Delonte West: Yo dawg I need to get my J-O-B on, mang. This lockout killin’ me, yo.
A Crony: Oh no doubt, fo sho.
DW: Finna get some ice cream up in here though, mang.
Crony: Cold Stone, dawg.
DW: Yuuuuup. The Stone, mang. Leggo.
(Delonte West and his crony hop on Delonte’s three-wheel motorcycle and drive to the nearest Cold Stone Creamery)
DW: Mix-ins on mix-ins on mix-ins, mang. Gotta get these mix-ins in my crizzy cream. (raps) Mix-ins in my cream / Mix-ins in my cream / Puttin’ these mix-ins / In my cake batter cream.
DW: Yo, I just crazy idea, yo.
DW: Gonna throw down an application at Cold Stone, dawg.
Crony: For real?
DW: Think on this, dude. Not only do I get my ice cream on erryday, I get dollars and I get to get my songs on when we get tips. It’s like the best of both worlds, yo.
Crony: I don’t know, D. Seems like mad stressful and weird hours and all that bunk.
DW: Word, word. But check it. (raps) Chocolate lovers only / Do this for my homies / Birthday cake remix / At the Cold Stoney. Errytime someone leave a tip, I rock the mic. Hone my craft and whatnot.
Crony: Yeah, that’s true.
DW: (raps) What you know about / The founder’s favorite? / You might not want a like it / But you can’t hate it.
Crony: Go. Go.
DW: (raps) Chocolate devotion / Like a boat to an ocean / Throw the fruit in the bowl / Call that ish bananas.
Crony: Aight. I feel you.
DW: Yo yo, Cold Stones. Hook me up with an application.
(A Cold Stone mixologist hands Delonte West an employment application which he fill out on the spot)
DW: That oughta do it.