A LETTER - Different Sort of Post Word

Ayo, to the fool who thought it was cool to break up in my crib and jack my whole tape stash:

Listen up. This here’s an open letter from yours truly, Dondi White, to whoever had the nerve to roll up in my spot while me and my girl was out, and swipe my entire tape and CD collection. First off, I don’t even know why you left my De La Soul "3 Feet High And Rising" CD behind. Yo, that’s a classic. I mean, thanks for that, but you must be slippin’ ‘cause you left some funky heat on the table nahmean. That’s disrespect to De La, and to me.

Now lemme tell you straight – when I catch you, it’s gonna be a bad day for you, homie. Cutesy time’s over, ya feel me? You wanna know what’s comin'? Pop in that "Geto Boys" tape you snagged and take notes – that’s your future right there. But listen, if by some miracle you decide to return my tapes, cool. But don’t stress about it too much, ‘cause when we find you – and trust, we will find you – you ain’t gonna like what happens next. Ain’t no fronting in this, either. We keep the heat at the crib, and you lucky you ain’t walk in on that. Plus, my girl? She keeps blades on her. Hate to see you stackin’ CDs and tapes but can’t hit the "Play" button ‘cause you missin' fingers, know what I’m sayin’?

You about to get dealt with in ways that make Ice Cube’s beef with Dre look like a friendly game of checkers, or like Kendrick puttin’ Drake six feet under. Believe that. Word.