Back
Back to destroy every fucking lyricist
And leave their minds clouded like a motherfucker pessimist
I'm a terrorist on other peoples beats
If you step to me, I'll tag your toe but this ain't recess bitch
Where's my Jesus piece? I'm making trophies out of demigods
Put a clock on rap so ya can tell this time I'm blowing up
Juggernaut making faggots quarrel like a jug of nuts
And confuse bitches like a bag of apricots
So keep your fruity bars
I'm turning heads and I'm snapping necks on other peoples instrumentals;
So all ya' bitches opposing are probably just jealous
I'm busy derailing trains and leaving tracks on your face
But If I'd say your name on a song; It'll make me a disgrace
Like-You
Fuck a lil' twist, 'am more like typhoons
Still in this bitch without a DJ, A Hype man, a Mic
Just a pad and pencil to verbalize my graphic designs:
Picasso on the rhyme
I'm Optimus Prime on that third movie
Don't give a fuck whether I go at elites, or a bunch of newbies
Who's got a problem? Who must I snack like my name was Scooby?
Who's jealousy must I solve like a map without The Goonies?
I put my life on the line, Lets play Russian Roulette
My life is a poisoned box of chocolates; lets see what we get
Right now I'm starring at the Grim Reapers dark silloette
But that's the mirror so ya' outta think twice before you bet