Soul Plane Page #3

Everything's short.

I don't know about all that,

but if Denzel walked his fine | sexy ass in here right now,

I'm takin' the rest of the day off

and gettin' straight down | with the get down.

You know what I'm sayin'?

Girl, let me tell you, | Denzel is nice,

but I like the young thugs.

I love me some 50 Cent, baby.

Ooh, Shaniece. Go, Shaniece!

It's your birthday.

We gonna party | like it's your birthday.

Sip Bacardi | like it's my birthday.

And you know we don't | give a f*** it's not my birthday!

Look at this little nigga here.

Look more like five cent.

Nigga, can't you read?

The sign says put | all metal objects in the container.

Take your ass off. | Get on back there!

Get your ass back there.

Cheap ass.

Sh*t goin' off 'cause that sh*t cheap. | That's why it's goin' off.

My flow, my show | bought me the dough

that bought me | all my fancy things.

My cribs, my cars, | my pools, my jewels.

Nigga, I done came up | and I ain't changed.

Hold it!

You keep f***in' up | on my rhymes.

Move it along, nickel.

You wanna say somethin'?!

I ain't slapped a b*tch | in two weeks.

Yeah, I got a whole lot | of strength

in the slap-a-b*tch arm.

They had a whole bunch of dirty | magazines--bathing suit issues.

Damn! So you like that, huh? | You gonna love this.

Hold those for me, I won't be | needing those on this flight.

Girl, what you got me--

The sweet smell of Aliz.

- Hunkee? Elvis Hunkee? | - Yeah.

Karl Malone? I used to play | basketball with you in high school.

That's right. We used to call you | "The Paperboy."

Yeah, that was then. | I'm "The Mailman" now.

That's good.

My dad's a mailman, too. | Government jobs pay very well.

You don't understand, | I play for the Lakers now.

Right, Karl. I don't think | you understand.

I used to play with you, man. | You can't shoot, remember?

That's why we never | passed you the ball.

I thought it was because | I was the only brother.

No, Karl. It's 'cause you sucked!

Oh, I sucked?

What are you gonna do-- | go all "postal" on me, Mr. Mailman?

My man, what's goin' on, baby?

Ah, that's nice. | That's real nice.

I'd like to be them jeans. | Make no sense.

Excuse me. | How you doin', man?

Can I get through here, | sweetie?

What's goin' on, fellas? | My man.

When the buzzer pop, nigga, | you stop!

Do y'all know who I am?

We don't give a damn | about who you are.

Let your little ass | take one more step...

...we'll bury your ass in them fake-ass | iguana shoes you're wearin'.

Ladies, it's me. It's Nashawn Wade, | owner of this airline.

Come on, remember. | I hired y'all.

- It's him. | - There ya go.

That's a little more like it. | Thought you had amnesia.

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