Ill Fortune

Split your skull
Til your brains raw
Chase you with a Craftsman chainsaw
Then take off
When I select victims
I don't cherry pick them
They pick me, instantly
No codes or system
And then I break all
The windows
My decisions, all are riddles
Sometimes I kill no one
So thumbs I fiddle
In my room are symbols
Illuminati dribble
Triangles with the
One lone eye in the middle
Next to a bag of Skittles
'Cause I like that shit
I killed my ex-wife
Cause I don't like that bitch
Hate life cause I'm not that rich
I'll fuckin' rob your kids
Mouth fuck your chick
I'm 'bout that shit