#2pac middle finger

[clture]

[nefarious-616-necromancer]

This one is from the pathetic losers who keep accusing me of stealing art from other pages. Fuck you

[gutsby]

Love Tap

Pairing: Dad!Joel x Reader

Summary: Old habits die hard with your husband—touching you at inappropriate times is one of them.

Warnings: 18+. Joel Miller is a MUNCH Oral (f!receiving). Unprotected p-in-v (quickie). Slice of life, domestic-style and Joel calls you ‘Mama’ a whole lot. One playful bite.

Word count: 2.4k

Note: ‘You better back the fuck up before you get smacked the fuck up’ is a line from 2Pac’s song, ‘Hit ‘Em Up.’

Joel Miller was a wonderful father.

Occasionally, he forgot how to act like one.

He had a tendency to get a little careless. Sloppy.

Letting the dignified, ever-respectful façade slip every now and again and smacking your ass when you walked past. Copping a feel when you had to squeeze by him in the kitchen. Best of all, pinching your cheek through your skirt while you were cradling the baby—his baby—and leaving you no choice but to shoot him a quick back-the-fuck-up-before-you-get-smacked-the-fuck-up look and a covert middle finger to remind him that he wasn’t supposed to be slapping your butt in front of the kids.

It was just bad practice to engage in those dumb, flirty antics, particularly when your four-year-old son had made it his mission in life to imitate everything dad did.

But again, Joel would sometimes forget that.

On a morning when he’d woken up a little too early with an erection that was a tad too stubborn to ignore, he got especially forgetful. He found himself plastered to your backside at the edge of the bathroom counter with a grin, knowing damn well you only had twenty-five minutes to get the family dressed, fed, and on the road.

“Joel, you are so—”

“Quick. I’ll be quick.”

His eyes suddenly pleading with yours in the mirror. You just might’ve had the willpower to turn his honeyed gaze away were it not for the lips that followed it. Tracing the shell of your ear and behind it, down your neck, leaving trails of soft kisses down the skin until he reached the collarbone, your sweet spot, and licked it—the bastard.

“Five. Minutes.” Your words were equal parts invitation and warning as you shimmied your PJs over your butt.

“You know I’ll have ya finished in two, sweet pea,” Joel teased—but deep down, you knew he wasn’t kidding.

Both of you had cum and were done in a record-breaking four and a half minutes, swapping pyjamas for normal clothes in less than half the time and stepping back out of the bathroom with your hair only marginally tousled.

By now you had the ‘Pre-K starts in thirty’ types of quickies down pat. You were proud. You glanced over your shoulder to see a similar glint in Joel’s eye, and as you started out the bedroom door, you felt a tap on your ass—or, with the sheer breadth of your husband’s hand, more like a WHACK, followed by the sound of a stifled laugh.

“Can Daddy get some more’a that later?” he quipped.

“More’a what?”

Aw, hell.

Your sweet, forever nosy mini-Joel was standing directly in front of you with two pinched brows and a mostly eaten dino nugget clenched tight in his tiny fist.

You opened your mouth to conjure up some half-assed excuse for the spank your son just saw, but then your husband was scooping the kid up in his arms and toting him straight down the hallway, and you heard, faintly:

“Whatcha gettin’ from Mama later?”

“None of your beeswax, bubs.”

Joel got his second helping around lunchtime.

He’d been in between calls with what felt like an endless stream of subcontractors, suppliers, architects, and project managers when he swung by the house. You were in the midst of baking cardamom buns when he blew through the kitchen like an EF5 tornado and decided he’d be feasting on something else entirely.

“Joel, my buns,” you whined as soon as he’d carried you up the stairs and tossed you onto the bed, eager as ever.

“Fuck your buns.”

“You already fucked ‘em this morning—can you relax?”

Your husband already had your pants tugged halfway down your legs. You let him, then helped him kick the fabric the rest of the way off when it got to your ankles.

