Devil’s Dead

[Chorus]
Miss me with that bullshit (Bullshit)
You ain't really wild, you're a tourist
You see my name and aim your rage, but it's a sure miss
Ole that shit, estocada and then make you look foolish

[Verse 1]
Spray and pray, but you're missing every single fucking bullet
Taking shots, but you're shooting blanks, you're impotent with your diss, oh Lord, this
Malnourished bitch is getting disorderly, like that court case in Florida he
Quarreled with his Dad 'cause he's ornery
He didn't give him his quarterly oral scene that he normally skeets
That horror scene of a night behind bars humbled you surely
'Cause Machine Gun Kelly done bitched out in a jail, nothing short of a normal citizen as far as we could tell
All that gangsta persona was nada when he was in a cell, guess you're a pop gunner like that other motherfucker Kells
Digging your own grave thinkin' you're mining for stones
I guess that's what it's like to peek inside the mind of a stoner
If it wasn't for Camila or Khalifa, I wouldn't know ya'
Let's take it back to the 2012 XXL where Kells burst on the scene with an odor
You finished second to last in a class that had a man blow up off Bologna
Homie, Hopsin should've passed you the bar, 'cause it's clear that you didn't own any
Oh shit, he's so witty with the flow, spitting dope sixteens, Loca was a joke more than the bloke in the video, it was so shitty
Yo' city cannot not win a motherfuckin' thing without Lebron, so hold this L on your way to Hell, I don't show pity
Here we are now, Colson, know your boasting's been noted
I've loaded this whole diss, it's over now, the Baker's been toasted
If you go for broke, you'll end up like the bro that's under your rib
Homeless and hopeless, next time write your lines and don't take Token's shit

[Chorus]
Miss me with that bullshit (Bullshit)
You ain't really wild, you're a tourist
You see my name and aim your rage, but it's a sure miss
Ole that shit, estocada and then make you look foolish

[Verse 2]
LBJ bumping Em's beat but not MG's, on IG I saw
His rhyme schemes are simple, no need for a temple or thought
They all gone, he gets tattoos just to remember what they are
Cut off his right arm, he won't be able to get to his lawn
And all his fans are trigger happy, saying that I only rap fast on the beat
Well, that's fine by me, 'cause the man that you worship at the feet got his motherfuckin' name from speed
But y'all just lost in the awe when I'm dropping all the bars, rippin' apart all the flaws in his songs, where to start?
All the syllables he's spitting is swindling all you simpletons, repeating the same disses again and again at Eminem (Oh)
They're basic, like a white girl with a chest filled with silicon, 'cause he's impotent at rippin' up the men that are better than him
I'll sever his head off and bloody my machette, turn his brain to spaghetti, what a mess he left us to reminisce in
I'm a premonition of this Armageddon that has risen, in the battle of the Devil versus God, the Devil never wins
You threaten Eminem, the end is evident, a crypt is where you'll rest, unless it's with me, then the rest is about to begin

[Chorus]
Miss me with that bullshit (Bullshit)
You ain't really wild, you're a tourist
You see my name and aim your rage, but it's a sure miss
Ole that shit, estocada and then make you look foolish