It's da chronic mothafuckas!

I gotz a homeboy a few gopher holes down named Tyrone. Weze known each other forever and when weze wuz kidz we be gettin into all sortza trouble together. With me being busy with the rappin and the pimpin I aint seen Tyrone in a long time. I went and seen him and my bro has got the shit all worked out. He dug a gopher hole way the hell outz in the middle of nowhere and he set up an underground hydroponic operation. And youze best believin he aint growin no flowers or any of that shit.

My man Tyrone is growin a crop of whatz gonna be the finest weed around. I knowz everyone be talkin about British Columbia weed and how itz the best and I aint gonna dispute that. But Tyrone is on his game and when he startz somethin he aint stoppin until itz done right. For example, he jacked the electricity for the hydro gear from the farmer. I be doin that allz the time but every once in a while the farmer finds out, pulls the plug and my turntable aint turn no more until I getz set up again. But Tyrone be jackin electricity forever and he aint ever been caught. He just be real careful about where he jackin from and he be spendin a lot of time hidin the electrical wirez and all that shit.

So, sooner or later Tyrone gonna be harvestin a massive crop of ganja. When he do that, of course first thing right off weze gonna be blazin one fatass joint -and probably watch The Big Lebowski again. That shit is dope. After that though, Tyrone gotz to be moving his merchandise from his gopher hole to his customers. Tyrone aint down with selling no chronic to other gopherz, but he aint gotz no problem sellin to the other farm animalz and the to crackerz on the outside. Tyrone's got a problem though - distribution. He aint got no way to move the product. You be knowin and he be knowin, that the DJ is all over that. Just last week I went up to the farmhouse and jacked me a vehicle. Once of the farmer's kids left his radio-controlled jeep outside. When it got dark, I rolled in, hotwired it and brung it back to the gopher hole. The farmer probably thought his dumbass kid just lost it. He bought the kid another vehicle and I jacked that one too! I figurez that me, the jeep and a shipment of Tyrone's chronic be lookin something like this

You know what? Iz gonna be rollin like Ricky, Julian and Bubbles from The Trailer Park Boys mothafuckas! Plus I gotz cash coming in from the ho's and my rhymin is gettin tighter every day. pretty soon iz gonna have all the cash and chronic I could ever want. This niggaz is on da move!

A message to all youze trick-ass Toronto mothafuckas: back off my tip biatch!

Yo niggaz. A while ago I wrapped up a demo tape of my dopest rhymes and sent them off to some record studioz. There aint no record studioz in Saskatchewan so Iz sent them off to a few in Toronto, Ontario. After I sent them off I aint heard nuttin fo a long time. So finally I called them up and asked them what the deal was with my demos. They allz be saying the same thing - they likes my rhymes but they don't think my sound polished enough yet. Polished enough? Yo studio mothafuckas - iz be record my demo tapes in a goddamn gopher hole. Of course it aint gonna be polished. I gotz to worry about the farmer findin out that iz jackin his electricity, the goddamn cows mooing, people interrupting me etc. What the fuck is up with theze punk-ass cracker Toronto mothafuckas? If I wasn't some broke-ass nigga gangsta rapper from the praries fo sure they be signing me already. It's goddamn discriminalization. Goddamn martini sippin Ontario cracker fools. Maybe I should head up to Ontario and sort them out just like this:

That's right Toronto mothafuckas. You keep fuckin with DJ Stubblejumper and one day you gonna be walkin down Yonge Street and lookz up and you seez me putting the A to the mothafuckin K. Biatch!

Yo dawgz! Stick it to Da Man!

Tryin to make a livin theze dayz aint eazy. Especially if some punk-ass mothafucka iz alwayz on yo case and aint ever let up. Itz even harder if youze a gopher tryin to break outta the farm. Some peoplez be helpin you bust outta the hood and help you make it to the big time. But otherz dont want youze to go nowhereze. They be doin everythin they can to keep you under their feet. Iz talking about Da Man. Everywherez you be goin Da Man tryin to keep you down. If youze just a broke-ass nigga gopher from the hood, Da Man aint gonna do nuttin for you. Nuttin. On the farm, Da Man is the farmer.

Farmers are a bunch of racist cracker mothafuckas who aint give a shit about anyone on the farms except demselves and their family. Slavery be outlawed everywhere except for on the farm. On the farm, slavery aint just legal, it's a way of life. Da Man gots slaves everywhere - cows, chickens, pigs etc. And they be doin exactly what the farmer sez or else they get popped. Sometimez they be doin exactly what theze supposed to be doing but still they be getting popped!

