Y’all pansies can talk what ya want, but nothin’ brings the street-juice down like Fire Flower. When ya down, I bring ya up, back up ta speed, with what ya need, some muthafuckin’ fiyah powah! I just don’ give a damn, man. Y’all think you flashy? Y’all think you flash coluhs? You evah even LOOK at mah shit? Befo y’all can CONCEIVE of my scintillatin’ bling I bring the POW POW POW.

And what with all this colah-coded booool-shit? Yellah fo friends, red fo mo; I tell ya fellah, yellah fo YOU CLOWNS and red for the FLOW on the FLOOaH!

Chiggity-check, bitch. Y’all bring glocks and grow on rocks, I be risin’ oughtta STEEL BLOCKS. Bitch, please.

I got you flowah powah right 'ere, fools.

Now I heah bout all this bizz-natch “I get you hoes” and “I got class.” Well listen up punks; you ain’t gettin’ nuthin but a face fullah fiyah-balls. You think lillies be fo them 6 feet undah? Maybe, but who you think DOES the JOB? And style? Sheeeit, who DOIN’ look tight in all white… like a PEE-IMP. Hell yeah.

Ask the kids. They know the dilly-oh. They ain’t throwin’ down no dollahs fo no bundles a dozens no mo, but I be tellin you, I still throwin’ down BY the dozens. RECONIZE.

I busted-out in ’85, and I still kickin’ it. Made it through mo than a dozen games… and y’all? Ha. You ain’t got NO game.

So if y’all wanna keep talkin WHORE-ta-cultah, maybe you bess think twice, cause you can coun’ on me bringin’ heat to tha block.

Respect to ma shrooms.

Peace.