Why do good girls like bad guys?
Knowin that bad guys tell mad lies?

[. Tall dark male enters the club. Seeming to stick out like a sore thumb. Having no part to do with any of the 'reapers', who pretended they were thugs, nor was he the prissy prep. A male grown hard and cold and molded by surroundings of the ghetto deep within New York. Dark brown eyes flash about coldly. Known mostly as 'DMX', or as the name went, Dark Man Unknown. Clad in baggy jeans that seemed to fall 'pon Timbs that show slightly under'eath pants. Worn upon is baggy jersey that seems to fit with city rap style. Sittin' down at the bar, seems to dwarf his actual height. Having made it big in the music industry he had no intentions of spittin' out raps at the join 'ere. Instead, had come to get himself a drink and be out. Cold brown eyes flash toward vixen. A deadly hatred seeming to radiate from the bottom of his depths. Turns toward bartendress, awaiting other's services. The silver handle of gun seen as male leans 'pon the wet bar. Through netted jersey is seen tattoo 'pon his back dedicated of past dog 'One Love Boomer'. 'pon bicep is seen double R that is most hardcore rapping group of history. Fame and fortune seemed hardly to affect the male, as it seemed he flashed no watchs of typical P. Diddy style, nor more cocky than any nigga from the streets. Only thing that seperated the male was the deep hatred that seemed uncurable by money, fame, forture, love, and happiness. Thick silver chain hung upon neck, contrasting from dark skin. Almost as if silver chain was a dog collar. A pitbull loose. .]

Judge not and shall be judged first
Die nigga, die nigga

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