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Blue jeans, check! Black-T, check!
Record my raps on a cassette tape deck.
Wearin' no sweats 'cause Nike owns Chucks.
Three rows of studs 'cause hoes wanna fuh-!
Axe to max on my nasty socks,
synchronize with a text but I guess I'm blocked.
I'd leave voicemail but it would just be mocked.
Wake up my mom, dad'd clean my clock!
"Hey, mom, it's me - no need for alarm.
Gonna be a party that's the straight-up bomb.
Here's your keys and your coat and Louis Vuitton."
She's like, "Uggghhh...," and you know that it's on!
She's gotta do some errands and a couple of chores,
drop the videos off, hit the grocery store.
"If your gonna be a bitch, trick, get on all fours!"
"If you don't watch that lip, it's goodbye to your porn!"
Word is born, say no worries and we're out in a hurry.
I beg for Mickey D's, cold mac a McFlurry.
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