
Yo, this is foe tha day-care peeps who tend to mah shortie, Baby Prince H Tha Stone Col' Dopest Biz-ook-kizeepin' Muthafuckin' Badass Supastar Kornfeld Tha Second. (His mama call him Tanner, but she a bitch.)
First off, I wanna say that I ain't down wit' this lame-ass daycarin' bullshit. Agnes—that's Baby H's moms—decide she wanna get educated. So, she said either I tend to tha shortie durin' tha day while she at school, or he gots to go to this Little Britches place on Commercial Road. So I said, "Shit, you high? Days I spend tendin' to bidness at Midstate Office Supply. Can't that fuckin' mama o' yours, who always hatin' on tha H-Dog, look afta tha Prince?" An' she said her mama have corns, or cancer, or somethin' beginnin' wit a 'C', an' so she can't look afta tha shortie no more.
So, whut that mean is, a bunch o' muthafuckin' strangers be lookin' afta my son an' heir to tha storied Kornfeld accountz- reeceevin' legacy. Tha H-Dog don't play that shit. But I ain't gonna give up my sweet, sweet gig at Midstate. Tha place be givin' up tha mad scrilla, plus I just got one o' those desktop fridges you can keep yo' lunch in. Y'all best believe it goin' to good use, muhfuckaz. Besides, who gonna keep tha Prince in Pull-Ups if I don't keep krunchin' those numbahz?