It goes high-cross left to a hand-foot match,
go to a gaston on a pocket shaped like a snatch,
adjust feet and rock over into an undercling,
blind reach for a ledge above some other things,
that you do not wanna touch, knowing there’s no need to rush,
cause you’re already pumped, and you ain’t even hit the crux,
move to a quarter-pad crimp, lock off and cruise up to an
all-points off dynamic move up to a
huge sloper jug that you hit in mid-air,
you want that high left foot, but you not gettin’ it there!
To the right, you see a jib, and realize what’s next:
toe down, tricep mantle, reach for the ledge, damn…

(Chorus)
[All we do is pour it up - all night, drinks out
(that’s all we do, that’s all we do, that’s all we do)
and all we do is set it up - all night, all you see is strange routes
(strange routes, strange routes)] (x2)

Cooling in Slab City with two of the baddest bitties,
you know I’m at the crag when it’s looking like Magic City,
the weather is shorts hot (they got matching sports bras)
made it to second base, now they chilling at short stop
I keep all my bases loaded, your boy got the game decoded,
floating on something potent, stay rolling like locomotives
while holding on something foreign, my goal is to hold the motive,
to flow to the people holding the hope on opponents,
call me Lord like I’m Flacko, climbing shit with bravado,
always roll with my vatos and bad bitches in Chacos,
thick skull on my noggin - a hard shell like a taco,
and climbers never got profit, but know we still got a lot, though - so…


(Chorus)

My warmup has been duly run, my beta is newly done,
you see why the groupies run - I’m feeling herculean,
like a king - like Julian, I’m climbing a ton,
you niggas run on pure imagination - DiGiulian, so
I’m calling them Sasha, they should call me Mufasa
plenty scars from battle rapping all day in the plaza,
8 miles of spaghetti, you not ready for pasta,
with my salsa, my softest sonata’s hot as some lava,
prima donnas in Prada ought to stay far from the god - I gotta few
bottles I bought up for my armada - they call me Erik
Estrada - chips is so synonymous with,
everything that my crew do, and you get nada - zip!

(Chorus)