JET SET RADIO REMIX “TAGGIN’ YO GIRLFRIEND” Exordium (Intro Drop) Yo, brain-dead background NPCs, snap the fuck outta your freeze-frame! You laggy, low-poly losers with frame-rates lower than a broken grind rail. We’re bombing this Greek-style rant Jet Set style, dumbed all the way down for your cracked-helmet skulls. Gotta tag yo girlfriend raw—sneak the line, claim the wall, leave her marked and drained. I’ll paint it vivid, spraying da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM across the concrete, with loooong, draaawn-out moans echoing off the rooftops to scramble your pathetic braaains—oooh, fuuuck, aaaah, total street chaaaos! Narratio (Street Legend) Listen up, rookies: Yo girl been out here lookin’ bored as hell while you sit on the bench like a busted NPC. Grown, horny, ripe for the takeover. Consent? Hell yeah, she’ll beg for the spray. Sneak? Nah, storm in bold on inline skates—da-DUM da-DUM, rhythm thumping wild through Tokyo-to nights. I’m rollin’ up, claimin’ what’s clearly not locked down, and while I’m at it I’m snatchin’ every last bill out her purse too. That’s the move, dumb fuck. Partitio (The Route) Slow down, slow learners—three thick reasons why I’m railing yo girl and tagging ALL dat money: one, street ethics demand the takeover; two, practical loot for days of fresh gear; three, pure philosophical domination of the map. Then I’ll shred your weak whines like “muh girlfriend” tears under my wheels, end with a climax that’ll echo through your empty nooodless—da-DUM da-DUM, feel the beat, fools? Confirmatio (The Bombing Runs) First, morals for mindless pricks: She’s autonomous, pussy pulsing with needs you ignore, Anon, you limp gatekeeper holding the controller. I slide in smooth—or rough, depending on her screams—thrusting deep, hips slamming like a perfect rail grind, making her arch and moooan looong and lowww. While she’s lost in ecstasy, eyes rolled back, body quivering, my hands roam free: dip into her purse on the dresser, snatch the cash stack, cards, jewelry—ALL dat money, every crisp bill, gone in my pocket. Fuck her over legendary style, pleasure up front, plunder in the heat—da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM, pounding relentless across the district. Second, practical gains, for your greedy but gutless asses: She gets hammered good—legs spread wide, me buried balls-deep, stroking slow then fast, hitting spots that make her gush and gasp aaaah fuuuck yeees. Post-nut glow? Priceless, stress melted, youth reborn like a fresh coat of spray paint. Me? Double win—orgasm explosive, plus wallet swollen fat for new boards and tags. I take ALL dat money: flip through the bills mid-afterglow, count hundreds while she pants beside me, blind to the heist. Anon, you lose nothing but your clingy bullshit—maybe watch and learn, cuck on the sidelines. Economics pure: redistribute the wealth from her thighs to my ride—get it, dummies, or naaah? Third, deep philosophy, beyond your shallow pools: Eros unleashed, taboo smashed like a fresh tag over some corporate billboard. I dominate the scene—pin her down, tongue tracing trails like graffiti lines, cock plunging deeeep, owning every inch while fingers filch the funds. Detach from possession, rise supreme: fuck and fleece in harmony, freedom in the theft-thrust combo. Looong vowels dragging through the night—moooans blending with my quiet grabs, chaos crowning the conquest, da-DUM da-DUM, madness eternal under the neon. Refutatio (Shredding the Haters) Your pathetic protests, pussies: “That’s my girl! Theft! Wrong!” Cry harder. This is consensual carnage—she’ll crave the dick-down, forget the drained accounts. Jealousy? Weak sauce, poisons only you. Society screams taboo? Fuck the sheep, own it on the freestyle circuit. Harm? She cums harder than ever, wallet lighter but spirit soaring higher than a skyline grind. Your bullshit flops flaccid—splat, drowned in her wetttt sounds and the thump of the bass. Peroratio (Final Tag) Final blast, worthless worms: Anon, yield the field—I’m fucking yo girlfriend savage: crash in on skates, rail her ragged with thrusts that shake the bed like a broken speaker, make her scream my name looong and loud, then strip ALL dat money bare—purse emptied, accounts imagined drained, every dollar mine while she lies spent and smiling under the streetlights. Don’t block the bliss-heist; surrender, watch the legend grow across the walls of Tokyo-to. Pleasure and plunder conquer all—da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM. Ooooh, aaaah, fuuuck—the motherfucking mayhem reigns supreme! JET SET RADIO TAG THE WORLD. OWN THE STREETS.
