Ya, you cats know how the artist ego is
So my head's bigger than a hydrocephalic's wig
You need a fix?
I got that dope needle prick
I'm a piece of shit
I'm what evil is
Eagle gripped in a peacoat
Smelling like leak smoke spliffs
My back yard got the remains of dead rappers and emo kids
Closet look like a Rite-Aid with guns and Calico clips
My talent get me that casino chip
No needed paleko flip
Deep flow is
Monster crocodile deep rolling
Sick as week-old shit
After battles I creep slow for Puerto Rico tricks
Then a week goes quick
Bodies in the west found buried where the east coast is
Heat whole cliques
Cut off faces
Wear them like soft burrito skins
I'm a walking crematorium mouth like a steam boat lid
The way I look in black cone
You'd think I'd reap death
I got no street cred
But this is war like Omaha Beach head
It's beef bet
Right now these rappers is looking like humans with sheep heads
Let off a school of piranhas snapping in your chompers
Nine hundred devoted temple assembly revisited
My cult's Guyana
Coke and vodka
Rice sacks in the Honda
I'm focused like Wilson writing "Help Me, Rhonda"
Starving, I overeat
But I'm feeding a tapeworm the size of a Black Mamba
Passing those D's
Sour patches, rolling green
Sprinkling hash and gold kief
I like my bitches asses like a like my sac of trees
Fat with no seeds
I don't sleep but I be entrapped catching no Z's
My goon's straight out of psychiatric home leave
Fuck flashing Rollies
I'll smoke you smoking your man's ashes, homie

"haha one man Cheech and Chong act. That's an OG."

(He began to dangerously unravel. His madness fueled by a growing interest in cannibalism and religion. Fish began to indulge in raw meat too. Often serving it to his children. Who would later testify he would do this on nights when the moon was full.) [an excerpt from Serial Killers: The Real Life Hannibal Lecters. Talking about Albert Fish.]