“You’re a fuckin’ maniac, Miller, y’know that?”

Something in the way he smirked as he sank his face between your bare thighs told you he already knew that. You would’ve liked to try and scold him again—give him a little more grief for the baked treats that would surely be burnt to a crisp by the time he was done—but then you felt his tongue lick a stripe up your slit, and you refrained.

Even if you’d wanted to, you scarcely would’ve been able to form a single word apart from, ‘Fu-cking hell, Joel’ and ‘Right there, right thereohfuuuuuuckfuckfuck.’

That was just fine by your husband.

In fact, he seemed perfectly content to lap at your slick, glistening folds while you moaned and cursed his name; it made him proud. Appreciative. Maybe even a tad too smug for his own good, if he were being honest, because the way you fisted his hair and rutted your hips against his face made you act a little more like him. A touch more reckless, sloppy, and desperate than your daily obligations as parents would seem to allow. A bit less proper and refined and a lot more slutty—all for him.

Joel teased your clit with a few soft touches from the tip of his tongue, and you almost tore the sheets in two.

“That feel good, Mama?” he hummed.

“F-Fingers, fuck, Joel— fingers,” you begged.

Still using his tongue, Joel drew the shape of a lemniscate extra slow just to spite you. You whined and bucked your hips in protest, but the man was undeterred—he knew exactly what he was doing. The only way he could be tempted to use his fingers now would be to spread your lips apart and lick you more, which he did.

Joel licked and sucked and drove you up the fucking wall with those figure eights until you nearly couldn’t take it. In one hasty, desperate move, you tilted your hips and tried to slip a finger past Joel’s mouth, into your cunt.

He bit that finger. You yelped.

“JOEL!”

It wasn’t that the bite actually hurt—his teeth barely grazed skin—but rather the way he refused to speed up. Gauging your wants and your needs with expert precision, he massaged the hood of your clit with his tongue and took care to plant suckling kisses as he did. You moaned and squeezed the bedspread, relishing the vulgar sounds of his mouth and the need he was building inside you. You turned your head to the side and whined into the pillow, knowing from the depths of your soul you needed release, but Joel just wouldn’t oblige you…yet.

When he grinned against your wet, warm, and slippery folds, his mouth might as well have joined in and said, ‘Keep going—you’ll cum on my tongue when I say so.’

Instead, Joel opted to say ‘Mama’ again, softly.

Mama.

He always called you that when he took you extra slow. Sometimes when he took you quick, too. Like a reminder to you both that you were, in fact, the mother of his children, and if the man had had it his way he’d have given you fifty more by now, daycare bills be damned.

He was generous like that. Always giving, giving, giving.

Just not when it came to doling out orgasms sometimes.

“I have a divorce lawyer on speed dial, just so you know,” you hissed through gritted teeth, head falling back when Joel’s tongue sank forward—inside you, then, “FUCK!”

“Mhmmm,” he hummed before retracting once more. Licking the soft, fleshy rim and nearly eliciting a scream.

Joel traced a circle with his tongue. He savored the taste. While you were whining and grinding your hips against the wet spot underneath you—a puddle that would only grow larger the longer he went on—your husband was devouring you, kissing your thighs every now and then.

“Well, if we split, my tongue goes too,” Joel said. Smug.

“Texas is a community property state,” you murmured, “I taught you how to eat pussy so your mouth is a marital asset.”

Silently, Joel wondered how that argument might hold up in court, grinned, then continued licking your cunt. You squeezed his head with your thighs, dug the balls of your feet in the sheets, and let out a lewd, pornographic scream that could’ve woken half the street. Luckily, your neighbors were probably all at work, your bedroom walls insulated just well enough to mask the noise, and Joel’s resolve crumbling slowly as he kissed between your legs.

