| I’m an American psycho, that’s papa from B-K | 
| Here with Laudy and Jenny, Platinum three-way | 
| Made payola drop to the D-Js | 
| So y’all can here me spit a thousand times a weekday | 
| That’s not me talkin', that’s what the weed says | 
| Fuck you up then check youtube for the replay | 
| These little thugs take it too far and need to chill | 
| Your reputation far exceeds your skill | 
| The smell of death has a disgustin' aroma | 
| But hip-hop ain’t dead it’s just in a coma | 
| Bustin' my chroma | 
| From my throne | 
| Let us flow | 
| Touch and own a | 
| Champagne shims | 
| Halfway house | 
| Dwell in a place where hatred helps satan | 
| Demons, angels divide soul brethrens | 
| Skew your meat, call me the psycho American | 
| Ayo even shape, call me different forms | 
| So keep your eyes to the floor | 
| 'Cause theirs snakes in the lore | 
| Killin' new liars leave fakes in the morgue | 
| The place you’re right now | 
| That’s the place you’ll be mourned | 
| Murder, hopeless, jokers with no motives | 
| Choke her, more loud, now in slow motion | 
| A flow glow up I’ve got an overdosage | 
| Of potent power, man the world control it | 
| You’re going overboard | 
| Like Robert Maxwell with ya sell shit | 
| Sometimes I’m selfish | 
| But I get my own way because my ideas are well picked | 
| Compare to where I send you, Hell’s bliss | 
| What makes you ain’t got before you have to | 
| I stay up all hours writin' in my pad too | 
| Motivation, let me see the same | 
| Reason why my hands touch the NPC | 
| I treat my first line like a coke head treats his ice | 
| When they can’t stand a liter | 
| Come on bro, let me know | 
| Cast off, this’ll be the one test to pass on | 
| The beat catchers we that do | 
| We stick close, we don’t mask on | 
| So pass up on your girl tits, no thanks | 
| She can be the centerpiece of the Leaf Dog shrine | 
| All rappers they like customs | 
| They’re waitin' for the shrine | 
| But like D-Js, they can’t mix the floor like a sound | 
| Call me B-F-G, but I rob the fucking giant | 
| I got away with this like punchin' pigs in the fryer | 
| So keep quiet and remain unnoticed | 
| You can’t sit next to the doc | 
| Son your name ain’t Otis | 
| Remember this before ya under the radar | 
| The games all feel like puttin' guns in quasar | 
| Not long and you fall until you reach the bottom | 
| Like doin' a bungee jump when the ropes forgotten | 
| I bring like like the sun brights | 
| Dumb guys can try actin' clever | 
| But leave lookin' 'em wise | 
| I tied their words together | 
| So their trippin' over their lies | 
| Hatin' in my face, but at home be feedin' on my shit like flies | 
| Do M-C-ectomies, there’s a lot of treachery | 
| Greats that never get to be with the stage or collect a fee | 
| But not those that next to me | 
| We’re raw like sopranos | 
| Player choose the musical type and that’s some sore notes | 
| I’ll never get popped up like the pill we’re takin' | 
| There full of shit like statements | 
| The governments are makin' | 
| We get recognized by heads like decapitation | 
| I’m the hundred percent proves my level on concentration | 
| We stand firm like statues | 
| We ain’t movin' | 
| So many at like big daddies banks | 
| Till we’re proven | 
| Stay workin' and still be broke shit | 
| So know the kids before | 
| They have some chronic product, but we smoked it | 
| I was born out 'em '86 | 
| With the top hat and paint and spliff | 
| A single hit will make the day your shit | 
| It’s that fruity | 
| Bigger than a yak’s booty | 
| The worlds not 'gon like cops when they’re off duty | 
| Stop researching when the street nick and robs and use these | 
| Right now start to count and jack your nan’s jewelry | 
| How the tables have turned from more than tom foolery | 
| We move a yute and they a super mutant freak | 
| So you know the coo | 
| That’s how speak when we movin' our beaks | 
| O-W-Ls to the Q-unique | 
| There’s no escaping like Houdini when you snooze in a sleep | 
| But Mussolini won’t be fakin' a speach | 
| Pussy dreamin' when I leap for the beat | 
| Slow flow and now a juice has just flooded the streets | 
| Not as deep, need the weller is to get you through the heart of the stream | 
| I get the tag, I got my sight on the dream | 
| They call me Z but don’t be sleepin' on me |