costs more than a clip of talons right about now. Homie needs every drop of gas inside that tank if he’s gonna pop a bitch and peel from the police in his Little Red Corvette.
Somewhere in Minnesota, Prince just dropped his Watchtower in disgust and walked away from the pancake table.
I guess negroes is lucky Chester Chester didn’t go all Prometheus on that ass again. He could have smoked his baby mama out instead of running up in the crib with the heater looking to smoke his baby mama out. (See what I did there?)
Clearly homeboy was gone off that water, wardie. He didn’t find anyone inside the crib, but still managed to let off a round and get that ever-incarcerating “shots fired at [insert address]“ call put out on his ass. I shudder to think what would have happened had anyone been home. We might have been looking at one of them Chris Benoit moments.
I hate prisons. I think we need to rethink our rehabilitation plan en masse. With that said, some niggas do need to be locked away from the rest of us. I don’t even feel safe listening to a Lyfe Jennings record anymore, let alone knowing he could be out on the streets rippin down King Cobra and lettin Blinky Blink.
[Blogger's Note: The softest rap name of all time has one of the hardest meanings]
Jail nigga, please. If you wanted to go back to prison so badly, you could have just tossed a brick through the supermarket window and waited for po’ to take that ass back to summer camp. I can imagine those storage closet potato sack games are all kinds of fun, but you don’t have to premeditate a hommy to get there.
Besides, if King Cobra brings you to the point of poppin niggas, you very well may overshoot your landing and end up on death row. There aren’t any storage closet potato sack games to be played alone in that cell. The best you can do is punch through the wall and manhandle the inmate next to you.
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I hate you, Uncle Chester! That’s why I had to end this.