Post by stonedraiders on Jul 26, 2007 19:10:46 GMT -6
The camera opens up at Cleveland, Ohio. It’s the heights, the ghetto district to be exact. Rundown buildings, drug dealers, graffiti walls, old vehicles, gang members and others ran the streets. There has been easily worse, but this place isn’t a paradise to many. Yet, to some, it is. The camera pans a small housing district. Older two-story houses line up in rows. They all have some sort of a malfunction to them.
One house has a pile of clothes in the driveway. One house has a gutter hanging at the side. One house has a car with only two wheels and crack windshield on the front lawn. One house has two lawn chairs on the roof. The camera stops at this last house. It’s located at the end of the street to the left. The road dead ends at a chained-linked fence. Over the fence is a large field. A field of trash, that is. It was an old dump site.
The camera turns back to the house. It’s windows are boarded up with wood, the lawn isn’t cut, the front door is a screen door with a hole at the top, the driveway is gravel with weeds coming out, the back yard is surrounded with a chain-linked fence, with weeds growing of course.
The scene goes closer to the roof, where the two lawn chairs sat. Sitting there is Rex Vinkle and Blake Ryder. They sit back, positioned viewing their back yard and the large scene. By now the sun is slowly setting, giving an orange glow to a sky, as the black emerges. Rex Vinkle points to the ground.
Rex Vinkle: “Mayne, we haven’t been at dis ‘hood in months. Our home is still da same shit huh?”
Blake Ryder: “Fo sho. Ain’t nobody mess wit da Raiders house! We crack open da 9 if anyone wants to face us. Straight bustas, that’s what they be. Straight bustas, hellz yeah!”
Rex Vinkle: “Who da f**k you talkin’ about?”
Blake Ryder: “Final Cut, mayne!”
Rex Vinkle: “Aww yea yea, we gotta face ‘em at da next POW show.”
Blake Ryder: “And here’s wut I know Night is sum big muthaf**ka, or sum shit. I don’t know, who gives a f**k? And Daye is from da ‘hood. He might be an OG, but how da f**k should I know? He might be gangsta, n he might be street style. We juz gotta see.”
Rex Vinkle: “I hear ya. But why we gotta face Final Cut?”
His partner looks at him with a confused look on his face. Blake shakes his head at Rex’s stupidity, so to speak.
Blake Ryder: “It’s for da Tag Team Titlez! We gonna be reppin’ da ‘hood if we win dis shit!”
Rex Vinkle: “Aww yea, dat be coo.”
They sit back and enjoy the view. Rex then looks at their yard and crosses his arms. He continues to stare and tries to figure out something. He gives out a “ah” and looks towards his partner.
Rex Vinkle: “We still got any grass growin’ in dat clunk of grass?”
Blake Ryder: “Mayne what da f**k are you seeing? All houses here got grass!”
Rex Vinkle: “Naw, I meant, we got drugz in dat shit? Not all houses got dat.”
Blake Ryder: “I wouldn’t be surprised if they did. But naw, we pulled it all out. Dat police wuz lookin’ fo our shit before we hit da road. So we had to. Remember doin’ it? You got something wrong wit yo head, Rex. Memory loss or sum shit. You act up like dis and we ain’t gonna win against Final Cut.”
An outside voice can be heard.
Mom: “Blake, get down from there and cut my front grass!”
Blake Ryder: “Ya ma, I’ll get dat done!”
Rex Vinkle: “Do what yo mama said.”
Blake Ryder: “Mayne, she yo mama too.”
Rex Vinkle: “Step mama, you busta. Now go cut da grass, haha!”
Blake groans and gets up from his chair.
Mom: “Rex! Cut the weeds in the back, too!”
Rex Vinkle: “Yes ma!”
One house has a pile of clothes in the driveway. One house has a gutter hanging at the side. One house has a car with only two wheels and crack windshield on the front lawn. One house has two lawn chairs on the roof. The camera stops at this last house. It’s located at the end of the street to the left. The road dead ends at a chained-linked fence. Over the fence is a large field. A field of trash, that is. It was an old dump site.
The camera turns back to the house. It’s windows are boarded up with wood, the lawn isn’t cut, the front door is a screen door with a hole at the top, the driveway is gravel with weeds coming out, the back yard is surrounded with a chain-linked fence, with weeds growing of course.
The scene goes closer to the roof, where the two lawn chairs sat. Sitting there is Rex Vinkle and Blake Ryder. They sit back, positioned viewing their back yard and the large scene. By now the sun is slowly setting, giving an orange glow to a sky, as the black emerges. Rex Vinkle points to the ground.
Rex Vinkle: “Mayne, we haven’t been at dis ‘hood in months. Our home is still da same shit huh?”
Blake Ryder: “Fo sho. Ain’t nobody mess wit da Raiders house! We crack open da 9 if anyone wants to face us. Straight bustas, that’s what they be. Straight bustas, hellz yeah!”
Rex Vinkle: “Who da f**k you talkin’ about?”
Blake Ryder: “Final Cut, mayne!”
Rex Vinkle: “Aww yea yea, we gotta face ‘em at da next POW show.”
Blake Ryder: “And here’s wut I know Night is sum big muthaf**ka, or sum shit. I don’t know, who gives a f**k? And Daye is from da ‘hood. He might be an OG, but how da f**k should I know? He might be gangsta, n he might be street style. We juz gotta see.”
Rex Vinkle: “I hear ya. But why we gotta face Final Cut?”
His partner looks at him with a confused look on his face. Blake shakes his head at Rex’s stupidity, so to speak.
Blake Ryder: “It’s for da Tag Team Titlez! We gonna be reppin’ da ‘hood if we win dis shit!”
Rex Vinkle: “Aww yea, dat be coo.”
They sit back and enjoy the view. Rex then looks at their yard and crosses his arms. He continues to stare and tries to figure out something. He gives out a “ah” and looks towards his partner.
Rex Vinkle: “We still got any grass growin’ in dat clunk of grass?”
Blake Ryder: “Mayne what da f**k are you seeing? All houses here got grass!”
Rex Vinkle: “Naw, I meant, we got drugz in dat shit? Not all houses got dat.”
Blake Ryder: “I wouldn’t be surprised if they did. But naw, we pulled it all out. Dat police wuz lookin’ fo our shit before we hit da road. So we had to. Remember doin’ it? You got something wrong wit yo head, Rex. Memory loss or sum shit. You act up like dis and we ain’t gonna win against Final Cut.”
An outside voice can be heard.
Mom: “Blake, get down from there and cut my front grass!”
Blake Ryder: “Ya ma, I’ll get dat done!”
Rex Vinkle: “Do what yo mama said.”
Blake Ryder: “Mayne, she yo mama too.”
Rex Vinkle: “Step mama, you busta. Now go cut da grass, haha!”
Blake groans and gets up from his chair.
Mom: “Rex! Cut the weeds in the back, too!”
Rex Vinkle: “Yes ma!”