[Verse 1: DC Pierson]
Mapquest where the place is
Gats in they faces
Then we fold them up and put them back in they cases
Assassins replace expressions on faces
And hard eyes on gangsters with hot gaping spaces
Hands full of aces, pockets on swole
Glassy-eyed aiming from my own grassy knoll
Leave JFK’s head just a big smoky hole
To console Jackie O she could smoke my pole
It’s called Camelot ‘cause she came a lot
And a lot of you rappers sound the same a lot
And the game is still out there if you play or not
And I’m the King of Queens, Kevin James is not
I quit my temp job ‘cause I can’t let a day go
Tomorrow’s moguls are delivering your bagels
I hope your trophy wife been practicing her Kegels
Cause when we take the game we won’t leave you any Legos
There go the kid with his dirty white sneakers on
Dreaming on a way to get his penthouse on Bleecker on
Give your girl head, call you with the speaker on
Horse head in your bed, now you know who you sleeping on
Are you seeing what I’m seeing?
This booth is a crime scene
Chalk off the mic, the kill screen is my screen
No need to terrify or pop shots at witnesses
They only testified they know what hot shit this is
[Hook: Childish Gambino]
True assassins
Hold your glass up
Them's the type of n***as that’ll cut yo ass up
Whether it be tracks or verses
Chains or purses
Them the type of n***as that’ll make you stop
True assassins
Hold your glass up
Them's the type of n***as that’ll cut yo ass up
Whether it be tracks or verses
Chains or purses
Them the type of n***as that’ll make you stop

[Verse 2: Nick Packard]
Classic assassin
Straight from Central Castin’
I bust through your abode with both barrels blastin’
I crush up your skull like a truck that you crashed in
I’m never gonna die like I’m Tuck Everlasting
Never thought that I’d carry an AK
All I ever wanted to be is Farley, Ferrell, or Fey
And maybe some day that dream will come true
But for now I got my gun and I’m aiming at you (Hey!)
In your house on your couch while you’re readin’
I got no flow, it’s more like breakthrough bleedin’
But I’m into cartoons and I’m really not sane
All I leave of your body is a Pinky and the Brain (Uh!)
I’m more Manson than a small-time crook
When it comes to taking lives I steal like Dane Cook
Bitch, take a look, you know it’s in a book
Even LeVar Burton’s Roots get shook
[Verse 3: Childish Gambino]
Ah, ah, you can call me assassin, I kill Versace
I walk too much, gotta Gucci watch me
The illest of the killers you can tell by my fashion
Light hoodie to bright sneaks it’s all matchin'
I kill rappers, I don’t need no stealin’
If I do lose a battle I’mma kill ‘em for real
I’m just kidding, or am I?
Things get real in the City of L.I
That’s right, I live in Queens
The borough of the lost
I hate the fuckin’ yuppies but I love how much it costs
Call me in the winter and the spring to play tennis
And they give me strange looks ‘cause I floss like a dentist
I’mma finish this sentence then get me a rope
So I got a little dough and I’m fresh like Scope
A n***a so dope, I got the new Pumas
I never take 'em out so I call ‘em homeschoolers
Numbers like rulers, I’m tired of it all
I sleep in the club and I yawn when I ball
I’m off the hook like phone calls
Where’s Kidrobot?
I need a new hoodie hot pink like doughnuts
The kids is Go-Gurts when they see my Gobstoppers
I’m not Mekhi Phifer, but I got Clockers
Transform a watch when I don’t got diamonds
Boy, did you hear what I said like Simon?
I kill boutiques
Just snatch the new sneak
I’ma do it every week
I’m a serial killer
Beats like Dilla
Hun like ‘Tilla
It’s the Sick Boi Thrilla (Yeah, mon!)
[Hook: Childish Gambino]
True assassins
Hold your glass up
Them's the type of n***as that’ll cut yo ass up
Whether it be tracks or verses
Chains or purses
Them the type of n***as that’ll make you stop
True assassins
Hold your glass up
Them's the type of n***as that’ll cut yo ass up
Whether it be tracks or verses
Chains or purses
Them the type of n***as that’ll make you stop