Got a blue-eyed shiksa in the sheets on some nasty-ass shit.

It’s Ricky with the code, SaaS dashboard humming,

AI and peptides keep the whole goy market cumming.

Mezuzah on the doorframe, vials on the glass,

Chosen boy counting recurring revenue and ass.

GLP injections while the cold brew kicks,

Turning grey-market peptides into private-jet trips.

Luis kicks the door open, smelling like Tom Ford and spice,

Persian shark in the Zegna, rolling loaded fucking dice.

Spits his cig in the sink, yells, "Ricky, drop the vial,

The grand jury’s sitting and you’re acting in denial!

I need a hundred-eighty racks upfront for the retainer,

Before this subpoena turns your skull into a strainer."

Take another draw of the cevze cup, hot and sweet,

Told him, "Luis, calm your Persian ass, take a fucking seat.

We did a hundred-eighty K in pure MRR by noon,

Got another shipment landing underneath the Sukkot moon."

Luis flashes that gold Rolex grin, takes a drag of Marlboro red:

"Tell that shiksa put her clothes on, get that bitch out my bed.

We doing buck-eighty on the turnpike, sipping Henny XO,

Leaving Consuela’s individuation looking like Danny DeVito in a poncho.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5910516&forum_id=2#50176734)