[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 niggas ain't ready

Blow the candles where's the 'fetti

Dyke