Fool, that ain’t no slam; Eeyore’s hella cool
So’s C. Robin, Piglet and my whole hundred-acre crew
We snack on honey, we hunt heffalumps
and we spit jams ‘bout a joker claimin’ to do the humpity-hump
with trophy girls on the podium after racin to win
when we all know he ride bout as well as a fish swim without fins

Campari, Cristal, Sierra, and Shiner Bock
Even with a bday hangover, Britney Gears still rocks
the mic all night, mad tight, into the day
while poor Ice can’t hardly get outta his own way