I'll get it, I swear, I need more inventory.
I'll pay everything back.
I'm sure you will.
But until then it's time to give it up.
The shiny bits.
You have my car!
I can't sell no leased car!
Now, you want more, you got to leave more.
And you got a shitty watch
and you buy knock-off handbags.

It's just business, baby.
Now, I know you got troubles
but like my mamma always says:
"Tough shit!"
Do you have a cover business?
Of course, I do.
Got me a jew in Century City who set me up.
Now, I know he's skimming cream off the top
but he makes everything seem real nice on paper.
You're looking at the president and
chief executive officer of Tidy Up, inc.

Got me a van out back and everything.
Maid service?
I ain't nobody's maid.
You ain't no housecleaner neither.
You're a weed dealer with a front.
And these are my employees.
What do you do if somebody actually
calls to get his house cleaned?

Then I refer him to my cousin
Xandra who cleans for real.

She don't make shit
but Xandra found the Lord so she don't care.
One day, we're gonna all retire
to a beach house in the Carribeans.

'Till some rapid god type shit happens
and washes everything away in a tidal
wave like those poor fuckers in Indonesia.

Not me.
Tsunami. It's called a tsunami.
I love the sound of that word.
Knowing you'll probably name the baby Tsunami.
I don't care what you say, that's a pretty name.
You are not naming my grandbaby
after some killer wave!

And we ain't getting no beach house neither.
I can't stand the sand.
Sand, blood and realty.
They never get rid of.
See you all later.
How much you think we'd get for that?
She'll be back.