Hey 3.5 readers.
I made a whole 12 cents off this fine book in January:
I was so excited about the 12 cents I wrote this rap:
BQB: Yo. Sometimes a man dreams for so long,
That it he don’t know where his spirit went.
But then his whole world changes.
He wakes up to find he’s got an extra 12 cents.
CHORUS: 12 cents!
Two nickels or a dime!
Isn’t it so fine?
BQB: Oh, 12 cents! Let me hear you all over the world, tell me you want my 12 cents!
CHORUS: 12 cents!
BQB: 2 pennies too! Or a dime and two pennies, what you gonna do?
The light goes off inside my head socket.
All these jingly coins, deep inside my pocket.
CHORUS: Here come the hoes!
BQB: Oh lord, the hoes! No one wanted BQB when he didn’t have a 12th of a dolla.
Now the bitches line up at my door, lookin’ to make me holla.
Hoes to the east and hoes to the west.
It’s my writing prompt money that they want best!
Will I travel the nation?
Will I cave in to temptation?
Will I be with a woman who is true?
Or be with the hoes who just want my penny boku?
CHORUS: Oh, the bitches love 12 cents!
BQB: I used to get so little pussy, it was a mutha-humpin’ crime.
Now all the hoes want to knock boots for my pennies and my dime.
“Look at me, BQB,” say all the hoes from every hood.
Aint no one want me when my cent game was no good.
CHORUS: They all thought you was a loser!
BQB: Now they all a bunch of users.
Chickenheads who want my copper Abe Lincolns.
They don’t want me for me,
And this whole mess is stinkin.’
CHORUS: It stinks real bad!
BQB: Hoes just want my tiny portrait of Franky D. Roosevelt.
Oh baby, baby you treat me so bad, if only you knew how my ass felt.
CHORUS: His ass feels bad!
BQB: Mo money, mo problems.
Aint that the truth.
Wish I’d never been like Shakespeare,
And wrote my ass a book, forsooth.
Shit. 2018 was the year I got all this coin instead of the green.
The self-publishin’ game sure is mean.
Think I’ll tell these hoes to get they asses on a bus.
Cuz a fifth of vodka’s the only friend I trust.
I’ll keep my 12 cents close to my heart,
So I never forget, the man I was.
How no one gave a fart.
Damn, son. Pour out two drinks.
One for me. And one for all my homies who were never lucky enough to make 12 cents.
Bookshelf Battle 