Gangsta Quotes

All you can do in this life is follow your dreams. Otherwise you're just wasting your time.

Most people in Atlanta don't have an accent. It's pretty urban. A lot of people speak gangsta, though," I add jokingly. "Fo' shiz," he replies in his polite English accent. I spurt orangey-red soup across the table. St. Clair gives a surprised ha-HA kind of laugh, and I'm laughing too, the painful kind like abdominal crunches. He hands me a napkin to wipe my chin. "Fo'. Shiz." He repeats it solemnly. Cough cough. "Please don't ever stop saying that. It's too-" I gasp. "Much." "You oughtn't to have said that. Now I shall have to save it for special occasions." "My birthday is in February." Cough choke wheeze. "Please don't forget.

I do not understand people who will lustily throw $40,000 at the shiny red automobile of their choice, but well up with tears and become outraged when they are asked to pay $5 for a damaged videotape. Either they are fucked up and their priorities are fucked up or I am fucked up and my priorities are fucked up. Because I am me, I think it is them.

Imagine you just got accepted into an Ivy League school and you rejected them. That's Purple gangsta. Imagine you got the dopest piece of pussy you ever had and she's all into that. And she's 420 friendly. That's Shemale Kush.

Adults always ask kids how they are doing at school. The one subject kids absolutely hate talking about. You don't even want to talk about school when you are at school.

Hey, man, I'm old school. Don't make me bust out the Easy-E and the N.W.A I will got straight up gangsta on your ass. No one is more hardcore than a rich, suburban white girl.

Best friends are the chicks who make your problems theirs so you guys can form a gangsta posse and beat those problems to hell.

Because I'm on the phone, Mom!" "Fooling around with your friends again! Who is that?" "Ahmadinejad." "Oh, my goodness! What is he saying?" "That he wants to see Jeezy at the Beacon tonight. Putin's going too. He scalped a ticket from Kim Jong Il. All tha gangstas are going." "Don't be so fresh, young man!" "Gotta go," he says to me. "Enemy forces have dropped a Momshell." "Fall back, solider. Over and out.

She still remembers the effect a certain book can have on people at the right time in their lives. A book, at its most mundane,can be a loaded gun. At its most powerful, it can split the trunk of a tree, mend a broken heart, heal the sick, and topple a corrupt government.

Some people's glasses are half full. I'm the one drinking them. Some people have forgotten that Pluto is still a planet. I still remember my childhood. Some people are vegans. I have common sense. Some people call me Maurice. Some people call me the Gangsta of Love. Some people just want to live...but me, I'm the one still alive.

And if you think about it, pretty much everything that made the twentieth century bearable was invented in a California garage: the Apple computer, the Boogie Board, and gangster rap.

If by weirdo he meant that Nick didn’t play grab-ass with the wannabes on the street corner, didn’t yank at his crotch and call girls bitches, didn’t wear oversized jerseys and pretend to be a gangsta all day, then yeah, Nick had to agree.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it usually aspiring gangsta rappers who set such store by designer labels?

When you understand the mechanincs of stress and master the techniques to manipulate someone's fears and dreams, you will be powerful.

It doesn’t matter if someone calls you a bad bitch, boss bitch, gangsta bitch, whatever, you’re still being called a bitch and if you like it then they are right. You are a bitch. A dumb one at that. Yeah, I said it.

Let Our Hearts Become One, Tightly Locked. Let There Be No Keys To Unlock Our Trust, Unlock Our Love, Unlock What Those Will Try To Oppose." ♥

When a bookmark tumbles out of an old book pristine and unwrinkled, it is like a gasp of breath from another century.

I wasn't going out easy. I was the gangsta bitch frrom Long Beach. The Rivera Rebel who never lost a fight.

I stared straight ahead like a gangsta, never acknowledging the cast of Hannah Montana sitting next to me, and fantasized that they were staring at me out of the corners of their eyes thinking, Who is that woman with The Suit? Is she playing with his hair? Oh my God, she’s such a badass. He looks like some rich business executive, but Rocker Chick has her arm around him like he’s her fucking bitch. I’ll bet she has tattoos. And rides a motorcycle. And keeps a pair of brass knuckles in her vagina.

