The Ignoramus known as Plies

I mean really, what can I say? He roasts himself each time he opens his nasty ass mouth. The only time I was able to sit through a full four minutes of this soundtrack from a modern day minstrel was the first time that I heard his “Bust it Baby.” I sat there listening in a stupidity-induced coma as my ears were raped and my time and brain cells were stolen. And believe me, I want to press charges.

And then this fool comes out with this new song “Becky.” I was totally bothered upon hearing this trash, but imagine my irritation when I found out exactly what Becky is. (I dare not say here. But Google “What is Becky plies” and you too will know if you don’t already). Let’s just say if someone was hollerin’ at me like Plies for some Becky, all demanding and such, the next thing he would be hollerin’ for is an ambulance.

I really did not want to even give him the time of day in my blog; however, my abhorrence for this guy is so strong, I could not leave him unroasted.

And with that, we roast:

Plies, Radio had a better looking grill than you. Made more sense than you too. Boom. Roasted.

Plies, the sooner you do something to get yourself locked up, the better off the music industry will be. Boom. Roasted.

Plies, please don’t reproduce. It must stop somewhere. Boom. Roasted.

Plies, your real name is Algernod Lanier Washington. Boom. Roasted.

Plies, you set Black folks back 150 years. Thanks! Signed, the “Man.” Boom. Roasted.

Plies, Juvenile called and said he gonna fuck you up for telling everybody you was him so you could get your foot in the front door. Boom. Roasted.

Plies, the devil called. He said he’s using your music to set the mood for hell. Does he owe you royalties? Boom. Roasted.

Plies, maybe if you pose as Kirk Franklin you can get into heaven after all. Boom. Roasted. (See below)