Automatics & Coffins

[Production]

[Hook: Scratches]
"Feels good to watch a motherfucker die before my fly ass"
"Take em up, take em out, bring em out dead"
"It's the body bag game, bitch I'm supplying coffins"
"And when you're dead, I'll never leave your coffin alone"

[Verse 1]
I view this shit like what am I to do?
I only do what I’m designed to do
My mind’s gears wanna unwind and move
I can't lie you to, I know my mind's obtuse
The bad bastard, all you do is air static
My craft mastered, all you do is air bad shit
Stare into the hat trick, all they do is start laughing
You got wack shit and you rap in a bad accent
I'll peel your wig back, ain't no us in this shit, so get out
Beat rappers like Mike Tyson, eat em' all but kick the lisp out
Destroy wack rappers, like you and fuckin' everyone else
We're such unique perfect rappers, on another level itself
Everyone acts like the best rapper alive
But the best rappers alive fucking went up and died
Other than a couple others, ya'll set up your pride
So when the structure fucking crumbles, ya'll sit up and cry

[Hook x2]

[Verse 2]
Now on a technical level, leave you embedded in metal
Soul fall to the floor, wake up in bed with the devil
Find your address, show up in bagged sweats
Bust in the door and blast TEC's like it's the past tense
First off ain't nobody ill as me, I'm feelin' bigger than Lil' Cease
Protect ya neck cause I'm coming like the Killa Beez
Pay for your coffin? Nah pass the bill to me, but I ain't Hillary
I told you I'm designed to move silently, you can't kill the G
Second off, fuck you and the clique you fucking claim
Every wack fucking rapper always spits the fucking same
They talk about how they always in a fucking gang
You harmless, you shoot big guns? They'll leave you armless
Ya'll about as mature as a twelve year old farting with armpits
Is that the shit you wanna go brag to your "accomplice"?
Your careers will eventually leave you dead and done
Feeling Bi-Polar, going through different personas like Kevin Crumb

[Hook]

[Bridge]

[Verse 3]
It’s the end of the motherfuckin universe, toast your glass
The only thing I need to cook is the burner so I can roast your ass
I’m the rap Victor Zsasz, both hands with a match
Strike both together, bring the burner, tap dance on your ass
Oil spills, forest fires, everywhere I'm starting wars in
Spittin’ hot shells that rip through your spine like Barbara Gordon
I push hard times like Apartheid
Leave white rappers battered like a bar fight
I’d rather swallow my teeth then bite my tongue
I fight for my life like I fight on these drums
Bust through your fucking door in an animal mask
Piss on your corpse to mark my turf, the animal’s back
I eat through more rappers than a Hannibal snack
And pile up more dead bodies than a Hannibal stack
I’m a blood thirsty bastard, Uzi bullets will rip into ya
Pre-ordered your coffin, now they just got to ship it to ya