In my head, I was getting 'gangsta,' which I've always felt showed greater intent than getting 'gangster' in that it expresses a willful unlawfulness even upon its own linguistic representation.

I think a free library is an outrageous perk. I think being able to take out 50 books at a time is an astounding luxury, especially if you've priced hardbound books anytime since the Clinton administration. Go into a public library, fill out the application, and here you go, we'll loan you $1,000 worth of materials. Collateral? Nah - just take them. You're good for it. We'd do it for anybody. And we would.

Check it out." Jonah removed the bubble wrap and held up the picture for his three cousins. Dan took a step backward. The shock was almost as powerful as it had been the day before at the Uffizi. "It's perfect! It's every bit as disgusting as the real one!" Amy nodded. "And so fast. We only called you yesterday." Jonah shrugged. "Even the Janus take a short cut every now and then. You can do a lot with digitization these days. You break the picture down to squares and reproduce them one at a time. The other two are just as fly." "You mean, hog ugly," Hamilton amended. "The serpents don't help," Dan put in critically. "Live fat spaghetti. Lady, if you're thinking of a modeling career, forget it!" The rapper clucked sympathetically. "You guys just don't appreciate the power of the visual image. The Wiz used to be like that–until Gangsta Kronikles. When you're in film industry, you understand the whole picture's-worth-a-thousand-words deal." Hamilton rolled his eyes. "Here we go again.

Respect Whats Mine. Know Not To Cross That Line. I Won't Have To Get Out Of Line and Clap You With My Nine ....

A library will continue to function nicely without every other position, but without the pages it would grind to a stop within a quiet afternoon. All pages know this...

He was dressed in clothes directly out of a Gangstas Я Us catalog,

Concurrently, the growing class power and public voice of conservative and liberal well-to-do black folks easily obscures the class cruelty these individuals enact both in the way they talk about underprivileged blacks and the way they represent them. The existence of that class cruelty and its fascist dimensions have been somewhat highlighted by the efforts of privileged-class blacks to censor the voices of black youth, particularly gangsta rappers who are opposing bourgeois class values by extolling the values of street culture and street vernacular. Significantly, the attack on urban underclass black youth culture and its gangster dimensions (glamorization of crime, etc.) is usually presented via a critique of sexism. Since most privileged-class blacks have shown no interest in advancing feminist politics, the only organized effort to end sexism and sexist oppression, this attack on sexism seems merely gratuitous, a smoke screen that deflects away from the fact that what really disturbs bourgeois folks is the support of rebellion, unruly behavior, and disrespect for their class values. In reality, they and their white counterparts fear the power these young folks have to change the minds and life choices of youth from privileged classes. If only underclass black folks were listening to gangsta rap, there would be no public effort to silence and censor this music. The fear is that it will generate class rebellion.

No one survived on the streets without a protective mask. No one survived naked. You had to have a role. You had to be "thug," "playa," "athlete," "gangsta," or "dope man." Otherwise, there was only one role left to you: "victim.

I tell ya! The road to success is an endless battle for you and me.

Gangsta comes in many forms. You can watch a movie like Die Hard, which is full of violence that’s in your face. But if you watch a movie like The Godfather, the violence is subtle—it’s in a word, a nod, a gesture. I think you walk out of Die Hard and leave something in the theater. With Godfather, you walk out with something put in you. Hip-hop is the same way.

A few moments later Marcus was a member of a fairly exclusive club. He had no idea how many people had been firsthand witnesses to not one but two lion attacks, but he thought that the number would be very, very small. "Gangsta, baby", he thought- and wet himself.

Ramon Ramon is a riot. Totally paranoid, gangsta detective. Been reading it with my girlfriend on study breaks and it always gives us a good laugh. Not usually into fiction, but i've been giving this a shot as recommended. With all the heaviness this is relief in its lightness. Go get em Ramon.

