Judy and Tupac, together at last

I wrote this as a challenge — to incorporate Judy Garland and Tupac Shakur in one work — a few months back for Brandon. I'm posting it here for my friend KJ, who wanted to read it ...

Niggaz be friends with Dorothy, too

Listen up, homiez if you got a limp wrist
and I'll tell you of all the hot faggots I kissed.
But you look at me and say, "This can't be right.
You're a gangsta muthafucka and you're black as night."
You may not believe it, but I tell you it's true:
Niggaz be friends with Dorothy, too.

Lovin' that ghetto booty every night and day,
but around here we don't use the word gay.
That's the kind of word that gets your ass capped.
So sit down and listen to a tale that's quite apt:
I present the love story of Biggie and Tupac.
It's a love that will outlast the blast of the Glock.

They were ready for life before they were ready to die.
Pac saw the sun and stars when he looked in homey's eyes.
In the bedroom, he discovered what was notoriously big.
And his ass could take as much as Big could give.
But they knew their albums wouldn't sell for a love of cock,
so Biggie went and started a feud with Tupac.

They met in secret crack dens as publicly they fought;
but in private, they always shared all the drugs they bought.
Their bodies raged as hot together as a burning crack pipe,
and their entourages began believing all of the East-West hype.
But it was finding out the truth that led to that deadly day:
When they were sentenced to die for the crime of being gay.

Big's homiez had come by with 40 fourties in their cooler,
and enough gold on their bodies to self-employ a jeweler.
They wanted to watch the game but the two were occupied.
Big was fucking Tupac while the bitch lay on his side.
They shot Tupac that day and warned Biggie he could be next,
if he fornicated again with a member of the same sex.

Of course, all of Tupac's men then swore their revenge.
So Biggie said fuck it and went off to fuck again.
Then he went to L.A. to present the Soul Train award.
Somehow Biggie knew he'd soon be off to see his Lord.
The man in the bow tie shot him and he said "Oh well,
I'm off to find Tupac, in the skies of Heaven or in the pits of Hell."

And to this day this story brings a tear to my eye —
one of joy, despite all the reasons I have to cry:
Livin' in the ghetto, offering my ass for all the cocks.
Will it be a pistol or AIDS that puts me in that box?"
I don't care because I stare at death, and I gloat.
I'm a ghetto faggot with a 10-incher down my throat.

So take them stereotypes and shove up your lubed hole.
I don't want any stank pussy, just give me a long pole.
And what I would have given to see Judy at Carnegie Hall,
sittin' next to Tupac and his special friend Biggie Smalls.
That's OK because I tell you that it's true:
Niggaz be friends with Dorothy, too.