MY BOOTY: FIRE SIGNS AND BIZARRO TALES

This here's the gritty side of things. The part where shadows dance, whispers travel faster than a runaway train, and truth gets twisted like a crooked metal fence. We're talkin' stash, ain't no two ways 'bout it. The kind that makes your heart race harder and your palms sweat. We got smoke signals flashing in the night, telling secrets nobody else