The head/heart duality is a well-known cultural phenomenon. In everyday speech we use "heart" as a shorthand to refer to our emotional state or our faith and "head" to refer to cognition or reason. Should I follow my head or my heart? Both "head" and "heart," while they are literally the names of body parts, are commonly used to stand for nonbodily phenonmena, for mental processes. But what body part do we use when we want to refer explicitly to our coporeal self? Whe, the humble "ass," of course! Consider the seminal gangsta rappers Niggaz with Attitude, who in thier classic track "Straight Outta Compton" rhyme: "Niggaz start to mumble / They wanna rumble / Mix 'em and cook 'em in a pot like gumbo / Goin' off on a motherfucker like that / With a gat that's pointed at yo ass." Do the guys in NWA mean to say that a gun is literally pointed downward, at your tuchas? Of course not. We understand that in this context "ass" means "corporeal self.

We are all misfits, poseurs, and clowns. We are heartbroken and lonely, failures in life, criminals and frauds. Most of our successes are pleasant illusions. Through the books on the shelves, the library becomes a support group and lets us know that we are not alone. Once we realize we are not alone, we can relax, set our burdens down, and move on.

Unfortunately for Ben and Granny, it turns out that ancient poo does still pong.)

Cuz even a gangsta rapper can find redemption For the sins committed before revelation.

Here we go. Everybody wants to be a gangsta till it’s time to do gangsta shit.

So, Santa’s gone gangsta?

fusing themselves into a single new genre about partying all night with gangsta bitches screwing cowboys to the nasty beat that leads to Jesus.

I'm not the cool kids. Cool kids never speak up, they are too busy with being cool. Speaking up is for the real gangstas.

Support your local library. Get a library card. Pay your goddamn fines. Man up for Christ’s sake. Be a little responsible. And if there’s any shushing to be done, let it be done by a professional. Me.

MARY MAGDALENE: I also knew Judas Iscariot very well. SAINT MONICA: Gangsta! MARY MAGDALENE: Out of the Twelve, he was the most moody and the most impetuous, and yet, he was my favorite. SAINT MONICA: Tupac!

Boris laughed, and threw out some fake-looking gang sign. “Suit yourself, yo,” he said, in his “gangsta” voice (discernible from his regular voice only by the hand gesture and the “yo”) as he got up and roll-walked out. “Nigga gotz to eat.

CLOTHES SWITCH How would the story change if the characters were dressed differently—preppy, gangsta rapper-style? ETHNIC/RACE SWITCH What if the characters were given different ethnicities or races? How would that change the story? EMOTION SWITCH

A G?” I ask, raising my brows in amusement. “You do realize you don’t have to speak thug around me? I mean, this is a drug deal, but saying ‘a thousand’ doesn’t make you any less of a criminal. Money sounds the same in all accents and languages.” “I’m in the moment, okay? Red has me feeling all gangsta and shit.” “Yeah, dog.” Throwing her hand in what I can only guess is a gang sign, Red lifts her chin to me. I can only stare back at her with a look I hope makes her feel as stupid as she sounds.

I saw a future with you, baby, when I couldn’t even pick you out of a lineup. Last thing you gotta worry about is me leaving. I wanted to give you the world before I even saw you. Now I wanna give you the moon, stars, and every fucking thing in between.

We’ve been talking on the phone for a few days, and I gotta admit the shit was refreshing. One night I caught myself lying flat on the floor with my legs going up the wall, cheesing on the phone like I was in middle school. Shit had me feeling gay as fuck. So, I had to go out and shoot a nigga in the middle of the night to get my gangsta back.

In Kiribati, the unimane and unaine (old women) are considered the guardians of the culture, a state of affairs that sets it apart from the United States, where the final arbiter for all things cultural is the adolescent male, which explains the otherwise inexplicable popularity of the World Wrestling Federation, gangsta rap, and Pamela Anderson.

I keep my chin tucked in, eyes on the ground, the same stance I have when I pass by the guys from my neighborhood who laugh and call me Urkel because I wear a big backpack and don't hang out on the street all night smoking Kool XLs--and by the way, we need a new black nerd archetype; also, when are these wannabe gangstas watching reruns of Family Matters?

Rap started on the street, and religion is everywhere, even on the streets.

When we got to the back, I noticed balloons, cake, and floaters in the water. But…that’s it. “Where

Dealing with pain for surviving on this thirsty concrete

Get rich or die trying

Writing gives you a reach to the stars, That reach means there is NO CEILING!!!!!!!!

