“I f***s witchu too, junior,” he focused his attention back on the windshield, watching the house that J-Murda went inside of. “I’m for real OG. You not just my pop’s, you my rider, my homie and my nigga, I love you,” he dapped up his old man. “I appreciate that, son. I feel the same about chu.” “Pop, can I ask you a question?” When he asked this, he found his father pulling back his sleeve and looking at his watch, frown fixed on his face. “Sure, son, shoot,” he sat up in his seat and focused his eyes on the house that they were staked out of.
“Not to get all mushy and s**t. But I gotta ask, how come every time I tell yo
