WHEN Zarathustra was thirty ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ years old, he left his crib n' tha lake
of his crib, n' went tha ♥♥♥♥ into tha hills. There he chilled, n' fo' ten ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ years did not weary of dat ♥♥♥♥. But at last his heart chizzled, n' risin one mornin wit tha rosy dawn, da thug went before
the sun, n' was rappin ta it thus:
Yo ass pimped out star playa! What would yo' happinizz be, had you not da thug ass ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ that catch yo shine?

For ten ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ years have you climbed here ta mah cave: youda slept hard
of yo' light n' of tha journey, had it not been fo' me, mah main bird,
and mah crazy ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ snake, yo.

But we waited fo' you every last ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ morning, took from you yo' overflow,
and pimped you fo' dat ♥♥♥♥. Behold. Y'all KNOW dat ♥♥♥♥, ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥! I be weary of mah wisdom, like tha bee dat has gathered too much dank; I need handz outstretched ta take dat ♥♥♥♥.
I would rather give away n' distribute, until tha wise among playaz
once mo' find joy up in they ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥, n' tha skanky up in they gains.
Now I head tha ♥♥♥♥ into tha deep: as you do up in the real ♥♥♥♥♥ hours, when
you go behind tha sea, n' give light also ta tha underworld, you crazy ass ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ star!

Like you I gotta go down, as pimps say, ta whom I shall descend.
Bless me, then, you chillin eye, dat can look on even tha top billin happinizz without envy!
Bless tha cup dat be bout ta overflow, dat tha wata may flow golden
from it, n' carry everywhere tha reflection of yo' happiness!
Behold. Y'all KNOW dat ♥♥♥♥, ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥! This cup be again n' again n' again goin ta empty itself, n' Zarathustra is going
to be a playa again.
Thus ♥♥♥♥♥♥ started Zarathustraz down-going.

Zarathustra went down tha mountain alone, no one meetin his ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ass.
When he entered tha forest, however, there suddenly stood before him
an oldschool dude, whoz ass had left his holy hut ta seek roots up in tha forest fo' realz. And
thus was rappin tha oldschool playa ta Zarathustra:
"No stranger ta me is dis wanderer: nuff ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ years ago he passed by.
Zarathustra da thug was called yo, but dat schmoooove ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ has chizzled.
Then you carried yo' ashes up ta tha mountains: will you now carry
your fire tha ♥♥♥♥ into tha valleys, ♥♥♥♥♥♥? Do you not fear tha arsonistz punishment?
Yes, I recognize Zarathustra. Pure is his wild lil' ♥♥♥♥♥♥ eyes, n' no loathang lurks
around his crazy-ass grill. Do he not move like a thugged-out dancer?
Transformed is Zarathustra; Zarathustra has become a cold-ass lil child; an
awakened one is Zarathustra: what tha ♥♥♥♥ will you do up in tha land of tha chillers?
As up in tha sea have you lived up in solitude, n' it has supported you, ♥♥♥♥♥♥.
Alas, will you now go ashore, ♥♥♥♥♥♥? Alas, will you again n' again n' again haul yo' body by
yo ass?"

Zarathustra answered: "I gots a straight-up boner fo' mankind."
"Why," holla'd tha saint, "did I go tha ♥♥♥♥ into tha forest n' tha desert, ♥♥♥♥♥♥? Was it
not cuz I loved pimps far too well?
Now I gots a straight-up boner fo' God; pimps I do not love. Man be a thang too imslick for
me. Ludd of playa would be fatal ta mah dirty ass."
Zarathustra answered: "Did I rap of love, ♥♥♥♥♥♥? I be brangin a gift ta men."
"Give dem nothing," holla'd tha saint. "Instead, take part of they load,
and carry it wit dem - dat is ghon be most agreeable ta them: if only it is
agreeable ta you, nahmean ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥?
If, however, you wanna give suttin' ta them, give dem no more
than alms, n' let dem also beg fo' dat shiznit son!"
"No," replied Zarathustra, "I give no alms. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. I aint skanky enough for that."

Da saint laughed at Zarathustra, n' was rappin thus: "Then peep ta it that
they accept yo' treasures ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥! They is distrustful of hermits, n' do not
believe dat we come wit gifts.

Our footsteps sound too lonely all up in tha streets fo' realz. And at night, when
they is up in bed n' hear a playa struttin nearby long before sunrise, they
may ask theyselves: Where is dis thief going?

Do not git all up in pimps yo, but stay up in tha forest son! Go rather ta tha ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥! Why not be like me - a funky-ass bear among bears, a funky-ass bird among birds?"
"And what tha ♥♥♥♥ do tha saint do up in tha forest?" axed Zarathustra.
Da saint answered: "I make joints n' rap them; n' up in makin joints
I laugh n' weep n' growl n' hum: thus do I praise Dogg.

With rappin, weeping, laughing, growlin n' hummin do I praise
the Dogg whoz ass is mah Dogg. But what tha ♥♥♥♥ do you brang our asses as a gift?"
When Zarathustra had heard these lyrics, his thugged-out lil' punk-ass bowed ta tha saint and
said: "What should I gotta give yo slick ass?! Let me rather hurry away lest I
take suttin' away from you, nahmean ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥?" - And thus they parted from one another,
the oldschool playa n' Zarathustra, just like two bustin up thugs.

When Zarathustra was alone, however, da perved-out ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ holla'd ta his heart: "Could it
be possible?! This oldschool saint up in tha forest has not yet heard of it, dat God
is iced, ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥!"