Ben, haven’t you always wanted to dress up as a pretty little princess?

En esta vida tenemos el deber de perseguir nuestros sueños. De lo contrario, sólo estaremos perdiendo el tiempo.

If thousands of Marathi people follow me that means they want revolution on Marathi land.

Nobody cares if I die for fighting Marathi breed.

I was thinking of retiring after tonight,” he replied. “Retiring? This is just the beginning. Tonight, a ballroom legend will be born!” It’s official! thought Ben. My mum is bonkers!

She was screaming for the heavens and trying to run. I pulled her back every time but she would somehow get away from me again so I grabbed her hair and leaned back. My ass fucking fell. Her fucking hair came off and the bitch was bald. Okay, not bald-bald but her edges were fucking gone. “That’s it, I’m out of here.” I hopped the fuck up and threw whatever was in my hand back at her ass.

In the words of the infamous Ice Cube, today was a good day. #GangstaRapInspiration   ...   You know when people say don’t count your chickens before they hatch?   I hate the saying. I’m terrified of birds and their evil, beady eyes and razor-sharp beaks waiting to peck me to death. But that’s not the point. The point is someone should’ve repeated this to me before I skipped down the street, whistling rap songs.

The Chronic is sonically incredible, but it’s hard to drive around singing songs about, ‘Eazy-E can eat a big fat dick,’” Rock wrote on his website. “But I got a feeling I’ll be singing ‘Gin and Juice’ when I’m ninety.

Cowards shoot out of fear; and more times than not, a coward would kill you quicker than a gangsta’ would. A gangsta’ would have morals, principles, rules, and guidelines, and a coward would have fingers full of fear. Fingers full of fear, coupled with guns full of bullets led to morgues full of bodies. They liked to act like they killed because they were cold, hard, and heartless; when in all actuality they killed because they were scared and softer than tomato sauce.

The menu at the Hug Deli included, among other items, the Warm and Fuzzy Hug, the Beverly Hills Air Kiss Hug, and the Gangsta Hug, with side orders of Pinch, Tickle, and Back Scratch. She ordered the Long Uncomfortable Hug, because she thought that was funny, thereby prompting a nut-brown Venice Beach-looking dude to hold on to her, earnestly pokerfaced, for a seeming eternity. "Are you uncomfortable yet?" "Fairly, yes." "Excellent. My work here is done." She laughed and mounted on her bike, pedalling away from the zany mirage as her gratuitous hugger shouted "Namaste" in her direction.

neighbour. He is a retired major and now runs the local Neighbourhood Watch group, Lower Toddle branch. It is a collection of oldies who have joined forces to keep an eye out for burglars, but Mr Parker uses it as an excuse to spy on everyone. One person he has got his eye on particularly is Ben. The nosy neighbour had been convinced the boy and his granny had stolen the Crown Jewels, but nobody had believed him. Now Mr Parker is out for revenge!

My mother neither encouraged the reading of science fiction nor did she disparage it. She told me later that there was a scheme of things. Young people were first drawn to fiction, but as they grew older they were pulled more and more into nonfiction and biography, because nonfiction is so much more tragic, engrossing, and hilarious than anything else that could be invented. In this grand scheme, comic books and science fiction were just fine. They filled the need for a certain amount of time, and you moved on when that need was no longer filled.

Suddenly his ringing cell phone brought him out of his deep thoughts. Los already knew who it was from the ringtone. He reached over snatching the phone up quickly to avoid waking Lucky. “Nice what’s good?” “What’s good is I just came from Mom Dukes crib and caught her and Aunt V scrapping on some WorldStar shit Bruh.” “What? Yo is you serious?” Los said rising from his back trying to ease from under Lucky without waking her. “Los listen that shit was crazy, Mom was beaten the breaks off V man. I broke that mess up and Mom was still tryna get at her. V wig ended up all cocked to the side like it was on its gangsta lean, Momz went savage on V had her leakin and everything.” “What?!” Los asked getting hyped and jumping out of bed when he heard blood was drawn. He knew his brother had the tendency to hype shit up in order to make things more entertaining but Nice sounded dead ass. “Where you at right now?” Los asked. “On my way back out to Momz crib.” “Man I’ma meet you out there, I’m on my way to check on her and find out what’s goin on.” “Say no more Bruh I’ll see you out there,” Nice responded before hanging up.