One wanton, shameless, ‘I’m gonna cum, Joel, please’ was like music to his ears. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten with a wife and mother as sweet as you, so upright and polite in your day-to-day life and then a hot, trembling mess beneath his tongue when he needed you like this the most. Surely he couldn’t treat you so mean.

Joel wedged two thick fingers in your slick, dripping heat and beckoned you to him as kindly as he possibly could. Rubbing the pads of both digits, callused as they were, against the spongy insides of your core and flicking them forward—‘C’mere, Mama, Daddy’s right here, go on’— so of course, you had no other logical choice but to cum.

It was all habit by now. A dazzling, sumptuous routine.

And Joel Miller was certain he’d never tire of seeing it.

Your spine arched off the mattress an inch or two, toes curling at the feeling, and while the sensation spanned over your body, your husband was the first to see it, sense it on his lips and tongue and fingers just as well. He squeezed your hip, told you how fucking pretty you looked when you came for him, then patiently waited out the spasms and cries and fingers lacing through his soft, dark locks like he was your last remaining tether to earth.

Then he kissed the inside of your thighs and smiled.

“All better, honey?” he hummed.

“Yeah,” you breathed back.

“Still want a divorce?”

A smirk and a response of ‘Not until you knock me up at least one more time’ was hovering somewhere over your tongue when you felt the bed shake. Buzzing. Vibrating?

Joel sat up between your legs and yanked something out from under his ass. He peered down at the thing—staring into a screen—and cocked a brow as he looked back up.

“Someone’s been naughty,” he said simply. Grinning.

He lobbed the phone your way, and you just barely managed to catch it between two trembling hands.

Incoming Call: Francisco C. Morales Elementary

You shot Joel a look and answered it instantly.

Disoriented, disheveled, and slightly foggy from climax, you half-expected to find one of your son’s disgruntled teachers on the other end of the line, reminding you that today was a noon dismissal and everyone was supposed to pick their kids up an hour ago. Your husband was the one who would always keep up with school schedules, so your gaze narrowed at him, butt scooting up the bed while he tried to dive right back between your legs.

“He-llo?”

You smacked a hand away from the front of your blouse.

“Is this Mrs. Miller?” a voice trilled through the phone.

Yes, unfortunately, it was.

You almost had to backhand Joel across the face when he tried to bite the button off your brand new top, teeth ruthless in their pursuit of getting you fully naked now.

“This is she,” you squeaked.

Someone cleared their throat on the other end of the line—as though they knew you had a broad, hulking husband with a cock as hard as sheet metal trying to tear your clothes off while you talked. You stifled a shriek and a giggle when you felt your relentless man move down.

Joel was busy working your blouse from the bottom with that feral mouth of his when the voice sounded again:

“We’d really appreciate it if you and your husband could come see us this afternoon to have a little chat about—”

Your eyes widened. You clutched your phone even tighter and this time, more seriously, shoved Joel away. When he frowned and started to pout, you raised a finger.

“A-About what? Has my— has he done something bad?” Your voice all of a sudden tight, words wavering just enough to snag your husband’s attention too.

“We can explain more when you get here, he’s just…”

‘What the fuck?’ Joel mouthed silently, leaning in.

“What? What’s he done?” You couldn’t help it.

You heard a long sigh across the line, and you knew that wasn’t good. It sounded a lot like the kind of sighs you made whenever your baby made a colossal mess all over the kitchen floor, or your husband slammed a door too loud and woke the kids from their nap, or your son just—

“—keeps slapping his classmates on the butt.”

“Wait, what?”

You blinked. Joel coughed. Together, half-naked on the bed, you sat up a little straighter and leaned even closer into the phone, hearts starting to thud in your chests.

“Your son was just…spanking other kids and asking if he could ‘get some more’a that later,’ and when his teacher asked him where he’d learned to do a thing like that—”

You turned. Joel paled. Your gaze could’ve seared a hole through the front of his skull if you stared any harder, and just as your son’s principal continued talking, Joel raised his hands in surrender, already trying to apologize.

