Chaps, Chain

When i write,
i'm usually in my cell.

When we've been locked in,
i'm sittin' crossed legged on my bed,
sippin' some coffee.

Or in the afternoon,
again, sippin' on some coffee.

I drink a lot of coffee..

I ain't in the cell today though.

I was.

My cellie just ran into the room,
covered in sweat.

Bursting through the door,
without saying a word,
he shed his jumpsuit and leaped through
the air onto the toilet.

So i left.

Now i'm sittin' on my tier.

It's suprisingly quiet.

A lot of people have left for Jumaah prayer,
the majority of the remaining inmates are mostly
Spanish, and are tucking into their lunch.

These guys do it BIG.

whenever i walk past their cells,
someone is always preparing some
kind of next level munch.

Spicing meats, mixing sauce, chopping vegetables,
layering cakes, marinating chicken,
all kinds of shit.

I don't have the patience.

Cooking in here is a lot of effort,
in many ways.

To get a spot in line on the microwave
is BEYOND long.

In short,
if i'm gonna be mixing it up with someone,
it isn't going to be over a spot on the microwave,
just so i can nuke some bullshit that ultimately
is going to produce project molten shit from my
asshole in an hour or so..

Lau dat.

I've jumped in the Spanish whip a couple of times though.

Then i learnt my lesson.

Basically,
if you're not Spanish, they will ask you for most of the ingredients
for your meal, AND theirs, in advance.
 Then when the meals are cooked,
you are handed a pathetically small portion of food in return.

Not cool.

This happened twice.

Then i learnt my lesson.

So did they.

They did this shit to one of my partners a
couple weeks ago.

He didn't take it lightly.

After hearing from an unknown source that
they pull this bamboozlidge type of fuckrie
on the regs, he went Rambo, punched up the chef,
and Stole all his bowls
peeeeeeeeeeeer-rick!