Gophers like me ain't no slaves but we aint free either. Da Man can just cap a gopher anytimez he be wantin to and their aint no goddamn thing weze can do about it. Goin to the po-lice aint gonna do a damn thing cuz the whole system iz setup to protect and serve Da Man. I aint goin out like a sucka though. If some punk-ass farmer ever be tryin some bullshit with me I be takin him out gangter style. Just like Public Enemy sez, fight the power. I'll jack his mothafuckin John Deere tractor, ride up to the farmhouse and cap him and his whole goddamn racist mothafucka family. Don't fuck with a nigga gopher from the hood biatch!

Step off punk-ass mothafuckas! I ain't goin down like dat!

Yo Gs. It only been a few dayz since DJ Stubblejumper introduced his pimp-daddy playa hussla door to door ho delivery service. Already some punk-ass mothafuckas gotz to be trying to play me. I wuz makin a ho delivery to Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan when some mothafucka by the side of the road flagged me down. It looked like their car wuz havin problemz soze I stopped to help them out. Youze probably knowz that gopherz be a social animal so Iz feel an obligation to help out anyone than be havin troublez - even some redneck whitebread cracker mothafuckas. Howeva, when I stopped my car and got out, theze mothafuckas tried to grab the ho and jack the car. Aint nobody gonna gank a gangster rapper like DJ Stubblejumper!

I hussled over to the first cracker and ran up his leg and didn't stop until I got to his face and bit that cracker until he be bleeding. He be yellin and screamin and started rollin around on the ground. I jumped off and watched him suffer. Damn it felt good broz. The second mofo dun saw what happened and jumped in his car and yelled to the first mofo to get in. I let the first mofo go and they both sped off. I aint no sucka and Iz figurin they might be comin back wit some friendz. So, I grabbed my ho, tossed her in the back seat of the car to keep her safe and I grabbed my gun out of the trunk. It wuz time to put the A to the mothafuckin K. I walked up the road and bit and dug me a little foxhole at the nearest intersection. If thoze mothafuckas came back the wuz gonna get popped. I let the ho out of the backseat for a few minutez - just long enough for her to take a photo of me:

Aint no South Central gangbanging niggaz or Tony Montana or anybody eva looked as tough as I do here. Damn!

I waited for half an hour and finally I heard a car be approaching. I stood up (DJ Stubblejumper aint duckin fo no punk-ass cracker mothafuckas) and got ready to fire. This nigga had his finger on the trigger when the car came into view. It was the same car as befo and full of mofo crackers. The car stopped at the intersection and I screamed "THIS IS FOR HUEY NEWTON MOTHAFUCKAS!" I opened fire and the AK ripped the car apart. The crackers tried to speed away but I dun blew away their tires. They jumped out of the car and hid in the ditch. I yelled again, "YO MOTHAFUCKAS! HOW YA LIKE ME NOW?"

I kept firing away until the clip was empty. The car was just a pile of swiss cheeze metal by then. I popped in another clip in case the crackers tried somethin. I waited for a while and I couldn't hear nuttin. I walked over to my car and jumped in. The ho in the back seat was going bezerk. I told her to shut the fuck up or she would be next. You best believe she aint say nuttin after that. I wuz temped to go over and cap all dem whitebread mofos right then and there but sometimez bidness comes first. I wuz late deliverin the ho and I needed to get goin. As I drove by the place where the crackers wuz hidin I let out one round and yelled out the window, "Lesson learned mothafuckas. Don't mess with us hardcore Prince Albert niggaz. Weze be playin fo keeps." I drove off and not one of the crackers even had the gutz to pop his head out of the ditch. Coward mothafuckas.

After I reached the drop-off point of da ho, she begged me to let her take another photo of me. Ya see, the DJ Stubblejumper is located on such a refined sexilicious plane of existence of magnitude that all da ladiez be wantin a piece - even if the piece just be a photograph.

Pimps up, ho's and whitebread crackers down mothafuckas!

Here come the ho's!!!

Aight mothafuckas! I dun told you befo that DJ Stubblejumper be coming at y'alls with some prime cut ho's. I gotz to make some money as a playa and a pimp to support my career as a rhyme saya. I also told you befo I only be dealin with the hi-society Saskatchewan ho's. I aint down wit them skanky Manitoba bitches. I spend allz sortza time this spring travellin round the province makin deals and gatherin up a whole bushel of hot ho's. I gotz some people lookin after them and now theyze in prime shape and Iz gonna introduce you to them. Here we go.


