Carmine & Jeff Tackle "It Was A Good Day"

So Carmine and I are trying to go mainstream with this little thing that was once restricted to single lines or stanzas traded back and forth in a Gchat window. This past Friday morning, I planted a predictable seed for one I knew would end up being epic.

Trust me, you have not lived until you have tried to come up with a highbrow, educated way to describe base sexual acts as described in street vernacular. That said, there should probably be a parental advisory on this, but then, I doubt anyone under, say, 10 is reading this.

Here's our take on "It Was A Good Day" by Ice Cube. Once again, Carmine's lyrics are in red; mine are in blue.

I am just rising from slumber, and merciful to any appropriate deities. However, for unknown reasons, this day seems somehow unusual.

There were no audible signals from the neighborhood canine population nor any particulate matter in the lower atmosphere. My mother produced morning sustenance devoid of swine tissue.

I nourished myself, but not to grotesque excess. At that time, I received phone communication from a girl I have a primal carnal interest in. I disconnected the call with a salutation as I exited my home, pondering all the while if I was likely to exist following another moon-to-sun cycle.

I'm compelled to embark, since I have a convertible automobile with an actuator that makes the rear suspension compress. While stopped at an illuminated traffic signal, I did not observe any individuals with the intent of violently seizing my motor vehicle.

The lack of potential thieves indicates a positive Qi flow. Also, I received a page from Kim, who possesses nocturnal nymphomania. I called my friends and questioned the lot of them which facility they chose for a round of James Naismith's aerobic activity.

If I join the athletic arena, I can be a formidable opponent. About seven days ago, in a display of frivolity I scored high points in all categories, showing superiority over my African-American peers in a manner akin to Michael Jordan. It is difficult for me to acknowledge, but this day has been satisfactory.

Proceeded to the apartment in order to bathe. There was no notable interference from persons lacking courage. It was within the last 24 hours that these ill-advised individuals attempted to assault me with firearms. I observed the law enforcement officers as they continued on their course. There was no display of authority directed toward this African American male as I failed to yield at the convergence of roadways.

I stopped at the domicile of a $mall-$tatured brother of mine, where he and his guests were partaking in a broadcast of "Yo! MTV Raps." I questioned the status of a concurrent dice game. I vigorously shook my hands, releasing the dice forcefully into a ring formation of black associates. My scores were a strong and successful streak of sevens and seven-elevens, such that with young Joseph's approval I claimed the monetary prize for the game. We followed with a game of dominoes, which I also called out upon my further success. Moreover, none of my associates or peers lost their lives in the urban reaches of Los Angeles. As such, this was a pleasing day.

I departed from my compatriot's dwelling flush with financial solvency. I also gave carriage to a young women with whom I have been attempting to achieve carnal knowledge since the final year of my secondary education. I thought it to be whimsical that I had brought along some fine ale, and she was able to provide some rather potent cannabis. As a segue to my enthusiasm for the Los Angles basketball franchise's victory over their Seattle counterpart, I caressed her rather ample derrière. At this time, I brandished my phallus and applied it to her genitalia without restriction or concern.

My member was capable of such vicious penetration that it caused momentary sensory dormancy to her posterior. I encouraged her consciousness an hour past midnight, and she wasted no time in comparing my identity to that of an elite fighter pilot portrayed in film by Thomas Cruise Mapother. I returned her to her home, and allowed momentum alone to propel my car, consuming some alcohol and activating my car's hydraulic suspension. I was satisfied with the progress of events thus far, allowed her to exit my vehicle, then proceeded upon my way.

This day was akin to a somnolent rendering in which one has taken flight. I did not observe a prostitute attempting to advertise services by way of briefly exposing her mammaries, nor a wingless rotorcraft searching for a homicide suspect. At 10:00 GMT, I procured a savory ground beef patty sandwich. I was fortunate enough to observe the lighted signage upon the Charles Goodyear Vulcanized Rubber Company's airship which indicated that O'Shea Jackson professionally represents and manages women of ill repute. Extremely intoxicated, however not to the point of involuntary regurgitation, I was less than the mean distance from home and my cellular alphanumeric display was still operating at full capacity. I was not even compelled to utilize my Avtomat Kalashnikov assault rifle and concluded that this day had indeed exceeded my tepid expectations.

Comments are welcome. Participation in the next round is even more encouraged.