Thank You, M'am

( This a re-make of tha rap 'fuck you, M'am' by Langston Hughes, tha fuck into a mo' 'ponified' version)

Biatch was a tall mare wit a big-ass purse dat had every last muthafuckin thang up in it but a hammer n' nails. It had a long-ass strap, n' dat thugged-out biiiatch carried it slung across her shoulder. It was bout eleven o’clock at night, dark, n' dat biiiiatch was struttin alone, when a cold-ass lil colt ran up behind her n' tried ta snatch her purse. Da strap broke wit tha sudden single tug tha colt gave it from behind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! But tha colt’s weight n' tha weight of tha purse combined n' caused his ass ta lose his balance. Instead of takin off full blast as dat schmoooove muthafucka had hoped, tha colt fell on his back on tha dirt road n' his hairy-ass legs flew up. Da big-ass mare simply turned around n' kicked his ass right square up in his blue jeaned sitter. Then she reached down, picked tha colt,with her blue hued magic,up by his hoodie front, n' shook his ass until his cold-ass teeth rattled.

After dat tha mare holla'd, "Pick up mah pocketbook, pony, n' give it here.’’

Biatch still held his ass tightly wit her magic.

But da hoe bent enough ta permit his ass ta stoop n' pick up her purse.

Then her big-ass booty holla'd, "Now ain’t you ashamed of yo ass?"

Firmly gripped by his hoodie front, tha colt holla'd,"Yes’m,’’

Da mare holla'd, ''What did you wanna do it for?''

Da colt holla'd holla'd, "I didn’t aim to.’’

Biatch holla'd, "Yo ass a lie!’’

By dat time two or three ponies passed, stopped, turned ta look, n' some stood watching.

"If I turn you loose, will you run?’’ axed tha mare.

"Yes’m,’’ holla'd tha colt.

"Then I won’t turn you loose,’’ holla'd tha mare. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch did not release his muthafuckin ass.

"Lady, I’m sorry,’’ whispered tha lil colt.

"Um-hum! Yo Crazy-Ass grill is dirty. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I gots a pimped out mind ta wash yo' grill fo' yo thugged-out ass fo' realz. Ain’t you gots nopony home ta rap wash yo' face?’’

"No’m,’’ holla'd tha colt.

"Then it will git washed dis evening,’’ holla'd tha big-ass mare startin up tha street, draggin tha frightened colt, wit her magic orb, behind her muthafuckin ass.

Dude looked as if da thug was fourteen or fifteen, frail n' willow-wild, up in tennis shoes, n' blue ripped jeans.

Da mare holla'd, "Yo ass ought ta be mah son. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I would teach you right from wrong. Least I can do right now is ta wash yo' grill fo' realz. Is you hungry?’’

"No’m,’’ holla'd tha bein dragged colt. ‘’I just want you ta turn me loose.’’

"Was I botherin you when I turned dat corner?’’

"No’m’’

"But you put yo ass up in contact wit me,’’ holla'd tha pony. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. "If you be thinkin dat that contact aint goin ta last awhile, you gots another thought coming. When I git all up in wit you, sir, yo ass is goin ta remember Mrs. Burlingtron Trottin Hoof.’’

Sweat popped up on tha colt’s grill n' his thugged-out lil' punk-ass fuckin started ta struggle. Mrs yo. Hoof stopped, jerked his ass around up in front of her, placed mo' magic around him, n' continued ta drag his ass up tha street. When she gots ta her door, her dope ass dragged tha colt inside, down a hall, n' tha fuck into a big-ass kitchenette-furnished room all up in tha rear of tha house. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch switched on tha light n' left tha door open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da colt could hear other roomers bustin up n' rappin' up in tha big-ass house. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some of they doors was open, too, so he knew he n' tha mare was not ridin' solo. Da mare still had his ass wit her magic up in tha middle of tha room.

Biatch holla'd, "What tha fuck iz yo' name?’’

"Roger,’’ answered tha colt.

"Then, Roger, you git all up in dat sink n' wash yo' face,’’ holla'd tha mare, whereupon dat dunkadelic hoe turned his ass loose "at last. Roger looked all up in tha door "looked all up in tha tall mare "looked all up in tha door "and went ta tha sink.

"Let tha gin n juice run until it gets warm,’’ her big-ass booty holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Here’s a cold-ass lil clean towel.’’

‘’Yo ass gonna take me ta jail?’’ axed tha colt, bendin over tha sink.

"Not wit dat face, I would not take you nowhere,’’ holla'd tha mare. "Here I be tryin ta git home ta cook me a funky-ass bite ta eat, n' you snatch mah pocketbook! Maybe you ain’t been ta yo' supper either, late as it be yo. Have yo slick ass?’’