“Honey—”

“—and he told her he saw your husband do it at home—”

You didn’t need to hear another word. You were already fishing for your pants, yanking them back up your legs and brushing aside your husband’s soft, red-faced attempts at consolation, and when you were dressed, you started straight for the door. Already babbling some half-coherent apology to the woman on the phone, dodging Joel’s impossibly large hands and arms and hugs as he tried to pull you back into his chest and tell you he was sorry. You just might’ve let him, and maybe even believed him to be sincere, if you didn’t see the tiniest smirk on his lips as he fought to wrangle you in.

You’d made it to the door and were just about to pivot to give Joel the finger, tell him this was not funny at all, and he was coming with you right now, when both of you halted at the threshold and were obliged to turn again.

You sniffed the air, and your husband made a face.

Was it—

Before you could think, a plume of smoke drifted out through the kitchen door. Your eyes widened, and right as the fire alarm let out its piercing scream, you wailed,

“My buns!”

[actually-adambarrett]

《Author's note: It’s been a while since I wrote so my bad if it’s shitty. I will be referring to Dean as Dominic/Dom since this takes place before the night of Dean's death.》

《TW:Underage smoking and drinking, cursing, breaking the law, mentions of child abuse. 》

Every day was the same for Maylyn and Dominic. Smoking, drinking, laughing, getting into trouble, and repeat. It wasn’t the best lifestyle but neither of them complained. It was their life, they could do whatever the fuck they wanted.

It was 2:37 in the morning, Dom was driving down the dark streets in Boston, New York. May was in the passenger seat with a cigarette between his middle and pointer finger. The windows were down and 2Pac - Hit ‘Em Up could be heard from a mile away.

“You know you’re five miles over the speed limit.” May informed Dom with a small teasing smile tugging at his lips.

“We’ve done way worse than going over the speed limit, little man.” Dom replied, speeding up a little more. May shook his head with a grin as he turned the radio down a few notches. May flung his cigarette butt out the window as they pulled into a small grass patch next to an abandoned metal garage. The garage was like their second home, their safe spot, whatever they thought it was, but it was theirs.

“I still remember the first time you got me high here.” May said as the two of them entered the garage. The metal walls were spray painted with bright colors, dicks, and random quotes.

Dom chuckled and sat down on a half broken picnic table in the center of the garage. “I can’t believe that was almost three fucking years ago.” He said patting the open spot next to him.

May ran a hand through his white and black hair as he took a seat next to Dom. “I love you, man.” May sighed as he rested his head on Dominic's shoulder. Dom wrapped his arm around him in return.

Dom was like a big brother to May. They’re the only people who really understand each other. Dom was May's savior. That's the way May thinks of it. Whenever May would have to deal with his abusive and asshole parents, he would always escape to Dom. Dom made him feel cherished and actually cared for. Despite the fact that he introduced May to drugs and alcohol, Dominic was the best and coolest person he knew well; he was the only person he really did know.

[omegaremix]

Omega Radio’s 50 Years Of Hip-Hop. When the ‘Brentwood Era’ started, I had the dial on WBLS, one of New York City’s hip-hop / rap stations. It not only signified the first-ever genre I’d pay close attention to, but also signified the beginning of personal cassette dubbing.

For a few years, I’d record as much as possible off to the right of the dial, then later on Hot 97 and Kiss FM. I’d capture Kid Capri, Kool DJ Red Alert, Funkmaster Flex, and Ed Lover, Dr. Dre, and T-Money of Yo! MTV Raps. Running concurrently was In Living Color, a rap-centric die-laughing comedy show that introduced us to the Wayans Brothers, Homey The Clown, Fire Marshall Bill, The Homeboy Shopping Network, and more. My formative years listening to hip-hop / rap lasted as long from middle school to graduating senior year. There’s no shortage of mostly positive memories in Brentwood, in thanks to all of my cassette dubs from that era.

