[Verse 1: Logic]
Sickening. All you fake fucks that’s listening
Consider this your christening, guzzle gallons of nitro-
-glycerin. I’m pissing in your medicine so you could feel
Dead within your head, and then I’ll stuff your nostrils with [?]
I’ll swing the bloody pendulum performing sick tracks
Get a smile from ear to ear chopped in your face with a fucking pickaxe
Logic: pneumonic prophet made in toxic waste
Homicide. Torture humans in a secluded cottage, polish
My eyeballs with liquid acid, sniffing glass
With a fat-cracked dustbone in my vintage casket
My thoughts are racing, robbing elderly women
For their purses. Fuck their money. I just need their medication
This is a dedication-to-death festival. Cut off your head
And your genitals and hang the rest of you in a church vestibule
Sticking pitchforks in your liver, deliver your baby
Then serve it for dinner ‘cause my mentality’s bitter
With sick thoughts, I make it worth your while, your reason
Get behind this bitch who’ll have fucking swordfight in her birth canal
I don’t do drugs... often giving coat-hanger
Abortions. I’m lost in a state of distortion
I morphed into an evil clone—this ain’t me talking
Stick a speakerphone in your coffin to hear your soul rot and corrode
Put your cock in your throat, display the corpse in a satanic auction
An assortment of body parts tossed into the bonfire
Gain my wings and play the harp of barb wire
The dark sire holding a golden hatchet
Leave your back split, rip off your skin and make a jacket
Some n***a acted ravishing, so I stabbed him in his abdomen
And then stashed him in a closet next to mannequin, deposit
His intestines in the Vatican, show the Pope condolence
Opponents get thrown into the pit of death in a split-second moment
We, the chosen, have dissected the Earth. I wonder:
What’s my life worth? I’ve been infected since birth

[Outro: Logic]
(They’re not ready). [?]. Logic. Level X