This izza story bout tha dayz when people wuz all scared a terrorists and shit blowin American shit up cause we wuz tha great satan and they was some whack-ass Rabs, kinda like how they iz t'day. And Silky was makin all hiz wimminz work extra hard cause gas was so expensive, kinda like it iz t'day, an he had to keep his phat ryde fueled. Well, one a hiz bitchez wuz holdin out on hiz ass, and Silky don't cotton t'dat shit. So Silky axed dat bitch to give him hiz munny.
Bitch was like: "I ain't gotcho munny, Silkay."
An Silky was like: "Bitch, don' even make me axe yo ass where my munny at cuz I know you gotz it sto'ed up in yo cootch. Now I'm on tell you one mo time to gimme my munny."
"But Silkay—" *WHAP* Silky smack that bitch hard across her face. "Si—" Silky come back at dat biotch wid his wicked backhan like he was John Mackancheez, not datchoo kidz know who he wuz, cuz tennis fo sissies anyway, less you count dem FINE Willyuuummmms sistaz. Man, I could make phat bank of they asses... but Unka Silky be digressin an shit. Anyhow, Silky catch that bitch on the mouf wid one a his ringz and knock one of her teef straight out her mouf into tha stratmosphere. So now she knew Silky wa'n't playin givin her love tapz an shit, so she reach in her cooze and pull out a wad o kizzash for Silky. An' now she ain't have no teef lef in her head so she could make mad flow givin hed. It wuz like, a win-win sitiation.
Now what Silky didn't know, that, a course, bein our hero yo'z truly, only cept not yo'z truly, but mysef backintha day, cause now I know what happined, wuz dat tha bitch's toof up in tha stratmosphere wuz on a kalision coarse wif a Pan Am jet. Now I know y'all chiljuns ain't know what Pan Am iz, cuz it'z befo yo time, but man, the stories Unka Silky could tell yo asses. Shitcho, one time, Silky join the mile hi club wid dis one Pan Am stewardess an... but shit, y'all kidz ain't even know what a stewardess iz cuzza all that PC shit you gotz to call um flight attinants. Anyway, so like, dat bitch toof up in tha air, an it go right thru tha winnow on tha plane, right all up in tha pilot'z eye, an it kilt hiz ass. So like, all them rich cracker mofoz wuz like, "Oh blast, are plane iz goin' down like a Thai hooka" an droppin they martiniz and dykeries an shit.
Y'all prolly axing yosefs, "What'z dat got to do wid Unka Silky?" right? cause like normally Silky ain't care shit when crackaz is dyin unless dey in a hotel room wid one a hiz ho's an he got to bribe some kopz. But it turn out dat dis plane wuz heded skrate fo tha tenimint where Silky gramma lived. Silky ain't play that shit; a whole mess a honkies crashin into hiz gramma an killin her. So Silky go up on tha roof of a bildin across tha street to meet that plane an have hissef some words wif it.
An shonuf dat plane come screamin down out tha sky makin for tha bildin where his gramma live. Silky ain't care that plane gonna clip the roof he on and take him wif it. Silky stan his groun like tha tru piyimp he iz. And when dat plane come at him, he jes reach out an slap itz ass like it was a sucka ho. Bitch ass plane be back in tha sky and flyin skrate REAL fast, pilate or no pilate. An da's how Silky done save tha day fo white people an black people in tha projeks.
An da's all troo. Word is bon.
What, chou kidz ain't beleve Silky? Git off ma porch den, mafuckaz. Don' make Unka Silky lock an lode on yo asses. Tha's right, git. Fuckin ingreat kidz. I'm on go check on my stable.