My Little N i g g e r
You can call me Mr. M a j o r or âdaddyâ M a j o r. Iâm writing this to clarify the stuff written about my little n I g g e r Lawrence or Larry. I know heâs a problem for folks and some of you unlucky ones who have to be around him in Omaha. I managed to knock up his momma, who was a alcoholic crack whore. So from the beginning he wasnât wanted. He was a chubby little squat. In fact his titties was bigger than his mommaâs when he was a boy. But I could see that when he was a little baby, he was gonna be a problem. Thatâs one reason I left. I didnât want to believe he came from my loins. He used to get in fights, but only when somebody else was there to protect him. His life of crime started early when he stole money from me from my wallet. He went on to stealing hubcaps, breaking windows and stealing from stores. He was sent to Boys Town, but I was gone then and from what Iâve read, heâs still a miserable little bastard. I know heâs diabetic, but still drinks too much anyway which makes him even worse. Them folks have to deal with a drunken loud mouth that runs around crying racism all the time. I know I wouldnât hire him if I ran a business. He was, is, and will always be just a scum punk.
I donât envy anybody thatâs around my little n I g g e r. Iâve said my peace.