Paul Davidson Called Me White 

One day I was walking by, with a walkman on, when I caught PaulyD giving me an awkward eye...

It turns out that fool thinks heís blacker than I am. Over at his dainty, suburban penthouse, Words for My Enjoyment, home slice started talking shit.

But down here on the JSDC block, in the ĎDC hood, we know all about that.

Of course I could have proved that he is whiter than I am by going on and on about how he wears Birkenstocks while he watches his maid clean his house and his gardener trim his rosebushes and lady slippers, but, instead, I kept to the Rules of Video Log and busted out a single-take video. Actually, after reading his post I went down to the parking garage and procured said video from the guard there. Itís from earlier today when I first woke-up and went downstairs to pour out a 40 for Pac. Who knew there were surveillance cameras? I didn't until my roommate told me.

Anyway, thatís right, Paul Davidson: I am more black than you even in my pajamas. So, from me to you, you white-picket-fence loving, weekend clam-baking, American Express toting, yacht driving, cricket playing blogga: Itís a rap-off with full street-cred honor at stake. Now bask in the streetness of my amazing, high-quality, gangsta VLOG.

[Video removed because Method Man got too jealous. Too bad you missed it, sucka.]

Tad-dow! Dissed! What?

Thatís what I thought.

Itís a good thing this surveillance video quality is shitty and you canít see my hardcore facial expressions or else youíd be really scared.

As the great GZA once said,

Energy is felt once the cards are dealt / With the impact of roundhouse kicks from black belts / That attack, the mic-fones like cyclones or typhoon / I represent from midnight to high noon

All I have to say, PaulyD, is you best study a tape of NWA,

And never bring a blog to a VLOG fight.

PS: What the hell is Bananarama?

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