Revelry, Etc.

The following is a translation of The Notorious B.I.G.'s "Party and Bullshit". You can listen to the song here if you don't have a frame of reference. Enjoy.

I've been discourteous since the commencement of my formal education.

Illegally acquired lavatory admissions, truancy and unsolicited posterior fondling were second nature.

My daily inhalation of combusted cannabis was established and, by the age of one score minus seven years, I was well known in various circles.

I recall concealing firearms in my outerwear; specifically .32 and .22 caliber handguns. Presently, my satchel contains a fully automatic 9mm blowback operated machine pistol.

I'm just relaxing, good sir, cremating superfluous perennials in the company of my contemporaries, all of whom don the latest footwear.

Gentlewomen wish to engage me in conversation but I'm more concerned with the location of the closest festivities and whether or not it is prudent to bring my firearms.

In the case that my weapons aren't permitted, I'm hopeful that I'll not be pierced by any errant projectiles. I'd do well to ensconce myself in Kevlar because I question the motives of other roisterers.

Underhandedness is all it takes to elicit a reaction from myself and my associates. The resulting cacophony will be reminiscent of an expedition to slay waterfowl.

Making merry with my companions, all we seek is...

Revelry, etc.

While embracing the ladyfolk and glad handing the gentry, I recognize an old friend, Sei, with whom I shared accommodation in a government funded housing project during a portion of my youth. He was less than pleased with my attendance and confronted me regarding my armament. I confirmed that there were two .22 caliber pistols concealed within my loafers.

If my presence is required, feel free to summon me. In the meantime, I'll be carousing with the females, imbibing champagne and will not comply with your attempts at stopping my behavior. I'm a man of ill repute.

If others are disingenuous, on whom will you call for support? If others seek to harm you, on whom will you call to douse the flames with a hail of ordnance?

It's no secret that I'm spoken of along the entire Eastern Seaboard. Your trembling in my presence is to be expected. You will be uneasy in my proximity due to your foreknowledge of my knack for disruption.

I'm addled by the combination of VSOP and cannabis coursing through my person. Despite this, I remain a most remarkable specimen of my people among these ruffians.

Revelry, etc.

In the rear, I gaze upon striking women wrapped in tight fitting couture and consider enlightening them of my interests. Topics of discussion will include the proper way to transport a revolver and how to ensure a memorable evening by ingesting Jamaican spirits.

We converse while oscillating cannabis wrapped in tobacco under the watchful eye of my colleague, Big Jacques. While we reduce our herbs to ashes and consume expensive libations, prostitutes will consider that if the abundance of hard currency produced an offensive emanation, I would be classified as malodorous.

As a result of my tranquility, my escort wishes to relocate in order that we fornicate. Post coitus, I constructed a fresh reefer and purchased a Dutch lager.

During my refractory period, there was a terrible upheaval. An individual was rendered unconscious, a subsequent verbal altercation occurred ultimately resulting in a fracas.

At times like these, I consider our lack of mutual compassion. My departing desire is to leave evidence of our sexual liaison on the chest of my concubine while she ingurgitates the finest French champagnes. It appears as though my inclinations are about to be realized. Farewell.

Revelry, etc.