After months of watching the building slowly grow everyday on my way to work, overwhelming amounts of hype from Cali natives and first-time visitors in Texas and fear of passing out while waiting in the sweltering heat in drive-thru lines, the God finally tried In-N-Out burger. I slithered into the building and was greeted As-Salamu Alaykum by a young man dressed like the Good Humor man. I copped the #2 joint and waited for 10 minutes, like an AIDS test what's the results, not positive like Nas told me. The cheeseburger was cool, the fries. Nah, just struggle sticks. What these establishments fail to realize is that fries will make or break the whole meal. I can't fully enjoy a hot cheeseburger with a basket of fries that look like #2 pencil shavings. And then don't get me started on the drank selection. Pink lemonade tasted like an tall, ice-cold refreshing cup of Faboloso sweetened with Splenda. Nah, the God couldn't rock with that at all. Also, I saw OG, had to be at least 65 years old. Draped in the finest gear EBT food stamps can buy from CitiTrends. Son was in a red blankface villain fitted hat, a West Coast Customs lookin' ass plaid shirt, red Dickies shorts (starched down of course), knee-high striped Dr. J socks and a pair of 3M Jordan 6 Rings. And to polish off the outifit, a Brick Squad chain. Son looked like the gentleman in "The Players Club" in the wheelchair with the bazooka in a hip-hop video. But anyways, I gotta wrap this shit up, I gotta other shit to do like scrub all traces and remnants of this Lil' B "Grove St. Party" verse off my iPod.
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