[Verse 1: GAWNE]
This a warnin' shot to every motherfuckin'
Little one-hit-wonder, rap mumble brother
Crypt and I finna get paid a bundle, so we teamed up
Top five dead or alive, we're bringin' the rain and thunder
Goin' insane, I'll be choppin', like a helicopter blade
Man, the wolf's begun to hunt the jungle
Stomach rumbles, lookin' for somethin', damn
Where the fuck's Lil Pump at? I'm kinda hungry
These kitties better never come to my city
Come to the Windy, you gon' get nothin' but animosity
Midwest monopolies, monstrosities
Rap god, I'ma leave the beat in poverty!
Hostility, drop a bomb on the enemy
Artillery, blowin' up your auxiliary
Hit 'em with the intercontinental capabilities
Leavin' no stability in the Middle East
Benghazi, Hillary, yeah
Will I be a kamikaze and kill a beat?
Nobody really wanted this smoke, so I'm hittin' 'em with the Juul pod, nicotine
Smokin' 'em like a chicken in the rotisserie
Finger on the frickin' detonator, incinerating
And straight eviscerators, I consider eliminating
Every hater in the visible vicinity like Arnold Schwarzenegger
Terminator, fuckin' mumble rap exterminator
Then again I spit it, wicked, demented and venomous
'Cause I'm sick of the bitter freakin' diggin' and reapin' the benefits
When I'm rappin' it like a missile, disintegrated in remnants
I'm beginnin' to be the reaper, so I load the MAC, attack!
Doo-doo! Everybody dies when I nuke you
Screws loose, losin' my mind, I'm goin' cuckoo
Who knew I would be the rap Babe Ruth?
Jésus in suede shoes, I hit 'em and straight shoot
The skeletons walk through the elements, wordsmith, the Letterman
Way too competitive, rap with the best of 'em, the veterans
And I've just entered the seventh level of hell, the devil
Mama, made it out the ghetto
So how the fuck could I not be the illest when I feel like a villain
Killin' anybody at will? I'm villainous, still a gorilla
I'm pillagin' villages and buildings, pavilions, King Kong
I'm probably makin' a song for Kim Jong
So ching-chong, kiddies sing-along as I'm rippin' a pad the quickest
Yeah, when I'm pickin' apart the rap and I put the pen the pad
And Peter Piper pickin' a pickled pepper, Peter, I picked it next
I figure that I'm doin' this straight, just shittin' tracks at mumble rap
Uh, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang (Brrt!)
Shooting range, too much rage, who to slay?
Grippin', I weaponize all the rhymes, they demise
To the mumble gods when we hit 'em like it's MMA
Gucci-Gucci-Gucci-Gucci-Gucci gang
Murder everybody like a shooting rampage
Yeah, kill 'em all, Fentanyl, blow 'em up, molotov
Mazel tov, death to mumble, I rule the game
[Interlude: Futuristic]
Sheesh! Yo

[Verse 2: Futuristic]
Yo, I'm not a hater, but I'll call a n***a out on his shit
I see a lot of people makin' money off of the kids
They poppin' pills, tryna hide they real feels
See somebody OD, then be surprised when it happens to them
I'm counter-culture, y'all some vultures, fuck that!
Prayin' on they downfalls and bump that!
Use this music, dudes is foolish
Ignorant n***as flashin' they cash, blowin' money they don't have
Flow infinite, I let 'em all rent it, and I laugh
Futuristic the illest with the pen and the pad
Since a young lad, been out as the gun blast
I was writin' raps while you was still watchin' Rugrats
Ante, I'ma up that (Uh)
Put your money where your mouth is, you don't want smoke, your lung's black
Took a year off to sing on a bunch of songs
I was tired of rap, but now I'm Jordan with the comeback (Sheesh!)
I'm tired of verses without a purpose (Yeah)
I'm tired of guns in the videos (Uh huh)
I'm sick of fakin' it until you make it
That shit don't make sense when you really broke
I'm sick of that mumblin' BS
That music that regress, I just wanna see less
I'm tired of seein' the homies on shirts
With the R.I.P letters right off of the heat press! (Damn)
Get your mind right
When the time right, I know that they'll reflect
You don't gotta listen to my music, it's cool
But you do gotta show the young man respect
Or my hand up on yo' neck 'til I stretch the cords
Mumble rap: zero, us: four, check the score (Woo!)