First up here is a ho out of North Battleford who goes by the name of Luscious. She is f-i-n-e fine. I guarantee that if you spend a night with Luscious, she will grind away until he sun comez up. She gotz the skillz and the stamina. She can also suck a bowling ball through a garden hose.


Next up is two sisters named Sugar and Spice (that's Sugar on the left and Spice on the right). I met them on 20th street in Saskatoon and I gotz to tell y'all that theze two bitches are the bomb. The bomb. They took me back to their crib and did shit to me that is probably illegal everywherez except Bangkok. Believe the hype!



Next up is Luan whoze from parents immigrated from China - they now livez in Regina. Yeah I even gotz Asian bitches for you. You luckee, she suckee. Aw yeah!


Ya, youze know DJ Stubblejumper is the man wit the plan. Ize even gotz the shaved bitches fo yallz!

Last on the menu is Samantha. I met her at a hotel bar in Prince Albert and Iz can tell ya she is down for anythin. And I mean anythin. You wanna dress her up in some school girl outfit and get yo freak on? She down wit that. You wanna do some crazy mothafucka S&M shit. You best believe she down wit that - and she likes it.

Let me know tell y'allz that these ho's is the hi-est quality you eva dun seen! I gotz some 4H kidz lookin after them makin sure they stayz in prime condition. Theyz clean, well fed and alwayz be in da mood for some hot, hot sexiness.

I youze be interested in anyone of these fine ladiez just drop me a line and I'll hook you up. I can even deliver straight do your door.

Pimps up, ho's down mothafuckas!

Wass up Niggaz? This iz DJ Stubblejumper, with a message for yallz: Pimps up, ho’s down!

Yallz know that DJ Stubblejumper is kickin the mad flava on the stage. Iz spinnin rhymes that aint nobody heard before. Theze rhymes be so goddamn dope that Iz should be eatin my grits off of gold records by now. But I aint – yet. So, until my DJ skillz can pay the bills I gotz to branch out. Iz become an entrepreneurial bidnessman. Don’t yallz be dissin me. I aint down wit that stock market Enron cracker bullshit. Iz gonna partake in the only kind of bidness that a fly gopher like me gotz to be in wit. What kind of bidness youze askin? Iz now a motherfuckin pimp! That’s right yallz - Iz now bein a DJ and a pimp on the side. A old school goddamn prarie ho hussla! And youze gotz to know I aint dealin wit no ugly rundown gap teeth crack ho bitches. The DJ only be dealin wit the highest quality Saskatchewan ho’s. The DJ is a hi-class mothafucka all the way and that includes the pimpin and the ho’s. If I aint down wit puttin no generic brand peanut butter in my PB&J youze gotz to know I aint puttin no second-hand ho's in my pimpin bidness.

I knowz yallz be havin some questions like “Who you be pimpin to?” and “Where you be getting these fine, fine ho’s?” and “Where can I be gettin some?” First of all, Iz be pimpin to anyone wit the class and the money who be wantin to realize some sexuallatory adventures wit the finest ho’s on the praries. Second of all, Iz be finding these hi-society ho’s from all over Saskatchewn. Iz gotz such a solid rep as a DJ that the ho’s be knowin my pimpin bidness be hi-class. I now got ho’s be comin from North Battleford, Moose Jaw, Regina, Saskatoon, Prince Albert, etcetera. As for location, the bidness be delivery only for now until I getz some other details worked out.

Iz now busy gettin the pimpin bidness up to my hi standards. But, I knowin you want to see a little piece of the action so in the next few dayz I be postin some pics of the hottest ho’s you eva done seen! Damn!

Wass up niggaz? This is DJ Stubblejumper wit a story you aint gonna believe.

DJ Stubblejumper is in the joint. Thats right. The goddamn mothafuckin joint. The po-lice dun set me up again. They just cant stands a gopher like me bein a successful entrepreneur. Theze trying to keep me down homiez. I aint do nuttin wrong and sez I didnt do nuttin but them mothafuckas just dont lissen. A fews weeks ago the pigz came to the farm looking for a suspect the sez jacked a car in Prince Albert. They said it was a gopher that dun it and had a description. When they came to the farm most of the gophers hid in their holes but I ain’t scared of no po-lice. They roughed us up and we all had to line up against the side of the barn. They took four of us to the station for a lineup. I wuz protesting because I aint do nothing but they just sayin we look like the suspect. I told him that wuz bullshit. The cracker mothafucka po-lice thinking we gophers all be lookin the same. Goddamn racialism again. At the po-lice station youze can guess what happened. We wuz all in the line-up and it dont take not time before I get popped. I didn’t do a goddamn thing and I get still get locked up on some bullshit. Goddamn! Whats a gopher got to do to get some justice? I wuz in court and that wuz mo bullshit. The judge be going on and on about some legal bullshit that dont make no difference cuz I aint do nuthin. He told me he wuz gonna send me up for a while to teach me a lesson. What lesson? That youze a racist? Yeah, lesson learned honkey mothafucka.

