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Four score n' seven muthafuckin years ago our fathers brought forth on dis continent, a freshly smoked up nation, conceived up in Liberty, n' all bout tha proposizzle dat all pimps is pimped equal.

Now we is engaged up in a pimped out civil war, testin whether dat nation, or any hood so conceived n' so dedicated, can long endure. We is kicked it wit on a pimped out battle-field of dat war. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Our thugged-out asses have come ta dedicate a portion of dat field, as a gangbangin' final restin place fo' dem playas whoz ass here gave they lives dat that hood might live. Well shiiiit, it be altogether fittin n' proper dat we should do all dis bullshit.

But, up in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- dis ground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da brave men, livin n' dead, whoz ass struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our skanky juice ta add or detract. Da ghetto will lil note, nor long remember what tha fuck we say here yo, but it can never forget what tha fuck they did here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Well shiiiit, it is fo' our asses tha living, rather, ta be dedicated here ta tha unfinished work which they whoz ass fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Well shiiiit, it is rather fo' our asses ta be here all bout tha pimped out task remainin before our asses -- dat from these honored dead we take increased devotion ta dat cause fo' which they gave tha last full measure of devotion -- dat our crazy asses here highly resolve dat these dead shall not have took a dirt nap up in vain -- dat dis nation, under God, shall gotz a freshly smoked up birth of freedom -- n' dat posse of tha people, by tha people, fo' tha people, shall not perish from tha earth.