There's somebody to come at me, I'm the best with wars
I move in silence, comin' up like Tesla doors! Ugh
[Interlude: Crypt]
Yeah! Huh!

[Verse 3: Crypt]
I don't really know what to do, be comin' and spit fast
Flow so immaculate, give me a pat on the back (Huh?)
Like I'm Brady and Belichick, I got these haters in check, I leave a mess if (Huh?)
They thinkin' of steppin' to the best, then give 'em whiplash
Whether if you noddin' up and down from the beat of the track (What?)
Or givin' 'em uppercuts 'til their feet is up in their ass (Huh?)
I'ma kill a mumblin' motherfucker before he kill somebody else (Huh? Huh? Huh? Huh?)
With the message that he's tryna make come to past (Huh? Huh? Huh? Hoo!)
Hello, motherfucker, you heard me, right?
Guess it's hard to listen when your head is filled with purpose, right?
Get murked tonight, 'cause bitches like you deserve to die
Get hurt inside with rhymes, and it's absurd that I
Have to come back and reiterate this shit
I'ma charge you a fee for extendin' my hit list
Play stupid games, win stupid prizes
They'll have you forever lookin' at the back of your eyelids (Yeah)
And yeah, we just got back from a funeral (Uh)
Luke, Mac, Crypt and Futuristic, it was beautiful (Yeah)
We had to say goodbye to some of the ignorants in the game
But that's what happens when they ruin the image that we portray ([?], hoo)
We don't play around, the audience should know it now (Nope)
Now I'm not sayin' we played a part in the death (Ha)
But to be honest, if ever the blame goes around
We take responsibility 'fore we dig 'em up and kill 'em again! (Oh- woo!)
[Verse 4: Mac Lethal, GAWNE & Crypt]
Oh, y'all sell tickets like Marvel movies?
Well, I still hate it like Scorsese
Y'all are just food from McDonald's
And I am a gourmet filet that's more tasty
I'm more crazy than a short lady
Tryna give birth to eighty-four babies
In the very back of a Porsche Cayman
I bury rappers, then pour pavement
Just because you're rappin' fast
Doesn't mean that you're sayin' something
Y'all mo'fuckers rap so damn slow
That, somehow, you're literally sayin' nothin'
Just because you can rap fast
Doesn't mean that you can rap good
Well, just because you can rap at all
Doesn't mean that your motherfuckin' ass should
Should'a, could'a, would'a hit a hood up with a psycho
Analytical, metaphysical mastermind, I'm makin' a fuckin' mockery
Of anybody makin' an attempt at taking the fuckin' top from me
I brutalize the beat and get the broccoli
Brru-brru! Build a Tommy gun and then the bodies come
Du-du-du-du-du-du! Here the choppers come
Everybody gotta win, you gotta get aboard
There's blood up in the ocean water, and it's washin' to the shore, ayy
I'm rotten to the core, catch a body, maybe four
I'm gonna drop you to the floor, like this is Gatti versus Ward
I got a shotty and a sword, in fact, I'm already at war
You know I got a perfect score, but I'ma stomp on you some more
You'll be dead, body in the morgue, talkin' to the Lord
You ain't got an audience no more, all of 'em are bored
You don't party anymore, nobody watches when you perform
Now you gotta go and get a job at the Gucci store
Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang
Song is two years old, gee whiz, who would think?
Pull your motherfuckin' pants up, your coochie stank
Fuck the dumbass tats on your stupid face
I'd rather listen to Wu-Tang
I'd rather listen to Luke and Crypt
I'd rather listen to Futuristic
And you'd rather listen to this
I'm about to really go insane if the game
Gives even a half a lil' bit of fame
To another motherfucker that got "Lil" in his name
Fuck Gucci, you should join the literacy gang
Kids used to want to be astronauts in space
Now kids wanna put tats up on they face
All we tryna be is the best MCs
This the death of mumble rap, rest in peace