Hovered off the floor, pop a wheelie, Kawasaki, Profit, Chad, hop aboard, we take em' flight and it's a party. We put fire in the sky, now look what we stuttered, I'm an individual, yeah, I'm so fan-gorded. Barry B, 6 feet deep, dearly deported. If you do not fuck with me, you must be thin retarded. Throwin' his a letter, shit, bitch, keep sparrin', and I'ma keep starrin'. Thank you, Garden Claws.