I rain on the ground bringing lightning and hail Crucified to the mic with a spike in the nail

Rhymes shine so bright, I gotta write it in braille Kill them C's till I'm quarter, spend my life in the jail

Use the budget for my record, that's the price of the bail Cops hire a psychic to spot a light in the trail

of dead bodies i leave all sliced and impaled like a rat trap capturing you might spot a tail

Got you nervous and biking in nails because you're frightening to fail.

Computer nerds ordering your mics through the mail.

Thinking you're the fattest cats with immaculate tracks and abstract raps.

Typing battle raps on Apple Macs.

Step off before I blow your motherfucking head off.

a man by the chest and ripped the S off you saw couldn't stand the pressure from the lift off a bitch with a mic always trying to get me

To all the illest in the game, where they're killing these lames, they're drilling they dames, teaching them the feeling of

Battle your crew, take home your girl.

Ain't no use telling us we don't own the world.

I'm so sick with this flow so infinite.

It's a whole different approach for those listening.

I throw sentences at foes.

who's so sensitive plus I know when to just roll with the momentum I spit a foul flow voice hoarse like Hidalgo turn rappers to Alpo you and your pal ho rallying your troops call up your whole battalion the situation could get hairier than ten Italians

Tell him my mercy's back again and he's more heated.

Mission aborted like fetus, no one could foresee it.

I'm even hot as a fever.

Bitch, please, I'm ill as the leader of North Korea.

My middle finger is stiffer than rigor mortis.

Sick as a Bronco fan when they traded away Clinton Portis.

crumbs can hate in my face they ain't say shit that's basically gay as clay aiken and k-swiss

They're killing these lanes, they're drilling they dames, teaching them the feeling of pain.

Battle your crew, take home your girl.

Ain't no use telling us we don't own the world I'm so tired, nothing matters to me

I'ma get charged for battery with a bag of batteries.

Some eons beyond peons get peed on.

Y'all rock neon.

Tybo to Celine.

You're just a bitch talking shit on your mom's computer I'll hit you taking more positions to Kama Sutra

No telling what a bird or sparrow would do for some demigods to flip the bird apparel.

Got your bitch blowing dick till her knees hurt.

Answering the door, rocking apathy and immerse.

t-shirts we hold bag and bag them got them begging for the magnum to brag into all the friends how intense the orgasm made them spasm

Revert the stage of Cro-Magnon.

Fuck a preppy bitch in the back of a Volkswagen.

It's all part of it.

Plot fucker hard in the drop till the claw shocks pop with the harder we rock to what the hell is in the game.

killing these lanes and drilling they dames teaching them the feeling of pain battle your crew take home your girl

Ain't no use telling us we don't own the world This has been a journey

Inside your girl's mouth You better believe that You little sideways motherfuckers Don't you understand who this is?

Emersed.

Yeah.

Y'all know how we do.

You know what I'm saying?

H.I.

State.

T, it's that raw material.

Highly volatile.

These artists are...

Acceptable to blow the fuck up.