59 ancient nigga thaw'd from ice - madness - ramblings of future doom - gruesome death
60 evil dog house surrounded by mist
61 Giant brain prowls neighborhood at night
62 ngga befriends a strange wizard for otherworldly powers (eternal life? home loan?)
63 Large egg in a vent - what the fuck hatches?
64 A skeleton still has a booty
65 Sounds - bullets - an eagle coming at a nigga's face
66 Dark (voodoo?) evil learn'd by one nigga, teach 2 niggas, 4 niggas teach more niggas
67 Fingers thrown up - do not return (otherworldly tone)
68 A slumping trash can - full of rats - dead baby in a plastic bag - nigga passed the fuck out drank him some rancid ass shit like antifreeze
69 That pussy talk when you hit it deep - talk of evil under the sea
70 Hustler visits pawn shop of antiquities-asks that it accept a mixtape he has just made-old and learned owner laughs and says he cannot accept anything so modern. Man says that
'flows are older than brooding Compton or the contemplative Inglewood Swap Meet or garden-girdled Watts'
and that he had fashioned the joints while dusted. Owner bids him shew his product, and when he does so shews horror. Asks who the rhymesayer may be. He tells street name. "No-before that" says owner. Hustler does not remember except while blazed. Then curator offers high price, but hustler fears he means to bite style. Asks fabulous price-owner will consult street.
Add good development and describe nature of freestyles. [Untouchable]
71 Baby look like a Mexican what the fuck happen bitch (ancient evil?)
72 A cat from space look at a nigga and he get a boner
73 young money! the nightmare, plastic column of fetid black iridescence, oozed tightly onward through its fifteen-foot weave, spitting unholy rhymes and driving before it a spiral, rethickening cloud of pallid ass hoes. It was a terrible, indescribable thing vaster than any Hollygrove hood rat in a shapeless congeries of protoplasmic bathing apes, faintly self-luminous, and with myriads of temporary gang signs forming and unforming as pustules of greenish weed smoke blazed all over the tunnel-filling front that bore down on us, crushing the frantic busters and slithering over the bumpin floor that it and its kind had swept so evilly free of all haters. Still came that eldritch, mocking cry: 'A Mil-li! A Mil-li! A Mil-li! A Mil-li!'"
74 a homie enters flipmode: witnesses strange alternate ghetto where blood wears blue and fingers can be manipulated to spell out CrIP
75 Powerful wizard is turned to dust - outlaw nigga comes up on that dust shit and smokes it becoming powerful too
Special thanks to the dark FYADs who discovered many previously unknown Tupac ideas.
Now, inexplicably, season three is looming over us like some sort of dome. Season one's plot asked whether or not the town could get out from under the dome. Apparently the answer was "no". Season two asked "I guess we're really stuck, huh?" and the answer was "yup".
With an average of 40 IPAs added every day, it can be difficult to taste them all
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