As soon as Ben had been set down and the lorry driver had plodded off to unload the next waxwork, Ben darted off down the corridor. He needed to find the scene of the crime, to see if there were any clues the police had missed. Eventually, after passing the waxworks of presidents and popes and pop stars, but strangely no plumbers, he found the room where the figures of the British royal family were on display. As the theft had been in the news, the room was full of tourists eager to catch a glimpse of the empty space where the waxwork of the Queen had stood. Some were even taking pictures of… well, nothing. Ben looked around the ornate red-and-gold room, decorated to look like the

Homie caught a body Got a naughty shawty Throw her in the trunk of my purple buggati Opps on my tail damn making this a party Firing shots man I think they might’ve got me Bleeding and speeding on the 401 This is hood economics 101 Got that gangsta archetype like Carl Yung Damn making me ask who am I running from? When I know I got balls and a fuckin loaded gun Roll out on the freeway while takin some heat One cop two cop three’s on his feet Yeah bullseye put one his knee Cryin oh please don’t hurt me you know I got family Put him to sleep with nice slick kick As I head to his home to go meet his kids His wife’s crying in the corner as I fire from the hip Yeah there’s heart in this clip I put my all in this shit Leaving their home while unfulfilled Got a taste for killing need more blood to spill God looking down asking me to chill Fire shots in the air tellin him no deal Already dug my grave and wrote my will Therapist tells me just stay home and masturbate man Tell him fuck off you know I’m Patrick Bateman Killers don’t discriminate you know I still kill women Brutally beat them into mush on the pavement Screaming for help with no-one here to save them My life has purpose and I know who I am A cold blooded killer with two glocks in his hands Better run mothafucka you know you stand no chance Cause it takes two to tango and damn I wanna dance

We always thought it was cool that my mom only had boys, you know? Doug said, for once dropping his gangsta accent. “Who knew that we actually needed a sister?” Megan looked down at her hands. “Oh, man! Are you gonna go all blubbery on my ass?” Doug asked. Megan laughed. “No.” “So are you comin’ back with me or what?” Megan lifted her head and sighed. “I have a few conditions.” “Shoulda known,” Doug said, rolling his eyes. “First of all, I did not sign up for a truck stop bathroom,” Megan said. “You guys need to start cleaning up after yourselves in there. No more blood, no more hair, no more random stains that I don’t even want identified.” “All right, all right,” Doug said. “That it?” “Hardly,” Megan said. “I want a hands-off rule on all my stuff. Including my bike.” “Okay…” “And I want everyone to stop calling me Megan C Cups behind my back.” Doug’s jaw went slack as he flushed. “How did you know about that?” Megan raised her eyebrows. “All right, fine. Is that all?” Doug said. “You think you can do these things for me?” Megan asked. “Well, I may have to put the beatdown on a few people, but yeah. No problem,” Doug said casually. “Don’t beat down anybody,” Megan said. “Don’t tell me how to do my job,” Doug said, cracking his knuckles comically. “Okay,” Megan said, standing. For the first time all day, she felt calm--certain. “I’ll come back.” “Thank God!” Doug said. “Let’s get the hell outta this place.” “Oh, wait! One more thing,” Megan said, stopping Doug in his tracks. His shoulders slumped and he turned around. “What? You want my kidney?” “I want in on the next ultimate Frisbee game,” Megan said. Doug grinned. “You’re playin’ skins.” Megan grinned back. “We’ll see about that.

