[Commentary: Suffa]
Shoutouts to DT3 for that one. Shoutouts to Mitch. Yo Faint, you wanna hear something special? DJ Debris rhymes at the end of this track, for real. (DJ Debris) Get on the mic, son. First up, Vents One, let's go!

[Verse 1: Vents]
Vents the [?], you're feeling the fuckshit and you feeling the vibe
The melancholy and the misery I'm feeling inside
It's like I'm sick of living, not willing to die
That's when I grab the roach, kiss the feeling goodbye
I'm fading away in front of your eyes
Becoming a ghost with butter on toast and a bucket of fries
Nicotine meet sudden demise
I use drugs and liquor to listen to people I fucking despise
Five days on the [?], heard the government spies
In the roof, got the proof that they up in the sky
Satellite, paranoid, paradise is destroyed
But a bureaucrat and the parasite in the void
Of the unliving, dance to one rhythm
Many colour and creed been stuffed in one prison
I'm stuck living on the dole, little control
Of my life, it's why Christ don't pick up my call
You know

[Verse 2: Trials]
At that moment I panic, kick the company out
Hit the shower for an hour, use the luxury towel
It's like back to the grill again, Hotel Hell
The best memories of my life but no can tell
Well if it isn't the fat Vincent Vega of rap
We on a world tour passed out in neighbouring stacks
I kick facts real slick, push the levy little deeper
Squash big problems with a little reefer
Off with his head till the officer dead
Riot in the streets, kick back [?]
But lest we forget the fallen, hits from the
[?] in the morning, retail storming
Awesome, any little things that the Oars in
Shared deals with shitheads, break 'em off a portion
Dropped the stress ball, picked up the Les Paul
Back the fuck out and hit the stage like, "Yes, y'all!"
[Scratches: ADFU]
"Rottweiler the beat, top dollar defeat"
"Eyes red—Eyes red, burn somethin'"
"Rottweiler the beat, top dollar defeat"
"Eyes red—Eyes red, burn somethin'"
"Baddest—Baddest
Bad—Bad—Baddest
Baddest—Baddest
Bad—Bad—Baddest"

[Verse 3: K21]
I'm nothing but a slave to the man with a game and a plan
Of sticking it to him every which way that I can
(For real feel) [?] nothing but some hand me downs
Checkin' on the meal, it's smelling like Grandma's house
I'm back in the place, never stop smashing or praying
Until Jay take the scene and stop dragging a [?]
[?] sprinkling some rhythms on my toast
Lock and load, only stop to pose for my wanted poster
Baddest, negative like my bank account status
King sized mattress featuring [?]
Go and ask for a [?] the kiddies will find me
Hanging with hippies while ice fiends [?] pipe dreams
A dead-beat broke, living off split cheddar
And [?] trendsetter thinking he stiff leather
[?] and dump it on the X you dug
And that's what you get for thinking you had somewhere left to run
Fuad
[Ad-Lib: [?]]
Nah

[Verse 4: DJ Debris]
The worse I eat the better I feel
It's a junk food [?] hey, so what's the deal?
I can't remember the meal that I just ordered
And the Takeaway Studios just got cordoned
Off 'cause the squad dropped a bomb in the lab
And with the crew guaranteed [?] fuck out your tab
Then jump a cab, head south to [?]
With twenty-four tabs of pr0n open in Firefox

[Commentary: Suffa]
What? Did DJ Debris just shoutout Firefox browser? Golden Era Records does not endorse Firefox browsers... unless they're giving us money. Are they giving us money? Faint? They're not giving us money? Fuck 'em. K21, let's go!