A: "Oh shiznit he’s fo' real."

M: "How tha fuck do we know he’s fo' real?!"

A: "Real or not, we can’t just leave his ass there!"

M: "Why not!, biatch? How tha fuck do we know da thug won’t just bust a cap up in our asses wit dat gigantic fuckin glock of his!?"

A: "Don’t be a idiot; it’s a sniper rifle yo. He’d bust a cap up in our asses wit his bare fuckin hands."

M: "That’s not helping, Allie!"

A: "And neither is our asses jumpin off bout some shiznit while a playa up there pleadin fo' his wild lil' freakadelic game biaaatch! He’s from tha army, damnit!"

M: "And what tha fuck bout dem thangs!, biatch? What if they followed him!, biatch? God, Allie biaaatch! Fine, hold on!"

A: "Hold on!?" she groaned, shocked wit tha attitude Millie was showing, watchin her as Millie ran tha fuck into what tha fuck seemed like tha kitchen of tha crib.

************************

M: "Drop yo' glock you motherfucker." her voice terse yo, but shaky, her handz unable ta stay still, sweat formed on her head n' hands. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch had ta cook up a effort ta stare tha fuck into tha figure n' hold what tha fuck dat freaky freaky biatch had up in her hands.

A: "Millie, no." dat freaky freaky biatch held up her hand, eyein tha two everyday household supplies Millie was utilizin as a gangbangin' fucked up weapon

M: "Drop yo' glock before I burn you ta a cold-ass lil crisp."

A: "He’s from tha army, damnit son! Dude can help us!"

M: "He’s not much help if his thugged-out lil' punk-ass brought dem thangs here biaaatch! Were you followed, you fucker?!"

A: "Millie, I swear, stop dis now!" dat biiiiatch was movin closer ta Millie.

M: "I holla'd drop tha gun, asshole!"

A: "Enough!" she now stood between Millie n' tha dude, arms spread out, her body now up in a T-shape.

A: "Forgive mah sista n' shit. Us dudes don’t want any shit. Were you followed?"