Mack Daddy C : Mornin in Paris, y'all dig, da city getz off iz punk a** ta da bells o' ND, sho 'nuff. Da fish'man and da bake'man be doin dey thang, a da'bells o' ND, y'unstand? From da big bells be kickin like thunda', an' da li'l ones be down wiff dem psalms. An yo some boys be sayin' the soul of da city be like da toll; da toll a' ND.

(Dey be pretty d*** fly, word up - All dem phat beats an' colors, make ya feel da funk. Cuz man, dey don' do dat by thezselves, y'all dig.
Li'l C: 'Dey don't?'
Mack Daddy C: Naw, man, you dummin or somptin? Up in dat pad be chillin' som' bellringa o somptin'. Who be dis wig?
Li'l C: 'Who?'
Mack Daddy C : Whaz his freaky a** 'bout?
Li'l C: 'Wha' ?'
Mack Daddy C: Whaz his bui'ness?
Li'l C: 'Whassup?'
Mack Daddy C: Shut 'cho mouf foo - don't make me pimp slap yo' sorry a** - I'z un'drop da dime fo'ya ri'now. Iz a story 'bout a brotha an' a bizzo, y'all dig...)

Mack Daddy C: Mid'l a'da nite'z when dis pa'tey go' started rite, ona docks nex'a ND.

(Pimp Daddy Rye: 'Man, slap dat brat's mouf, boo!'
Homeskillet Rye: 'We'z un' get busted!'
Q's Mama: 'Shut' cho mouf, child!')
Mack Daddy C: Fow' crew uh gypsies waz creepin unda' da docks nex'a ND. But dem mo'fos got psyched by da Jakes, an' dey got al' trippin cuz they wuz jumped an' eyeballin' a whiteboy who 'uz copin' a 'tude mo' brick den iron a' da bells o' ND, y' down?'

(Pimp Daddy Rye: 'Yo man, peeps on JCF!')

Mac Daddy C: Cateye F wuz sprung on bustin' up all dem beefs an' make evr'thang crump. An'he be claimin' buggin allova 'cep wiff his own bui'ness.

(Cateye F: 'Man, get deez gypsy clowns ou' my face an kick dey a** a' da Palace of Justice.'
One'dem Jakes: 'Yo, skeezer, wha'chu been filchin?'
Cateye F: 'She ain't nofin bu'a booster, no diggety - grab dat s***!')

Mack Daddy C: Hoodrat ran, word!

(Q's Mama: 'Sanctuary, please give us sanctuary, an' s***!'
Cateye F: 'Uh baby? Ahhh, a monster, man whaz wid 'at?'
'Wha' thu hell y' all messin wi'?' sez da Archdeacon.
Cateye F: 'Dis here be uh wack devil - Ah'm sending it back ta hell where' belongs, you know das right!')

Brutha AD: 'See da in'cent blood ye gots spilt on'a steps o' ND?'
(Cateye F: 'You best step off, man - da 'ho bailed out, ahz jus' hummin'!')
Brutha AD: 'Now you 'un add dis here child's blood ta yo otha tripin' on da steps of ND?'
(Cateye F: 'Yo man, iz all good!')
Brutha AD: 'Ya can dupe yo'self an' all yo' locs in check, ya can say you ain't buggin; but yuh can't bounce an ye can't front from da peeps; da peeps a ND!'

Mack Daddy C: An fo' one tyme in homey's life o' bein' da bawla and livin like da man, Frollo felt uh li' bit 'o pheer fo his immortal soul.

(Cateye F: 'Whaz goin down now?'
Brutha AD: 'Man, you 'un take care dat kid and be iz daddy-word.'
Cateye F: 'Whaz wid 'at? I'z gon'be stuck wiff dis here ugly a** lookin'... A'ight. But keep da li'l clown at yo' crib.'
Brutha AD: 'What 'chew finkin, man? Where?'
Cateye F: 'Don't matter. Jus' sos he be chillin som' whey whey no'un be peepin, fo' real doe. Wha 'bout da belltower? Yo, an' a Lord werkz all wack so'z we donno whuusup. Even dis stank a** lookin thang ove 'ear gosta be def fo' somptin, man...')

Mack Daddy C: A'ight, lemme drop some science - Frollo gave 'im a hard a** soundin' name; a brick name dat be puttin' duh diss on' im, no diggety: Quasimodo. Ay yo trip: ah axe yah dis: who's playin da bizzo an who be da head brotha - sing da bells, bells, bells - man, dis jam be janky - I ain't kickin dis bunk noise 6 mo' time - (Alan) y'all is mad stupid - z'from dem bells a' ND 'z all you gotsta know, straight up.

(c) Copyright Frollosopher LM, January 1998.

(NOTE: A 'cateye' be a brutha wiff lotz dem honeys (FSMs), word.)