So next the shipped me off to the joint and damn was it tough. The first day I wuz there some big tattooed motherfucker done try and take my lunch tray. If you knowz DJ Stubblejumper, you knowz aint nobody come between me and my food. I broke that mothafucka down right then and there. It was so goddamn fast the guards didn’t even see what happened. The second day some other punk ass bitch try and pull some mo bullshit and I broke him down too. After that I wuz getting props from the other prisoners. I may be small but Iz one mean prarie mothafucka.

I got put on library detail which is cool cuz I get a chance to gets some mo knowledge and I also gets to use a computer which is howz I be writin this today. It aint all good though. The punk ass motha I broke down at lunch befo has gotz some friends whose gonna try something. I gots to be on my toes since I ain’t going down like that. Aint nobody gonna take me out in the joint. No goddamn way.

DJ Stubblejumper in the house, mothafuckas!

Wass up niggaz? This iz DJ Stubblejumper in the house, mothafucka! My main man Fluwten McGunch (that’s Mr. Gunch to you punk-ass biatches) hooked me up here on this blog so Iz gonna be posting every once in a while. I won’t be posting as often as Fluwten does because I ain’t gots the time - Iz too busy slingin rhymes and dropping phat beats on yo mama’s fat ass to do this shit every day.

So, the question you gots to be asking yoself right now is who is this badass fly mothafucka named DJ Stubblejumper? I’ll tell straight up I am the dopest, phattest goddamnest mothafuckin gopher you eva done seen. Iz be representing Prince Albert, Saskatchewan. That’s right fools. You gots to know us PA niggaz are hard as steel. Weze so goddamn hard we gots to buy kelvar diapers for the gopher babies. We gots kids in preschool here whoze be bustin more caps than the pigs at the LAPD. This shit is real fool. Don’t you dare be laughin/Or yo punk ass I be capping. Shiiiiiit - Iz aint even trying to drop rhymes and they still be flowing like honey. Damn!

Anywayz, since yall want to know more about me, Iz gonna tell you a story that done happened when I wuz a kid. It was December 24th, 1980. Yeah, that’s right Christmas Eve. Santa and Rudolph and all that bullshit. So, anywayz I wuz walking home late after work. I heard a noise and who do I see? Santa! Aint that something. Santa Claus is a honky whitebread cracker mothafuckin soze I knowin I waznt gonna get jack shit from him. Santa gots no love for the black man or gophers. He wuz on a roof carrying his bag full of toys and shit. He headed down the chimney to deliver it to the chump crackers in the house. I wazn’t feelin that shit. I ran over to the house and climbed up the downspout for the eaves trough. When I got to the top I pulled myself over the edge I saw them reindeer right in front of me. They saw me and Rudolph asked me what I was doing on the roof. I walked up to Rudolph and pulled out my Glock. I thought that punk-ass fool was going to shit right there. I told the reindeer to get the fuck out of dodge or I wuz gonna have to bust a cap. Those little reindeer bitches took off in a flash.
I walked over to the chimney and waited. About ten minutes later I could here that fat-ass Santa coming up the chimney. When his head poked out of the top I stick my Glock in his face. I said, “Merry Christmas mothafucka. Here’s what’s goin down Whitey. I’m jackin’ you for your bag of toys. You’ze gonna step out of the chimney nice and slow like and drop the bag. Then you’ze gonna get the fuck out of here. You make one wrong move and it’s on. This is one gopher you don’t wants to be fucking with fool.”

Santa done shit his pants right then and there. Damn it stunk. Anywayz, he dropped the bag and took of. Probably to go find some clean underwear. I grabbed the bag and headed home. When I got back to the hood everyone went crazy. We aint used to getting presents and shit in the projects. I was a goddamn mothafuckin hero. Santa done learned an important lesson that day: don’t mess with a gopher from the projects. Biatch!