"There’s nopony home at mah house,’’ holla'd tha colt.

"Then we’ll eat,’’ holla'd tha mare. "I believe you’re hungry…or been hungry…to try ta snatch mah purse.’’

"I want 2 pairz of blue suede shoes,’’ holla'd tha colt.

"Well, you didn’t have ta snatch mah pocketbook ta git some suede shoes,’’ holla'd Mrs.Hoof. "Yo ass could’ve axed mah dirty ass.’’

"M’am?’’

Da gin n juice drippin from his wild lil' face, tha colt looked at her muthafuckin ass. There was a long-ass pause fo' realz. A straight-up long pause fo' realz. After dat schmoooove muthafucka had dried his wild lil' grill n' not knowin what tha fuck else ta do, dried it again, tha colt turned around, wonderin what tha fuck next. Da door was wide open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude could cook up a thugged-out dash fo' it down tha hall yo. Dude could run, run, run, run!

Da mare was chillin on tha daybed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! After a while her big-ass booty holla'd, "I was lil' once n' I wanted things I could not get.’’

There was another long pause. Da colt’s grill opened. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Then he frowned, not knowin he frowned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

Da mare holla'd, ‘’Um-hum! Yo ass thought I was goin ta say but, didn’t yo slick ass, biatch? Yo ass thought I was goin ta say yo, but I didn’t snatch ponie’s  purses. Well, I wasn’t goin ta say that,’’ Pause. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Silence. "I have done things, too, which I would not rap , son…neither tell Celestia, if Biatch didn’t already know, nahmeean, biatch? Everyponies’ gots somethang up in common. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So you set down while I fix our asses somethang ta eat. Yo ass might run dat comb all up in yo' mane so yo big-ass booty is ghon look presentable.’’

"In another corner of tha room behind a screen was a gas plate n' a icebox. Mrs yo. Hoof gots up n' went behind tha screen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da mare did not watch tha colt ta peep if da thug was goin ta run now, nor did dat biiiiatch watch her purse, which she left behind her on tha daybed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! But tha colt took care ta sit on tha far side of tha room, away from tha purse, where tha pimpin' muthafucka thought dat thugged-out biiiatch could easily peep his ass outta tha corner of her eye if dat biiiiatch wanted ta yo. Dude did not trust tha mare not ta trust his muthafuckin ass fo' realz. And da ruffneck did not wanna be mistrusted now, nahmeean, biatch?

"Do you need some muthafucka ta git all up in tha store,’’ axed tha colt, "maybe ta git some applez or something?’’

"Don’t believe I do,’’ holla'd tha mare, "unless you just want tha applez fo' yo ass. I was goin ta make cocoa outta dis canned gin n juice I gots here.’’

"That'll be fine,’’ holla'd tha colt.

Biatch heated some lima beans n' a variety of ingredients dat freaky freaky biatch had up in tha icebox, busted tha cocoa, n' set tha table wit a orb of magic. Da mare did not ask tha colt anythang bout where he lived, or his wild lil' folks, or anythang else dat would embarrass his muthafuckin ass. Instead, as they ate, dat dunkadelic hoe holla'd at his ass bout her thang up in a funky-ass beauty shop dat stayed open late, what tha fuck tha work was like, n' how tha fuck all tha kindz of mares came up in n' out, short, tall, fashionable, skanky. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Then his schmoooove ass cut his ass a half of her one-bit cake.

"Eat more, son,’’ her big-ass booty holla'd.

When they was finished eatin, she gots up n' holla'd, "Now here, take dis 20 bits n' cop yo ass some blue suede shoes fo' realz. And next time, do not make tha mistake of latchin onto mah pocketbook nor nopony’s else’s…cuz Nikes gots by devilish ways will burn yo' hooves. I gots ta git mah rest now, nahmeean, biatch? But from her on in, son, I hope yo big-ass booty is ghon behave yo ass.’’

Biatch led his ass down tha hall ta tha front door n' opened dat shit. "Dope night son! Behave yo ass, boy!’’ her big-ass booty holla'd, lookin up tha fuck into tha road as da thug went down tha steps.

Da colt wanted ta say somethang other than "Nuff props, m’am’’ to Mrs.Burlingtron Trottin Hoof yo, but although his fuckin lips moved, his schmoooove ass couldn’t even say dat as tha pimpin' muthafucka turned all up in tha shitload of tha barren stoop n' looked up as tha big-ass mare. Then her big-ass booty shut tha door, n' he never saw her again.

Raritizzle closed tha lil' small-ass book

''She's just like me!'' Raritizzle squealed up in delight.