[Verse 1: Sir Michael Rocks]
Twist up a [?] I get deeper in debt
My rap page make n***as throw they [reefer?] at us
Thirty clip longer than Jaden Smith's Christmas list
And these n***as so dumb they think this the diss
Rap at the top now in music and fashion
Soon as we hit the big screen, now y'all start tweaking?
Y'all out here faking pussy and beating girls up
I thought you n***as was pissed, don't make me get the receipt
I'm good with all them girls that you tried to fuck
And I could run 'em down a list, n***a line 'em up
You ain't go to your own show and get your jewels took
See who's real, who's fake, and who's crooks?
Wait, I need a break, I'm confused
I watched your last video, I hate how you move
You so weird, always getting in a fight, getting locked up
You probably paid fifty for a gram from a rasta
It was funny for a second now y'all take yourselves serious
Same ass mixtapes with all these fucking features
And them weak ass beats a n***a made from a preset
Don't pay none of your friends so they still selling weed packs
Stealin' swag from [?] IG designers
Now you think you Riccardo Tisci you gotta teach me (Wow)
I gotta learn that trick (Wow)
Usher let it burn lil' bitch
This the smile Scar had when he smoked Mufasa
This the gun Arenas had stuffed up in his locker
Full clip, and it spit for all you little [chits?]
And you old ass rappers with them old ass hits, bitch

[Interlude: Ebro]
Yeah fam
The Cool Kids is back
The Cool Kids is back, we're focused
You almost got us with the crack and the gangs
You almost got us
The Cool Kids is here
Y'all threw everything at us
And we ain't fold up yet, we still here
And y'all wanna Kumbaya, we'll Kumbaya in a minute
Hang on, we got things we gotta fix

We'll get the drums going so y'all can dance again, don't worry

[Sir Michael Rocks]
You n***as so sweat, got singing n***as they can rip
You R&B n***as better sing about a bitch
Leave that real rap shit to the pros
Fuck all them girls up and leave you n***as exposed, you pillow chat
Let your record label blew in your butt to get a mantle
What else you n***as do for the clout? I can't imagine
I rap better, look better, dress better, flex better, trendsetter
And all of the OGs respect me

[Verse 2: Chuck Inglish]
While y'all bullshiting on the grill
I don't fuck around Donny, it's too real
I knew the deal when I stepped in, reppin'
Back when I had the color stitchin' on my belly
On a corner with a cracked pepper turkey from the deli
[?] celly, they want it I can sell it
Any number other than my price, I can't accept it
Unless you finna add another zero to the digits
On the track running laps in my necklace
I'm throwing bows like a slab down in Texas
I'm really throwing bows with my hands if you offended
And if you heard me say I beat your ass you know I meant it
So you better watch your mouth
Listen, I'm not finna send no beats out
My time cost a brick, don't tick me off
You n***as rapping out of pocket and that shit sound lost
Now you singing on it and that shit sound worse
You n***as suck