I returned to hip-hop / rap when I discovered WUSB a few years later and stumbled upon one of their shows, Ghetto Radio, who showed me a more underground side of things. Street FM, Eminent Audio, and The Basement practically changed my life because they introduced me to sampling culture, forever opening up a new world in getting to know more about myself. As soon as I became a Stony Brook student, I inquired about joining the station. Now, I became a dee-jay and gave back to our listeners the same way WUSB gave to me. It wasn’t until my second run at the station (Winter 2013) when I started Omega Radio and took my show more seriously.

For 11 years, we’ve taken every chance we get to play hip-hop / rap. Our shows started when we did a five-hour bonus broadcast to usher in a new year: classic Seventies’ vinyl classics on New Year’s Eve, then three hours of the rough stuff on New Year’s. Since then, we paid it forward by delivering all-time legends (The Notorious B.I.G., 2Pac), more golden-era cuts (EPMD, A Tribe Called Quest, Monie Love), the Eighties (Kool Moe D, MC Shan, Eric B & Rakim, classic old-school moments (Whodini, Sugar Hill Records, Afrika Bambaata), and even white-label underground releases (Lo-Down Click, Erule, Brother Arthur). Let’s not forget the ladies of the game, either (Queen Latifah, Monie Love, MC Lyte, and Yo-Yo to name a few).

Later on, we introduced deluxe editions of our shows consisting of golden-era legends still doing their thing (KRS-One, Onyx, Dres of Black Sheep), backpack artists (Jedi Mind Tricks, R.A. The Rugged Man, the Griselda camp), beat tapes (Fuzzoscope, All These Fingers), and newer artists (clipping., Danny Brown, Obnox, Dabrye). We also made some legend specific tributes for Public Enemy, N.W.A. (edited for FCC quality-control), and The Wu-Tang Clan, which happened to be Omega’s most popular show to date. As long as it isn’t Kanye West or TekashiSixNine, we’re good.

The good news? There’s no sign of up stopping. We’ll continuously re-visit our golden-era finds until they’re depleted, and may even consider re-introducing our white-label bonus shows. And we’ll still play our new, current, and relevant hip-hop, rap, and backpacker finds on our deluxe shows.

Found below is each and every hip-hop / rap broadcast Omega WUSB has broadcast up until this point. We urge you to check them all out. Want to re-visit an era with the most creative freedom? Any artists you missed out on? Trying to find a one-hit wonder you want to make a legend out of? No worries. We have you covered.

Here’s to fifty more years of hip-hop - and you can all thank DJ Kool Herc for that.

December 31, 2012-January 1, 2013; #5. (Double bonus.)

February 25, 2013; #10.

June 30, 2014; #55.

July 19, 2014-July 20, 2014; #56.

August 17, 2014; #59.

November 22, 2014; #68.

July 13, 2015; #87.

August 24, 2015; #91.

June 27, 2016; #114.

August 15, 2016; #120.

February 11, 2017; #132.

July 29, 2017; #142. (Partial.)

July 28, 2018; #168.

September 3, 2018; #173.

October 15, 2018; #177.

December 10, 2018; #183. (Wu-Tang Clan.)

May 4, 2019; #194.

June 29, 2019; #199.

July 20, 2019; #201. (Public Enemy.)

August 19, 2019; #205. (N.W.A.)

August 24, 2019; #206. (Partial.)

March 16, 2020; #223.

August 3, 2020; #236.

August 15, 2020; #237.

October 26, 2020; #245.

January 30, 2021; #254.

April 21, 2021; #260.

May 19, 2021; #264.

June 16, 2021; #268.

July 3, 2021; #271. (Double deluxe.)

August 11, 2021; #278. (Hip-Hop’s 48th.)

January 3, 2022; #294.

January 12, 2022; #295.

April 25, 2022; #305.

