[O.C.:]
Snowgoons… one two
Heheahahaha, uhh
Yeah? Yeah…

Yo, feast your eyes, two double oh-five
While two double oh-six is here
My energy be for all to accept and hear
I’m not ashamed for the ten years plus in that game, won’t refrain
O.C., speak my mind cause I ain’t no lame
Never defendin’, creates my own lane
Long live the saga, with a clear slate, clear head these days
Works for hire, possible if I’m prepaid [bad word] me back, give a toast to my libido flow
Similar to  spurnt from my urethra
Friction, give off heat like a fever
Good lucks for those who wish, I don’t need it
Much to my amazement, or should I say that I’m not surprised?
I still reside in the basement
Wits and charm is what bless this tongue
Along with the mindstate for me to write these songs
Uhh
 [bad word]  O.C. + Wordsworth]
No pain, no gain; no guts, no glory
This ain’t another war story, this is trill
My heart, my brain, got the will to survive
In my shoes, you wouldn’t make it out alive, no
These young rappers in the game ain’t got nuttin’ for me
This ain’t another war story, this is trill
My heart, my brain, got the will to survive
In my shoes, you wouldn’t make it out alive, no

[Reef the Lost Cauze:]
Dead in the middle of Germany, puffin’ herbally
Observe me as I absurdably murder beats verbally to the third degree
I ain’t no nerd or freak, I’m the word, the streak
That works Shareef, peace, nice to meet
I need a, mic to eat, a track to bash
Your [bad word] is whack, it’s trash, I just have to ask
You just playin’ right? You can’t be tryin’
I’ll blow you the [bad word] away like a dandelion
Be a man, c’mon now, you can’t be cryin’
My next album six figures or I shan’t be signin’
I’m so independent I’ll GO independent
Get dough independent, I SMOKE independents~!
The most mentally ill, so gifted and real, the spit that can kill
Pick up the mic, it’s like I lift up the steel
Aim it at your temple, now how that feel?
It hurts like a [bad word] don’t it? Now bow down and kneel
 [bad word] 

[Rasco:]
Look, yo
Man I’m back for it, it’s the black poet
Sit down spit rhymes just to get the stacks flowin’
You cats ain’t knowin’, man I’m back for revenge
The real [bad word]  never had to pretend
Shatter your shins; [bad word]  go and gather your ends
Call your friends, forgivin’ you for all your sins
It all begins, right here, makin’ it quite clear
It’s twenty-oh-six, make sure it’s the right year
To your right ear, or your left lobe
Still swingin’ hard, then watch a [bad word] s chest fold
Get this dress code, I spit the best flows
No cat better than Ras to stack cheddar
You all falsetto with no bass and no taste
Bring it to you live at sunrise at yo’ place
I give ’em no space, we on a dough chase
Niggaz can’t get it cause they movin’ at a slow pace
 [bad word] 

[Outro:]
Yeah, [bad word] Swan in the building
Snowgoons, live