Verse 1:
My charity's like Wyclef, my tour bus smelly, like Spicoli at the food machine I need more jelly
The Skeptics Apocalypse, Henny blood shakes heavy
My uncle Mike caught a murderer with sheepskin Reggie
Shot the prison up, laughing gas mask, with a cheaper Dutch, doom rap, my goons' traphouse eat the bodega junks
Sister Christian, Rick James beads, Viacom coke
Down with these bags we launder that soap, Medina dope
Hang the Pope, back with the Mac in a Tenspeed
5802 Farragut Road where the pimps be, arsenals like Conrad Murray, guns all flurries, Never drop the matzah you can die in a hurry, I rock the new Tacchini sludge lord, Mexican drugstore
Cut you in your expedition, pass it to bloodsport

Chorus (x2):
My cult poppin' that Glock, my cult worship Satan
My cult loves being watched, my cult carve your face in
My cult huggin' the block, my cult devastation
My cult World War Gore, no time for elevation

Verse 2:
Celebratin' blood orgies and witch doctors
I don't rep for Scientologists I ain't buyin' the product
Travolta flies you to Mars in his jet you can ride for 80 mil
I have foes with laser beams and shady grills
Bloods and Crips got cocaine from CIA Colombian farmers got 85 cents a day, Sammy Davis fucked Jane up in the baby's crib
I wish I had the footage when JMJ was fucking killed
Glenwood Projects thrash, to pall bearings
Skate like ball bearings, cult kids we posh grabbers
Sports handlers, acid tabs, Willy Wonkas, you get your brain squashed out lookin' like chimichangas
Graphite powder, fingerprints depicted, burgery victims, my projects murder for new prescriptions

Chorus (x2)

Verse 3:
Cut the lamb with seven horns, seven eyes and seven blessings
My chest covered with twenty pounds fully connected
The specialist, the 'Merican terrorist that sells you to major dispensers so the population is shrinking
Bombs and moccassins, I'm battered like Tim Osmond
Cinematography, I paint pictures Reaganomics, some underground like Cheney bunkers and cures for Hodgkins
My goons fly to New York strictly to cop Rugers
Under the radar, we paranoid type but still ruthless
Constellations align when you get the right shooters, grandpops, he died in his room wearin' my blue Pumas
We lost students Hashem losin' the boar Judas
Bury him in his favorite suit at 50 grams, forty love with the casket I said goodbye and kissed his hand
My heart pumps strychnine, my hate vegetates, from Times Square to Tehran we detonate
Chorus (x2)