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Gold is Old

Written by: 0-T on Jan 19th, 2003



[Jay-Z and Dame Dash are in the den, smoking cigars... they're deciding who chooses the next line of Roc-A-Wear clothing over a game of rock-paper-scissors... Bleek walks in looking extremely distressed]

Bleek: Ayo, I got a problem...

Jay: HAHA Rock beats scissors niccuuuh!

Dame: Man, I got titanium scissors... that NASA shit. It cuts through rock nigga.

Jay: How you gonna pick scissors anyway? You know I'ma go with rock. This the ROC niccuh! I always go with rock.

Dame: Whatever

Bleek: Hello??

Jay: We been playin this since 95 and I go with rock every single time.

Dame: I know... I-- I just keep thinkin you gonna switch it up and go with paper every time.

Bleek: HELLO?!?

Jay: Nigga I got enough paper, forreal.

Dame: haha no doubt. HOLLA!

Jay: HOLLA!

Bleek: YO!!

Dame: C'mon Jay, let's go another round...

Jay: You know the rules... don't be a sore loser.

Bleek: *mumbles* Oh like you was after Ether came out.

Jay: *turns to Bleek* WHAT!??

Bleek: I said... like that faggot Nas was after you killed him with Super Ugly.

Jay: Nigga what do you want?

Bleek: I was just wondering... um... if it's not too much trouble--

Jay: It is. *turns back to Dame*

Dame: HAHA Jay you wrong!

Bleek: Man when my album comin out?

Jay: When you put it out nigga.

Bleek: What?

Jay: You gonna do your cover, press up the CDs, ship 'em out to record stores?

Bleek: ... ... Nah, that's--

Jay: Then shut the fuck up and wait til we ready to.

Bleek: You foul dawg. You know that ain't right. I been down since day one.

Jay: Bleek, don't I let you drive the best cars... rock all the best jewelry?

Bleek: They all your old stuff! I want my own shit, this gold not even in style no more man.

Jay: Oh, it's not in style? Well give it back then *motions for Bleek to give him his ring*

Bleek: *clutches onto his ring like Smeagol* Nah, it's cool. I just want what everybody--

Freeway: *walks in and starts talking over Bleek* What up Jay, Dames..

Jay and Dame: HOLLA!

Freeway: Ayo, I gotta kill a witness. My beard was stickin out.

Dame: AGAIN??

Freeway: Yeeeeeaaaah

Dame: Aight, just tells Biggs. He'll take care of it. Don't even sweat that.

Freeway: Cool... *turns to Bleek*

Bleek: what up man

Freeway: *turns to Jay and Dame* HAHAHA

Jay and Dame: HAHAHA

Freeway: *walks away laughing*

Bleek: See man, niggas don't even show me respect. When I had that witness problem, y'all niggas made me handle it myself.

Jay and Dame: *turn away from Bleek and start discussing trivial shit*

Bleek: Man I'm tired of this shit! I'ma start my own label... and then I'ma be the boss. I'ma be the controller of my own destiny. Then... then I won't have to answer to nobody.

[After 15 minutes of ranting, Bleek finally looks up and realizes he's no longer in the den at all. The conveyor belt under the carpet has dragged him across the house and out the back door.]



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