| Bunches and bunches, punches is thrown until you’re frontless
|
| Oodles and oodles, bang bullets at suckas' noodles
|
| Last album voodoo, proved that we was fuckin' brutal
|
| I’m talking crazy, half past the clock is cuckoo
|
| You rappers doodoo, baby shit, just basic boo boo
|
| I’m Shaka Zulu, Mansa Musa, my money buku
|
| My beats is bangin', fuck what you rappin', who produced you?
|
| I slapped the snot, take what ya got and Run The Jewels you
|
| You itsy bitsy furry fright and frickin' sickly
|
| A little prickly, dick on display for Winter swimming
|
| Look at these kitties, Mike, I’mma rat-a-tat 'em for living
|
| I deal in dirty work, do the deed and then dash, ditch 'em
|
| I’d lend a hand but they stuck in a fist and gun position
|
| We run our brand where destruction’s the number one commitment
|
| It’s all a joke between mom contractions and coffin fittings
|
| So we disappear in the smoke like we’re fuckin' magicians
|
| No hocus pocus, you simple suckers been served a notice
|
| Top of the morning, my fist to your face is fucking Folgers
|
| (We might be giants, standing on little dandy shoulders)
|
| You punks is pussy proverbial pansy panty holders
|
| I Jake the Snake ‘em, DDT ‘em in mausoleums
|
| Macabre massacres killing cunts in my colosseum
|
| (They all actors, giving top in back of a BM
|
| I’d fall back if the casting calls are ending in semen)
|
| I’m the foulest, no need for any evaluations
|
| I’m a phallus for Johnson and Jimmy spraying faces
|
| Any cow that is sacred will get deface’d
|
| Like any tyrant murderer gets replaced, face it
|
| The fellows at the top are likely rapists
|
| But you like «Mellow out man, just relax, it’s really not that complicated»
|
| Well pardon me, I guess I’m just as sane as you explain’ed
|
| Or maybe sanctifying the sadistic is derange’d
|
| This Run The Jewels is, murder, mayhem, melodic music
|
| Psychotics use it then lose it, junkies simply abuse it
|
| That’s word to Phillip Seymour Hoffman, I’m pushin coffin
|
| I probably smell like a pound when they put me in a coffin
|
| The gates of hell are pugnaciously pacin', waitin'
|
| I give a fuck if I’m late, tell Satan be patient
|
| But I ain’t here for durations, I’m just taking vacations
|
| And tell 'em fuck 'em, I never loved 'em and salutations |