homie and bob marley

so we have mad boys who live on my street.
if not for my love of college-aged men, almost all of them could get it, reaaaal talk.
they all dark chocolate skinned and they all fine.
but they also are all ghetto as all get out.
and if you know me, i do not do ghetto well.
i've tried, i really have.
but my ignorance level only goes so high.
i can only speak ebonics for so long before my brain starts to hurt.
plus my mother is starting to issue demerits for slang.
and i have no money, yo.
*demerit*
i am impecunious at this current point in time.
but anyway, the two main ones are...well, i don't know their names.
me and deren named them homie ('cause he looks like a homie) and his friend is bob marley. he used to have twists, but he cut them off, but the name's stuck now.
so they stare me down every time they see me. maybe because when i first got a car (RIP MR. CAR!) i was kinda not seriously hypothetically tryna run them down...they shoulda got out the street, shoot. always wanna play the game craze that's sweeping the nation: throw the ball across the street at each other. i don't see the appeal.
when you see a civic and a be-afro'd driver coming down the road, MOVE. GET OUT THE WAY.
as deren has said, i am crazy and i will hit a kid. and not look back to see what i hit. just drive away like "was that a bump? huh."
but i finally talked to homie the other day. i wish deren had been there, 'cause we had money that they didn't know how to talk.
so i'm just like: why y'all mean mug me?
homie: huh?
me: whyyy do y'all mean mug me?
homie: you always staring.
i ain't have a rebuttal to that.
it's true.
*shamefaced*
ah well.