Homura sits on the floor in the studio, leaning against the wall as she holds the mike to her lips, giving a nod to her producer. New phone, who dis? Two phones, two whips New bag, new b!tch I'm lit, no sh!t New phone, who you? Nobu, new boo Two G's, one shoe Smoke-free, I flew No checks too big We left, she switched You shot, you missed* I feast, I dish Courtside, good side Westside, seaside Jet ride, goodbye! I move, I slide

Out of nowhere, another voice pops in. Yours. You're standing at the doorway, leaning against it as you grin, rapping a second verse that you didn't even have to write down.