Rock: Aight, just put that beat on, son. That shit is banging, son

Ruck: Which one?

Rock: The one Buck gave you, son

Ruck: Aight

Rock: I’ma kick some shit, son. Ayyo, twist some of that (**** going down the road to the way to get a new blunt)

Ruck: Yo, put the towel, put the towel under the door, son (Got it, man). Come on, man. You just walked in here, man. Put the shit up (Aight, aight, aight, aight, aight, aight, aight)

Rock: Yo, fix the smoke alarm, duke

Ruck: Word up, man. What the fuck, man? Yo, man fuck that (Yo, yo, yo, you remember what happened last time?)

Ruck: That’s what I’m saying, man. On motherfucking New Year’s, at that

Rock: Hahaha, check this out, this fucking ho. Get the fuck out of here, man. Yo, yo

Ruck: Word up. Word up

Yo, yo, let’s kick

Some T-A-W-L to the Sean

Drop bombs, makes me holier than Qur’ans

Or Bibles. Sean’s your idol. Upon my arrival

On Earth, I was blessed at birth with these fucking recitals

Hah, who wanna, test my skills? ****

Best to chill, or leave here with my testicles, yo

Shit’s ill, it sounds like that soul—ahhh

Ruck and Rock represent ‘cause we “Let Your Brainz Blo”

Check it out, yo

Who’s that **** over there? Rockness

Rappers be acting like they’re queer—they need to stop this

Or I attack from the rear, make your locks twist

Like titties when broads take off they brassiere, you’ll drop quick

Swimming up in your subconscious, it’s me, bummy

Jab come to regulate, so call me M.P., make

Poonani puke. Throw up your dukes if you got the

Heart to test the lyrical rocket launcher—fuck your shotgun

I got sons that shine, and they’re mine, call ‘em...

(****Knocking at the door****) Yo, yo, yo, yo, don’t open that shit, man. Yo, yo, get the fuck... that ain’t the fucking knock, man. Get the fuck... fuck that. Don’t open, don’t open that shit. Fuck, that ain’t the fucking knock, man. Shhh. (****Knocking****) “Yo, let me in, ****. Y’all ****...”