Dear Shorty:
It's your birthday. We're going to party and sip Bacardi like it's your birthday, and we don't really care that it isn't your birthday—you'll find me in the club with a bottle of champagne, and I'll have ecstasy if you're interested in taking drugs. I prefer having sex to making love, so come and hug me if you like being rubbed.
When I arrive, you'll see my Mercedes-Benz; when I roll 20 deep, it's 20 nines (knives?) in the club1. Ever since I clashed with Dr. Dre, people have shown affection toward me. When you enjoy sales of the same degree as Eminem, women are more willing to have sex with you. But I haven't changed; I prefer my fellow gangster to these women, and when I see Xzibit, I say, "Excuse me, but could you make a marijuana cigarette for me?" If you watch how I move, you may mistake me for a sleazy man, or even a pimp. I've been shot several times, but I don't even limp—I'm all right.
In my neighborhood and in Los Angeles, they're saying that I'm doing well; they like me, but I want them to love me in the way that they loved 2Pac. In New York City, however, they'll say that I'm deranged and planning to corner the rap market. But I'm focused and concentrating on financial matters: though I've made a million dollars on my last deal, I still work hard.
Now Shorty says that she understands my point, and also that her female companion may be willing to engage in some bisexual conduct, so you'll find me in the club with a bottle of champagne, and I'll have ecstasy if you're interested in taking drugs. I prefer having sex to making love, so come and hug me if you like being rubbed.
My performances made me wealthy and allowed me to have my house, cars, swimming pools, and jewelry, but despite my newfound affluence, I haven't changed to any degree that could be called "significant." You should agree with this rather than disagree with it; the fact that you're angry perplexes me because I believed that my success would be impressive to you. After all, I stand at the bar toasting to my own livelihood, while you merely degrade me like the homosexual Negro you are. When I begin exuding my masculine prowess in this nightclub, your lady-friend will be drawn to me in an instant.
If the roof is on fire, let the roof burn; likewise, I have no concern toward any financial matters that you may raise in conversation2. As a great philosopher once said, you have clearance to change your modus operandi; if you wish to continue to disrespect me, I will allow you to do so, while simultaneously expanding my own coffers. As an alternative, I may consider attacking you with a bottle of "bubbly." You know where I'll be: you'll find me in the club with a bottle of champagne, and I'll have ecstasy if you're interested in taking drugs. I prefer having sex to making love, so come and hug me if you like being rubbed. Don't try to act like you don't know where we'll be, either: again, we're in the club all the time, and we'll become violent very shortly.
G Unit.
- 50 Cent
Translated by sekicho