May 21, 2022; #307.

June 20, 2022; #312.

August 22, 2022; #325. (Delayed.)

August 27, 2022; #326.

October 24, 2022; #333.

(Originally published on August 11, 2023.)

[omegaplus]

# 4,459

Omega Radio's 50 Years Of Hip-Hop. When the 'Brentwood Era' started, I had the dial on WBLS, one of New York City's hip-hop / rap stations. It not only signified the first-ever genre I'd pay close attention to, but also signified the beginning of personal cassette dubbing.

For a few years, I'd record as much as possible off to the right of the dial, then later on Hot 97 and Kiss FM. I'd capture Kid Capri, Kool DJ Red Alert, Funkmaster Flex, and Ed Lover, Dr. Dre, and T-Money of Yo! MTV Raps. Running concurrently was In Living Color, a rap-centric die-laughing comedy show that introduced us to the Wayans Brothers, Homey The Clown, Fire Marshall Bill, The Homeboy Shopping Network, and more. My formative years listening to hip-hop / rap lasted as long from middle school to graduating senior year. There's no shortage of mostly positive memories in Brentwood, in thanks to all of my cassette dubs from that era.

I returned to hip-hop / rap when I discovered WUSB a few years later and stumbled upon one of their shows, Ghetto Radio, who showed me a more underground side of things. Street FM, Eminent Audio, and The Basement practically changed my life because they introduced me to sampling culture, forever opening up a new world in getting to know more about myself. As soon as I became a Stony Brook student, I inquired about joining the station. Now, I became a dee-jay and gave back to our listeners the same way WUSB gave to me. It wasn't until my second run at the station (Winter 2013) when I started Omega Radio and took my show more seriously.

For 11 years, we've taken every chance we get to play hip-hop / rap. Our shows started when we did a five-hour bonus broadcast to usher in a new year: classic Seventies' vinyl classics on New Year’s Eve, then three hours of the rough stuff on New Year’s. Since then, we paid it forward by delivering all-time legends (The Notorious B.I.G., 2Pac), more golden-era cuts (EPMD, A Tribe Called Quest, Monie Love), the Eighties (Kool Moe D, MC Shan, Eric B & Rakim, classic old-school moments (Whodini, Sugar Hill Records, Afrika Bambaata), and even white-label underground releases (Lo-Down Click, Erule, Brother Arthur). Let's not forget the ladies of the game, either (Queen Latifah, Monie Love, MC Lyte, and Yo-Yo to name a few).

Later on, we introduced deluxe editions of our shows consisting of golden-era legends still doing their thing (KRS-One, Onyx, Dres of Black Sheep), backpack artists (Jedi Mind Tricks, R.A. The Rugged Man, the Griselda camp), beat tapes (Fuzzoscope, All These Fingers), and newer artists (clipping., Danny Brown, Obnox, Dabrye). We also made some legend specific tributes for Public Enemy, N.W.A. (edited for FCC quality-control), and The Wu-Tang Clan, which happened to be Omega’s most popular show to date. As long as it isn't Kanye West or TekashiSixNine, we're good.

The good news? There’s no sign of up stopping. We'll continuously re-visit our golden-era finds until they’re depleted, and may even consider re-introducing our white-label bonus shows. And we’ll still play our new, current, and relevant hip-hop, rap, and backpacker finds on our deluxe shows.

Found below is each and every hip-hop / rap broadcast Omega WUSB has broadcast up until this point. We urge you to check them all out. Want to re-visit an era with the most creative freedom? Any artists you missed out on? Trying to find a one-hit wonder you want to make a legend out of? No worries. We have you covered.

Here's to fifty more years of hip-hop - and you can all thank DJ Kool Herc for that.

December 31, 2012-January 1, 2013; #5. (Double bonus.)

February 25, 2013; #10.

June 30, 2014; #55.

July 19, 2014-July 20, 2014; #56.

August 17, 2014; #59.

