| Yo, yeah, uh
|
| Yo this the shit right here
|
| Yeah this make me wanna kill somebody
|
| Turn this shit up, real fucking loud
|
| Drinking the bile out ya pancreas
|
| The fanciest cancerous, talkin' lyricist, pack a shank on the hips
|
| You’re a skanky bitch, slit ya wrist, clitoris
|
| If you’re inhibited I’ll piss in ya syphilis, incubus
|
| Mr. Death, Dr. Demise, Surgeon Slice
|
| You’ll die really slow if you don’t appreciate life
|
| You’re wack if you don’t appreciate knives
|
| The way a knife slices precise, it’s trife, it’s a demonic device
|
| The chronic you light, inhale, for those in jail
|
| To those that beef get impaled and buried in snails
|
| My brains charred like burnt flesh, you’re scarred
|
| Ripping ya breast apart, digest ya heart
|
| Die!
|
| Kid you know you can’t fuck with this
|
| Don’t you know that my shit’s too sick
|
| Kid you know you can’t fuck with this
|
| You might get ya whole fuckin head split
|
| Terrorize ya whole clique, make you suck on ya own tits
|
| Then spit the cancer out, grab a Glock, call me Sir Manson-a-Lot
|
| Blow ya brains on the seats, varicose veins on the streets
|
| Cocaine dust and weed
|
| Kill you slowly, it’s a must you bleed
|
| Pop a vein in ya skull from the stress, feelin' numb in ya chest
|
| Anxiety attack, murder you with a variety
|
| An ax, a mac, a blackjack, a back crack
|
| Right upside ya fuckin head for talking shit about this kid
|
| You bled, sadistic and red
|
| My biscuit pumps lead, cock it, obnoxious
|
| Get chopped up in boxes, I’m toxic, my topics are gothic
|
| Morbidity, you can’t get rid of me
|
| The reason there’s humidity is shit to me
|
| So kill ya’self and write a note
|
| Right before the noose wraps tight around ya throat, ya windpipe is choked
|
| New York is filled with transvestites in coats
|
| Helpless wenches controlled and sacrificing goats
|
| It’s death, 42nd street derelicts
|
| Reppin' it, sellin' shit, malevolent
|
| Mad felons kid, I got three in the fam
|
| Me and my man will beat you with hands, leave you beneath the sand
|
| You sinkin', quickly, I’m thinking, I’m sickly
|
| I need medication, the cadavers are getting stinky
|
| Kid you know you can’t fuck with this
|
| Don’t you know my shit’s too sick
|
| Kid you know you can’t fuck with this
|
| Might get ya whole fuckin head split
|
| Split split
|
| Fuckin head split fuckin head split (bitch) fuckin head split |