[Solo Intellect:]
Yeah
Hey yo... Solo
Coming to the stage we got $tevie Adam$, man, fuck Stacey
Coming with that Kamehame-HA flow, straight from Homewood: home of the hoes who come and do the whole hood
PSA, tell everybody, n***a "this an emergency." Call the police, he definitely ain't playing with you n***as man

[Verse 1: $tevie Adam$]
My name is $tevie
I know they fucking see me
You-C, wish I had a Ferrari
Skirt, skirt up in a Honda
Mr. "Need a fucking check."
When you find your niche, people get upset
When you doing good and borderline rich in spirit
I hope you feel the six dots to yo head like Krillin
I'm just playing, I mean mind, bodies, holding double it
Honestly, I don't like they fucking attitude
Positivity, I really really like yo shoes
Loyalty, Soul Rebel til I fucking drop
And the only way you can stop me is candle lifting over stove tops
I got them hooked
Bass pro shop
That n***a not even hungry, wished I made a double entendre
Kame, kame, HA!, HA!
I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing at they work ethic
It's pathetic
I got the grape Kool-Aid now, come and get it
It takes patience, As-salamu alaykum
I'm tryna live forever

[Solo Intellect:]
Whoo n***a talk about that grape soda, give me that Fanta
Anyway, but coming to the stage we got Brattnae
One of the baddest MCs on this side of the Milky Way, while she over there looking like one
So girl won't you come on, chocolateness. Come and show them why you the hardest chick
Show them why you shutting all the most of these, so called rap females down in the game
Shit. Haha!
Why don't you give me your number too while you at it. Don't flage

[Verse 2: Brattnae]
La, la, la, aye
This that trap shit, real rap diss
Say I'm going hard, this practice
These metaphors and these similes
With a full [?] like your enemies
Mini mi's tryna kill [?]
Fucking up like I'm clumsy
Taking n***as no custody
No courtesy, unless you purchase this
I like to hold it down
Last time I hit the stage, I swear I shut it down
Back down, back alley, top down
Lots of black, no mild
Lost souls, lost out, in the woods full of hopes and dreams
But in the wood tryna make the cream, I swear it's not what it seems
We was made to fail not succeed
So little momma keep the talent, with the back balance
And keep yo fans going bananas when you in the camera
The haters love it when you down in pajamas
Or all down in the mirror, tryna frown, they in terror
Cause yo next move big. Bigger than the crib is
Bigger than the ass is. Bigger than the world is
Cause we working, no resume
Fuck it let the record play
Fuck them if they plotinate
Fuck them if they say they rocking with you when you know they can't
Feels like everybody dying in this place called life
Going hard on the mic, in a nice attire
Entirely different league from the flow to the hair
From the flow to the air, from the door to the stair. What?
I just laugh cause I'm rare. They the same around here
Fuck around and lead them to the top, called fear

[Solo Intellect:]
Ah ha. Yeah
In the studio going hard, apparently
You-C, 3rd Letter, where you at? (Booty eating ass n***a)
Ole bitch ass n***a, haha I love you though
Come pick me up in the Mustang fool
I heard you rapping and shit
You ain't got time to smoke a hookah with a n***a or nothing, man? What's that all about
N***a think he too paid and shit
I heard that n***a still eating that booty though? Rich ass n***a!

[Verse 3: You-C]
Uh, alley ooping with roofies all in my fucking system
While you fucking groupies on my dang-a-lang gets no attention
Son of a biscuit, I've got syrup in my veins
Drink this pop filter to block out the pictures in my brain, uh
While you was making it rain, I was brainstorming
I was born to shake this foundation and change it from the Norman
I guess that's why they call me, the blackest Peter Parker
Web-slinging on your boundaries, I changed the rules with a marker
So scratch it off, you runaways can meet this renegade
Don't you be afraid of me telling the truth anyway
My enemies can be cooked and eaten from the beef
Defecating success, I'm on a winning streak
The winner's meet, we vomit sick like gonorrhea
Lyrical pistol, bang-bang-bang, I hope you feel this onomatopoeia
I cross genes like 501s from out of Heaven
Catch me blasting off a hundred rounds like a Mac-11
Yeager! Kill the fucking reverend. Amen