November 22, 2014; #68.

July 13, 2015; #87.

August 24, 2015; #91.

June 27, 2016; #114.

August 15, 2016; #120.

February 11, 2017; #132.

July 29, 2017; #142. (Partial.)

July 28, 2018; #168.

September 3, 2018; #173.

October 15, 2018; #177.

December 10, 2018; #183. (Wu-Tang Clan)

May 4, 2019; #194.

June 29, 2019; #199.

July 20, 2019; #201. (Public Enemy)

August 19, 2019; #205. (N.W.A.)

August 24, 2019; #206. (Partial.)

March 16, 2020; #223.

August 3, 2020; #236.

August 15, 2020; #237.

October 26, 2020; #245.

January 30, 2021; #254.

April 21, 2021; #260.

May 19, 2021; #264.

June 16, 2021; #268.

July 3, 2021; #271. (Double deluxe.)

August 11, 2021; #278. (Hip-Hop’s 48th)

January 3, 2022; #294.

January 12, 2022; #295.

April 25, 2022; #305.

May 21, 2022; #307.

June 20, 2022; #312.

August 22, 2022; #325. (Delayed.)

August 27, 2022; #326.

October 24, 2022; #333.

[nepofm]

spotted   at      met      steps     ,   mitchell   “mitch”   cain ,   muse  s   ,   thomas  weatherall   ,   wearing      last      season’s      jimmy      choo      ?      i’d      leave      the      steps      in      the      next     24      hours   before      nepoupdates      catches      them      &      if      it      were      me     ,     i’d      definitely      go      back      to      the     checklist    of      golden      rules     .

thomas   weatherall.     he / him.     cis   man.      ›spotted   at   the   met   steps   ,   mitchell   “mitch"   cain   ,   most   likely   listening   to   i   get   around    by    2pac   &   digital   underground   with   their   airpods   pro   .   the   twenty - four  year  old   gained   quite   a   reputation   ,   known   to   be   -truculent   yet   +free-spirited   to   anyone   who   knows   them   .   you’ll   easily   spot   them   when   you   hear   about   the   intoxicated   battle   with   gravity,   clinging   to   a   vape   like   a   lifeline,   middle   fingers   thrown   up   to   all   that   oppose   him,   the   flashing   of   red   and   blue   in   hot   pursuit   —   a   battle   between   cruiser   and   dirtbike,   &   unbuttoned   shirts   that   smell   of   cheap   beer   and   yesterday’s   weed    ,   followed   by   their   vanilla   scented   laundry   detergent   .   latest   nepoupdates   article   talks   about   a  new  face  for  nepoupdates?  mitchell  cain  seen  hanging  with  muse  r  despite  his  recent  misdemeanors   ,   but   i   guess   any   reputation   is   good   reputation   .   

[princeofdarknessblog]

i different I am different middle fingers up say fuck every one I tell them not to mess with my gang gang gang I will not complain fuck a hater

I am out her trying to put in work for tomorrow so I say fuck every one how won't to mess a round with my gang I won't complain complain complain

I told you not to mess with my gang it I am 1pac screaming out don't mess a round with my gang I put strAp down and pick up the clip and reload it when it comes to me I am spaying 2pac and Eminem and Wiz khalifa with my gang and I will not complain I will drink champagne

[lasclfurniture]

