negro, pleeeze. that little white rat ain't got nothin' on me -- yo, i'm ronny rizat, represizzat.
why you so down, dog?
nah, nah it's not like that. you need to stop listening to what all them perpetrators is running and believe in yourself.
for riz-real. pound it. they punch it in.
damn straight.
they stylin-est.
you could have a roof rack full of bitches. and some teeny-tiny little bitches in the glove compartment.
rapper? hell no! you stink! i'd rather eat garbage than listen to your tired ass rhymes. hmmm, garbage. that's making me hungry. peace out. the rat runs off. brad sighs, flops back down on the bed, utterly depressed. cut to: