Kixmas BJ Crib 2011

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, little baby Jesus (B.J.) lie down his sweet head.

   All nestled and tucked all warm for the night, dreams of busting outta this wooden shack dance about B.J’s head,

     For he knew from even such a young age even from when Adam gave up the rib,
to be the king of the ages he’d need to hustle for a flashier crib.

     The first few gifts of frankincense and myrrh would be an inspiration for goals,
 to push product at Christmas and solicited Christmas hoes.

     For B.J. knew his shabby soundings would have him look like the holiday prankster,
 He’d switch up his image and be the holiday Gangster!

    Long ratty robes stitched by his mother, 
Would be well traded in for Sean John and Gucci by his slave driving brother,

    That donkey he rode his first fruitful years, 
now boasts four wheels 300 horse and six shifting gears,

     No more bed in the back of some run down stable, B.J’s got servants and caviar on the table,

     “Away in a manger no crib for a bed”,
 no longer words that anyone’s said,

  This crib boasts five car garage and with room for some toys,
 A pool and a penthouse for all Jesuses boyz!

   Frankincense by the pound and Myrrh by the Kilo, B.J.’s your man just ask “What’s the deal, Yo?”

   All the right connections and an in with the Church, got Santa round his finger and Mrs. Clause on his pearch,

  Now Dasher and Donder now Blitzen and Dancer,
 you know you got that name with a stage pole as the answer,

  Off Comit and Cupit go pick up 50 and Em’,
 for a holiday beat box that’s sure to offend,

You can find dem in da club on December Twenty-Five, da got what cha need to keep the party alive,

 “Hey B.J., 
it’s your b-day we all gonna party like it’s your b-day now we don’t give Myrrh ‘casue it’s your b-day!”

   Rollin and ridein that’s just how Jesus likes it, 
Santas his homeboi and the Elfs his disciples,

   Up to the work shop to check the work load, 
 ya all never seen no sweat shop rollin out product with such a colourful story to be told,

 The truth of the matter B.J.’s shops planted in the heart of the North Pole, 
 or just outside of Beijing depending how the geography’s told,

  We spit the truth in this gangster Christmas tale  Jesus is a hustler and everything’s for sale,

 Check labels and tags, Google your toys, 
 the merry elf sweatshops in China produced by little girls and boys,

  B.J.’s no fool he knows how to cut costs,
  look for the smallest people in the most populist country to construct for the boss,

 Now Marry and Joseph laid solid roots for there boi, 
 it just wasn’t enough a small wooden toy,

 This Christmas mornin’ when you roll outta bed,  remember B.J. the hustler and what he all said,

 “Let the world be my oyster and children by my pearl, let parents open there wallets for all good boyz and gurls,

 Let a greenback be made from all that I have done,
  for B.J.’s the King and I’ll give it a hell of a run,

I’ll hook up with celebrities like Santa and Frosty, 
do compilations on albums with Em and Fify,

 I’ll turn a manger to a down filled King and a stable to a Castle, 
 for writin a book about the ages was a tad to much hassle,

 I’ll market red and green to reflect blood diamonds and cash,
  I’ll televise the joy while I fill up my stash,

Good will towards men and ladies is pimps too,
 brush ya shouldas off this holiday season and B.J. will christen you!”

 Baby Jesus the gangster isn’t just holiday folklore, check the tags on ya alls gifts, on all that you’d wished for…

 MERRY KIXMAS TO ALL AND ya all a pimp nite!