2pac middle finger

#2pac middle finger code#

We mark customs form "used clothing” which incurs no taxes. Please check your customs rules prior to purchase. International Buyers - Import duties not included in the shipping charges. Shipping International buyers must have eBay and PayPal Shipping Address in Roman Text Please keep in mind, orders are only processed and shipped Monday through Friday We will ship same day if payment received before 8 AM (Central Time) **COMBINE SHIPPING IS AVAILABLE ON MULTIPLE ORDERS** Combine Shipping - If you need combine shipping please send or request invoice before paying. **PLEASE USE MEASUREMENTS NOT SIZE LABEL TO DETERMINE FIT** IF ANY IMPERFECTIONS WE WILL NOTE IN OUR PICTURES. NOTE: FOR MEASUREMENTS PLEASE CHECK THE LAST PICTURE Measurements (Inches) Chest (armpit to armpit) Shoulder (shoulder to shoulder) Sleeve (shoulder to cuff) Length (top of the collar to hem) Garments are measured flat, sizes vary with era and maker. Item: 174929518790 P3764 VTG 2Pac Shakur Middle Finger Photograph Graphic T-Shirt Size XL. Note: When you embed the widget in your site, it will match your site's styles (CSS).Seller: eastendvintage713 ✉️ (10,041) 99.2%,

#2pac middle finger code#

Get the embed code 2Pac - 2Pac: Thug 4 Life Album Lyrics1.Fake Ass Bitches (remix)2.Hold on Be Strong (remix)3.Only Fear of Death (remix)2Pac Lyrics provided by My only fear of death is comin back, reincarnated Only fear of death is comin back reincarnated I'm tellin you now, you motherfuckers don't know me I love it cause in heaven there's no shortage on G's See motherfuckers killed over green bills well HellĬan't be worse than this, cause I'm in Hell nowĭon't make me hurt you I don't want to, but I will I'm bustin on these motherfuckers in my madness So I stay Thuggin with a passion, forever blastin Is there a future for a killer? I change my waysīut still that don't promise me the next day Nowhere to run I'm in terror, and no one caresĪ closed casket at my funeral and no one's there I thought I had friends but in the end a nigga dies lonely I see visions of me dead, Lord are you there? I put the pistol to my head, and say a prayer When I was rich I had clout, now a nigga's lonely Nowhere to rest I'm losin homies, ain't that a bitch I pray to God I don't scream when it's time to fry They wanna bury me, I'm worried - no need to lie Niggaz don't like me cause I'm Thuggin, and every day I watch the five-oh's roll, the motherfuckers passīy me like they know me, smilin as they laugh I see my enemies they creepin, don't make me blast I drink a fifth of Hennesey I don't think it's healthy I'm under pressure gettin drunk, somebody help me Like no other now them other bitches wanna bone me The bitch is tellin all her homies - that I can fuck her To all the players watch the fly way a nigga played her I check the house before I bone, so we all aloneĪfter I nut I hit the highway, see ya later Now she's tellin me to visit, who else is home? Of this bitch the line busy everytime I call her Is there a heaven for a baller? I'm gettin suspicious While I'm in bed, leakin blood on my satin sheets Or will they kill me while I'm sleepin, two to the head Will they be G's, and they look at me before they bust? Happy birthday bitch, you know you shouldn'ta did itĮverybody's dyin am I next, who can I trust? Put a surprise in the mailbox, hope she get it My next door neighbor's havin convo with undercovers Where am I goin I discovered, can't nothin save me I wonder when will I be happy, ain't nothin funnyįlashbacks of bustin caps, anything for money Marijuana smoke, with every toke it's like I'm losin focusįallin to sleep while I'm at service, when will I die?įorever paranoid and nervous because I'm highĭon't mention funerals I'm stressin, and goin nuttyĪnd reminiscin bout them niggaz that murdered my buddy Show me a miracle, I'm hopeless - I'm chokin off Look down the barrel of my nine and my vision's blurryįallin to pieces, am I guilty? I pray to the Lordīut he ignores me unfortunately cause I'm guilty They wanna bury me, I'm worried - I'm losin my mind Are you afraid to die, or do you wanna live forever

[peekthroughmyeyes]

[w-i-m-m]

[holypureashes]

I’d die for you

[therealtdogg]

FUCK Y’ALL MARRIAGE NIGGAZ???

[lordsintacks]

[bitch-im-saucy]

[4f1]

#2pac #tupac #middle finger