Yo, don't be concerned about what you heard about me word of mouthFacts don't take the burn around, blow your * sternum outKeep the fragments, little pieces of your clavicleIn my cabinet to prove you ain't shatterproofPut the 450, you let all four clips in youPaint experiences like your pinch jaws grip youNow you can't go dead, watch me tear whole headsOr fit their shoulders like cork veggiesSmolder, fresh ash particles contaminate the skyFrom your flesh barbecue, inhale it to get highI'll pull the tool in your blast, leave you laying on the deck* your bulletproof vats, I'm not aiming for your neckNow your beautiful jugular's soaking up my rugAin't no cruise rugged, I'll prove it with a smileSee, we're psychological, your team's methodicalWe backslap bad rappers like bitch prostitutes screamAnd pray it's only a nightmareAnd hope your gaping throat's really only a slight tearThe truth you slice rightWith the knife in your handIt's night is nightDon't be trite, ride my rideIt's night twenty-five to lifeBorn of the naked deadVarnish your flesh, cough in your headMe and the cup and sloth women till they're orange and redTake creep pictures, renounced, I'm the Yonkey DritchesI'll turn the milk evil, feed it some speed, we'll kill the mixturesFighting bubbles like our man-tonsWe slime buckets where sluts get gutted* the punch with their tamponsA blood fetish, a muster of grimace like Al FishA moment of silence, the count is about to affixPlaying God is such a thrill for meMy young ministry with six womenBecoming uninhibited, they're killed for meThe God I love, I leave scars of miserySee Latin, these women go to make sense to sin in meThe night's urgent, I flip it like Christ in versionWelcome to hell, we sellin' souls right in personThe God-merchant, murder for pigs is always worth itExpress mail, set my panties in bloody coachesCall me the sad wings of destinySpread across the planet like leprosyDestroying your entire life's legacy, nuclear-depreacedFirestorm, human defeat, my goons are eliteMurderin' you with the tools of the streetI'm a sorcerer, 44 Magnum, all for the slaughterI'm callin' the car in the grass street in the cornerWith all of a jump on the LBetween cars, pumpin' the LRobbin' you underrated Canarsie for somethin' to sellAnd I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious angerBuried in you with delirious bangers, a total nightmareChrome nines appear, walkin' with no signs of fearDesigned to tear you into pieces, these vaginas scarePussy clock, ill gorilla, pimp, make the pussy popAnother rookie cop got shot, another pussy dropEither we madmen or mysterious villains, or what?Billionaires, sociopaths, and serial killersMurder rappers with a shooting titanium microphoneBullets in your brain ripped through cranium like styrofoamBorn thug, step to me, you'll catch belly slugsNow your poor faggot's dead, laid out in a row covered in smelly rugsDying to meet ya, slice up each featureYour grill's a bloody mess, your face looks like a pie at pizzaLike bleeding pimples, we hold katanasThe scientist nihilists, I'm breeding pimples and piranhasThe messiah, ain't nothin' but a creep in a trenchThey found Jesus downtown BrooklynSleepin' on a bench, lobotomy classWe experiment, cut and stitchOpen your brain up and analyze it to find out why you're such a bitchQuilt cats to you, throw you in a lakeNaked with a block of cement attached to youI don't sweat to shoot youRather cut your spleen on screen like a Tom Savini sceneExecute you*