 Don't ever let me hear that come out of your mouth again. Niggas said, where's the grinder at? Like you the queen of England or some shit. By the way, from my child fans, we're talking about marshmallows. That's right, putting marshmallows into a grinder and then I don't fucking know, but that's what we're talking about, okay? Goo Goo Gaga. Goo Goo Gaga, hand me my money, YouTube, okay? But back to this nigga. Niggas really asked me, where's the grinder at? Where's the grinder? Uh-uh, I'm sorry. I didn't know we were all fancy schmancy round here. Drinking tea, wearing suits and shit nigga. This nigga's a cop. This nigga's a certified FBI informant. The fuck? I ain't seen that nigga before. Do not dat me up no more, bro. No more. We rip our, I mean, we rip our marshmallows apart by hand like real men. We let the texture delve deep between our fingertips. Niggas hands smell like skunk piss at the end of rolling up. Where's the grinder at? Where's your bib? Where's your tickle me Elmo toy? I come to think about it. It's about like, it's about like 435 p.m. right now. I think it's getting past your bedtime, young man. Where's the grinder at? Niggas in the glove compartment.