street, innit?

For real, hear me now…

Da home boy asked ‘iz batty geeza f’r iz inher’tance, which ‘e let rip an’ spent on wild livin’. For real, like spliffs an fit hoo’s an’ a massive an’ back at ya an’ stuff…

Famine struk, so ‘e look for work – an’ e smell bacon. ‘E longed to eat da mingin pods dey wuz givun. ‘E came to iz senses.

‘Wicked! Ma geeza’s ‘ired bruvers iz well fed. I iz gonna arise an’ go turf an’ wurk dere, coz I iz gangsta, not son, innit?’ Well in ya face.

While ‘e wuz still da long way off, iz batty geeza seun I is an’ ran to greet I is. ‘E gave I is shoes, da tommy hilfinga threds, da big-time bling an tings an’ kill da fatted calf.

‘My son wuz lost an’ iz found; ‘e wuz stiff but iz alive! Shout out, big up an’ ‘nuf respect ter big man in der clouds, innit?’