Krayzie Bone The Messenger (skit) Lyrics

The Messenger (skit) Lyrics

[A restaurant. Muzak 

playing in the background.] 


The Messenger 

(Krayzie): 

Aw shit. Excuse me 

man, excuse me. 

Waiter: 

Uh, yes 

sir? 

The 

Messenger: 

Could you tell me where the 

payphone at in here or somethin'? 

Waiter: 

Certainly. Back 

there by the wine racks. 

The 

Messenger: 

All right, thanks a 

lot. Thank you, thank you. 

Waiter: 

Oh, you're 

welcome sir. 

The Messenger (to 

himself): 

Shit. It's a classy-ass, muthaf**kin' 

restaraunt. Know this muthaf**ka got the money, 

punk-muthaf**ka. Shit. 

[Pick's up phone. Dialtone. Puts in 

money and dials. It rings at the other end.]. 

Person on other end of 

phone--his contact: 

Hello? 

The 

Messenger: 

Yeah, 

hello? 

Contact: 

What's 

happenin'? 

The 

Messenger: 

Yeah, I'm in the 

muthaf**kin' spot now, man . . . 

Contact: 

He there? 

The 

Messenger: 

. . . I don't see nobody yet, but I 

know the nigga'll be here. He got reservations. 

Contact: 

All right, handle 

your business. 

The 

Messenger: 

I think I see his broad 

comin' in right now . . . 

Contact: 

Right on 

time. 

The 

Messenger: 

. . . so don't worry about shit. I'm a handle this 

nigga, man. This nigga in a classy-ass, muthaf**kin' 

restaurant; I know this 

nigga got the muthaf**kin' money. 

Don't worry about shit, I'm a have it. All right? 

Contact: 

No mercy, 

nigga. 

The 

Messenger: 

All right. 

[Hangs up phone.] 


Broad: 

Excuse me. 

Waiter: 

Uh, yes 

ma'am. 

Broad: 

I have a 

reservation. It's for Jones 

Waiter: 

For Jones? Let me see here for a minute. Oh yes, 

Mr. Jones called. He said, he is running late, but I 
 

am to seat you now. 

Broad: 

Okay, thank 

you. 

Waiter: 

Follow me this way. Here you go ma'am. Um, 

would you like to start with something to drink while 

you wait? 

Broad: 

Do you have a 

Chardonnay? 

Waiter: 

Most certainly--coming right up. Oh, and uh, 

here is Mr. Jones right now. Hi, Mr. Jones how are 

you this evening. 

Mr. Jones: 

Hey, what's up? 

What's up? What's up? 

Broad: 

Hi, baby. 

Mr. Jones: 

Hey, baby. 

Damn. 

Broad: 

Baby, what took you so long? I been 

just waitin' and waitin'. This is a nice place. 

Mr. Jones: 

Yeah, its cool. It's 

cool. Did you order yet? 

Broad: 

No, baby. I was 

waitin' on you. . . . Baby? 

Mr. Jones: 

What? What's 

happenin'? 

Broad: 

That guy's been staring 

at me since I've sat down. 

Mr. Jones: 

What dude? 

Broad: 

You know 

him? 

Mr. Jones: 

What dude? 

Broad: 

That guy over 

there. 

Mr. Jones: 

Over where? 

Aw, shit! 

Broad: 

Baby, what's 

wrong? 

Mr. Jones: 

Damn, don't worry about it! Jus-- 

Damn! Just--, just be cool, just be cool. 

Broad: 

Baby, he's walkin' 

over here now! 

Mr. Jones: 

Oh, shit! 

Broad: 

Baby, he's--, baby 

he's goin' in his jacket. 

The 

Messenger: 

Message for Mr. 

Jones, muthaf**ka! 

Broad: 

Oh, Shit! 

[Admist a massive array of 

gunfire and commotion:] 

Mr. Jones: 

Cover your 

head. 

The 

Messenger: 

Punk muthaf**ka! Punk 

muthaf**ka! [Gunfire ceases.] 

f**k you! Get the f**k out my 

way! Get the f**k out my way! 

[More 

gunfire.] 

f**k you! Get the f**k out my 

way. Get the f**k out my way. 

Bystander: 

My leg! My 

leg!