hot & complicated {like rabies, only better}

I was walking home from the grocery store the other evening when the pleasant silence of my neighborhood was broken by some serious freestyle rap. I saw the classy rapping gentleman on the opposite corner, and seeing as how he decided to follow me and project his voice in my direction, I could only assume some of his improv lyrics were directed towards me. This is how he flowed:
“Man, f**k your s**t, all of that s**t. Ah, man, f**k this s**t. All of your stress. Can’t handle my stress. Yeah, f**k your s**t.”
I guess he was referring to my Skinny Cow Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream Sandwiches in my bag.
Sorry dude, that’s just how I do things.
I was about to hit with some of my own rap, Mr. Show style: