Tariffs! Picture that kid you grew up with—we all had one in the neighborhood. The one that talks a lot of shit when he ain’t face-to-face with his ops. When it comes to tariffs, he’s out here talking shit to our friends—the people outside the neighborhood that we still cool with.
He’s that kid that says, “Next time I see them, Imma kick they ass.” But everybody in the neighborhood already know—this boy ain’t got no hands. He’s the one you convince to go steal from the corner store just so he can feel like part of the crew. Then he secretly sneaks in the house and calls them on the phone like, “I was just playin’… please don’t beat me up.”
He’s out here sellin’ what we used to call “wolf tickets.”
“I’m imposing tariffs tomorrow!”
“No, wait—next week!”
“Nah, for real this time—next month!”
The ops (his so-called “enemies”) called his bluff. They knew he was a failure who don’t know math. He ain’t even realize 10,000 is less than 15,000—that’s how many Mexican troops was already at the border before he started braggin’ about how he “scared” the Mexican president. This the same kid that couldn’t bust a grape with a hammer. The one that wouldn’t throw rice at a wedding. But when he got the whole neighborhood backing him, suddenly he puffin’ out his chest like he tough.
The real question is—why?
Because everybody in the neighborhood know he weak. They know he’s easy to manipulate. They need a patsy and a mouthpiece. So they keep him around, never clown him too much, ‘cause one day, they might need him to take the fall.
But here’s the problem—the neighborhood ain’t the toughest in the city anymore. While the other neighborhoods been gettin’ they weight up, this one been getting softer.
This kid grows up and finds a whole group of people just like him—mediocre, bitter, and feelin’ like they the dude that had sand kicked on him at the beach. And this group? They start believing he the one who can lead them back to the “glory days.” Back when the neighborhood was just them. Back when the only outsiders were there to keep ‘em clean, fed, and comfortable.
And this week, that same punk proved it again. He made them calls, whisperin’ to real leaders, “You know I was just playin’…” but still talkin’ crazy to a dude from off the block while he got his boys behind him.
Zelensky shoulda bitch slapped him.
