[Verse 1: Cam Meekins]
Blickety blah
Breaking down the doors, get your rep up
Where the after party at bitch get it set up
Cam got the mic, OG bring the hammer
We still rock shows from Boston to Alabama
I got styles like Barneys and Nordstrom
Money like Republicans, everybody wants some
On instrumentals I'm Randy Savage
Had a 1.1 on my grade point average
And when I'm high I be getting paranoid
Straight twitching on people, get your iPads destroyed
Give and go, smoke bowls like every night
And come home like goddamn I love my life
Some say the stress outweighs the high
I say "Dog stop stressing, be thankful you alive"
Because I could crash this damn car right now
Walk out like aw yeah we done fucked up now, shit
Good like Timberland boots, they're still relevant
Bad like elderly people being elegant
Sneaking in, splash, into vaginas
Then I wake up the next day and smash your china
Sick of these new dudes that claim to spit logic
When every mixtape got 800 credits on it
This a forewarning, you suit and tie reps
Never ever gonna see a percent of my ASCAP (bitch)

[Verse 2: OG Swaggerdick]
Knock knock, who's there?
It's the young dyke, one mic
Back in the day used to hang around with little tykes (liar)
Now he old, new sole like shoe glow
Love going bang bang bang like Pops [?]
Martin Payne's brother, Mr. Bruce Wayne's brother
Young cocaine, cowboys and Jermaine's brother
Got the same lover, so they combobulated
First train out, ding! she ovulating
She light skin so she already get me
Style sharp as a machete
I think y'all n***as ain't ready
Blow the candles where's the 'fetti
Dyke