There is no thangs up in dis biatch fo' We observe todizzle not a victory of jam but a cold-ass lil celebration of freedom--symbolizin a end as well as a funky-ass beginning--signifyin renewal as well as chizzle. For I have sworn before you n' Almighty Dogg tha same solemn oath our forbears prescribed nearly a cold-ass lil century n' three-quartas ago. Da ghetto is straight-up different now, nahmeean, biatch? For playa holdz up in his crazy-ass mortal handz tha juice ta abolish all formz of human poverty n' all formz of human game fo' realz. And yet tha same revolutionary beliefs fo' which our forebears fought is still at issue round tha globe--the belief dat tha muthfuckin rightz of playa come not from tha generositizzle of tha state but from tha hand of Dogg. Us dudes dare not forget todizzle dat we is tha heirz of dat first revolution. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Let tha word go forth from dis time n' place, ta playa n' foe alike, dat tha torch has been passed ta a freshly smoked up generation of Gangstas--born up in dis century, tempered by war, disciplined by a hard n' bitta peace, proud as a muthafucka of our ancient heritage--and unwillin ta witnizz or permit tha slow unfuckin wit of dem human muthfuckin rights ta which dis hood has always been committed, n' ta which we is committed todizzle up in da crib n' round tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Let every last muthafuckin hood know, whether it wishes our asses well or ill, dat we shall pay any price, bear any burden, hook up any bullshit, support any playa, oppose any foe ta assure tha game n' tha success of liberty. This much we pledge--and more.