At once, Raj set about finding some dry clothes for Ben and the Queen. However, all he had were his unsold costumes from Halloween. “This is your size, Your Majesty,” said Raj, handing her a lobster costume. “One has never dressed as a lobster before. What fun!” she said, taking the costume behind the card carousel to change. Next, Raj picked up one of his princess outfits. Before he could say a thing, Ben snapped, “NO!” “What do you mean, no?” asked Raj. “No means no! I am never, ever, ever dressing up as a princess!” “But you would look so pretty!” Raj implored. “NO!” “Well, the lobster outfits are too big for you.” The Queen reappeared with hers on. “Red is so your colour!” remarked Raj. “Oh, why thank you, Mr Raj. Now come on, Ben. You can’t stay in those wet things – you will catch your death of cold!” “But—” “No buts, Benjamin! Put it on! That’s an order from your Queen!” Ben harumphed and disappeared behind the card carousel. Moments later, he reappeared awkwardly. He was dressed as a princess with the grumpiest look on his face. “You know I said how pretty you would look as a princess?” began Raj. “Yep.” “I was wrong.” Then,

Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta Verse 1 Damn it feels good to be a gangsta A real gangsta-ass nigga plays his cards right A real gangsta-ass nigga never runs his f**kin mouth Cuz real gangsta-ass niggas don't start fights And niggas always gotta high cap Showin' all his boys how he shot em But real gangsta-ass niggas don't flex nuts Cuz real gangsta-ass niggas know they got em And everythings cool in the mind of a gangsta Cuz gangsta-ass niggas think deep Up three-sixty-five a year 24/7 Cuz real gangsta ass niggas don't sleep And all I gotta say to you Wannabe, gonnabe, cocksuckin', pussy-eatin' prankstas 'Cause when the fire dies down what the f**k you gonna do Damn it feels good to be a gangsta Verse 2 Damn it feels good to be a gangsta Feedin' the poor and helpin out with their bills Although I was born in Jamaica Now I'm in the US makin' deals Damn it feels good to be a gangsta I mean one that you don't really know Ridin' around town in a drop-top Benz Hittin' switches in my black six-fo' Now gangsta-ass niggas come in all shapes and colors Some got killed in the past But this gangtsa here is a smart one Started living for the lord and I last Now all I gotta say to you Wannabe, gonnabe, pussy-eatin' cocksuckin' prankstas When the sh*t jumps off what the f**k you gonna do Damn it feels good to be a gangsta Verse 3 Damn it feels good to be a gangsta A real gangta-ass nigga knows the play Real gangsta-ass niggas get the flyest of the b**ches Ask that gangsta-ass nigga Little Jake Now b**ches look at gangsta-ass niggas like a stop sign And play the role of Little Miss Sweet But catch the b**ch all alone get the digit take her out and then dump-hittin' the ass with the meat Cuz gangsta-ass niggas be the gang playas And everythings quiet in the clique A gangsta-ass nigga pulls the trigger And his partners in the posse ain't tellin' off sh*t Real gangsta-ass niggas don't talk much All ya hear is the black from the gun blast And real gangsta-ass niggas don't run for sh*t Cuz real gangsta-ass niggas can't run fast Now when you in the free world talkin' sh*t do the sh*t Hit the pen and let the mothaf**kas shank ya But niggas like myself kick back and peep game Cuz damn it feels good to be a gangsta Verse 4 And now, a word from the President! Damn it feels good to be a gangsta Gettin voted into the White House Everything lookin good to the people of the world But the Mafia family is my boss So every now and then I owe a favor gettin' down like lettin' a big drug shipment through And send 'em to the poor community So we can bust you know who So voters of the world keep supportin' me And I promise to take you very far Other leaders better not upset me Or I'll send a million troops to die at war To all you Republicans, that helped me win I sincerely like to thank you Cuz now I got the world swingin' from my nuts And damn it feels good to be a gangsta

what is the defination of life

Hello, Milton? This is Maliyah Love. Are we still on for 12:30 tonight?

As she took each step a little bubble of wind puffed out of her saggy bottom. It sounded like a duck quacking. Either she didn’t realise or was extremely good at pretending she didn’t realise.

Granny’s bum squeaking again

This went on for a few minutes, but to save paper and therefore the trees and therefore the forests and therefore the environment and therefore the world I have tried to keep it short.

No buts, Ben. No. ‘N’ and ‘O’ spells ‘no’.

(Technically speaking, that means there was a lot of wee and poo in it.)

We all choose the wrong people at some point in our lives, whether it’s friends, business partners, significant others. It doesn’t matter. You won’t get everything right on the first go around. All I can say is, one thing you will never get wrong is choosing yourself first, every time. If it comes down to choosing something or your self-worth, choose your self-worth every time. It’s plenty of niggas in the sea.

