'cuz b-rad g about to get ill!!! the driver's door swings open, and a gleaming white pair of four hundred dollar, untied nike sneaks as they step to the pavement; we crane up, past nike sweats, to brad gluckman, wearing a do rag under his nike baseball cap.
i'ma get mine! step, fool! i'll cut you, i swear!
i.  i.  i was pickin' up aromatherapy candles at illuminations for moms, right? and the counter trick gave me lemon when i specifically axed for lilac! brad turns to hadji.
dat's right!
shut up!
yo, but what about us?
bet! they all pound as mocha starts throwing beats.
a'ight, come on now, let's stop messing around. b told us to lay down some beats for the new album.
free style, please! your momma rap better than you.
i'll talk about your momma all i want.
oh yeah? peep dis. your momma's so poor, when she shops at barneys, she has to drive herself!
your momma's so poor, her round the world cruise ended in spain!
 aaaaaa.
 aaaaaa.
what we gonna do, moch?
krista -- six tsunamis to go! cut to:
what the hell is it?
come on, let's see it.
is that a freakin' musket?
couldn't get much, yo.  hadji opens a duffel and pulls out three kevlar vests.
when i told my pops we was going on a drive-by, he gave me three of these.
 dis. mocha and monster are blown away.
christmas present from uncle ahmet. cut to:
hell yes, chicken. i need a location on license number d-
better step, y'all, or i'ma have to waste all y'all up in this piece!
i'm totally taxing your ass.