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.