A school's version of fun can never compete with the street's version of fun.

Every human being has a bit of gangsta him

nigga was pissed all the way back to the house. My own brother trying to snake me out of my shit. Nigga could have learned to slap a bitch with some water.

And like the abortion controversy or the jihad against gangsta rap, the battle over evolution seems almost to have been designed to keep Kansas polarized, keep its outrage levels high and its Con pot boiling, while changing the way things are actually done not a bit. The combat was purely symbolic ... The real object of their anti-evolution gambit, I believe, was not getting Kansans right with God but getting themselves reelected. As we have seen, conservatives grandstand eloquently on cultural issues but almost never achieve real-world results. What they're after is cultural turmoil, which serves mainly to solidify their base. By deliberately courting the wrath of the educated world with the evolution issue, the Cons aimed, it seems, to reinforce and to sharpen their followers' peculiar understanding of social class. In a word, it was an exercise in anti-intellectualism. (206-208)

His mind spoke doubt as he wondered what kind of man with the heart of a gangsta could make a good husband, but his heart affirmed that he could do what was needed to take care of his family the way they needed to be cared for.

Luck smiled when he heard the noise. He and Blessing were like two peas in a pod, in sync when things got gangsta.

Lovely must’ve thought she was playing games with her because she started getting smart mouthed with London, so she felt she was testing her gangsta.

Seeing London on her gangsta shit turned Luck on and he wanted to run after her, grab her by the arm, and then give her the most passionate kiss that he ever gave, but he decided against it. No matter how hard she tried to ignore his advances, she knew he wanted her.

Seeing her cry kinda turned me on. I wanted her to cry while I was fuckin’ the shit out of her. Making

I was over there blocking love for someone who was probably making love to another woman right now. A woman that he loved.

the last few miles of the Atlantic Ocean back to England with all of the jewellery hidden in her knickers. Granny

I don’t believe you guys,” she said. “What did I do this time?” “You got Finn grounded,” Ian said finally. “Yeah, and he was gonna teach me how to get past the second level on Halo 2,” Caleb groused. Megan laughed. “You have to be kidding me.” Still, no one would look at her. No one was laughing. Suddenly Megan felt a rush of something hot and bilious. Her giddiness was washed away by a wave of anger so fierce it completely took over. “Are you guys going to blame me for everything that happens in this house from here on out?” she asked. “Finn couldn’t covet your cookies if you weren’t here shovin’ ’em in his face, could he?” Doug said. “Omigod! Is that what you think happened?” Megan asked. “I seduced him or something? Well, here’s a little news flash, Gangsta Boy, he kissed me, all right?

Just to check she’s not going out.” “Going

(Unfortunately for Ben and Granny, it turns out that ancient poo does still pong.) After

fact, if there was a fire in their house, and Mum could only save either a sparkly gold tap-shoe once worn by Flavio Flavioli (the shiny, tanned dancer and heartbreaker from Italy who appeared on every series of the hit TV show) or her only child, Ben thought she would probably go for the shoe.

Whatever you do in Life to feed your family that's your hustle and this is MINE!

MARY MAGDALENE: I also knew Judas Iscariot very well. SAINT MONICA: Gangsta!

Ain't no need of me bullshitting myself or you. I ain't no Gangsta. That don't mean I won't do something gangsta to you for fuckin with me but I don't wake up thinking about my next gangsta move in the morning.

The Brooklyn rapper wondered how it was that these characters in the music “were stepping through the broken glass and into the Caddy.

Granny driving, Ben clinging on behind her.

More than any other individual rapper, Dr. Dre deserves recognition for his role in helping turn the page on the crack epidemic. As a member of N.W.A. and producer for the group, he helped articulate the conditions of life in the ghetto on songs like “Dopeman,” “Fuck tha Police,” and “Gangsta Gangsta.” Then in 1992, three years after leaving N.W.A., Dr. Dre dropped his magnum opus, The Chronic. The album is ranked by many, including Vibe, Spin, and Rolling Stone, as one of the greatest albums of all time.