Maniacal

[Verse 1:]

I want one motherfucker to have words for me
Bite em in the throat, like I'm serpentine
Infection in ya neck, an emergency
You ain't gonna make to the surgery
I'm sick in the head, and I'm ill in the mouth
I'm quick on the lick, and even quicker I'm out
Catch a slit on the wrist, let the blood all run out
I ain't got a case, what you talking bout?
I ain't leave a trace, not even a hair
Ain't worried bout a chase, not even a care
I'll probably do it again someday, give me a dare
I'm the very reason that this is world ain't even fair
Evil incarnate, with a wild smile
Snagré con carne, not a mild child
A lo hecho, pecho, consigue derecho
Unless you do what say so, don't get me riled
I'm a fucking mess; mental state, unrest
I can do my best, but it's just a guess
Sounding schizophrenic, demons in a panic
Acting hella frantic, banging on my chest
I can see all the way up to hell from here
Wonder why I'm drawn to the bells, it's weird
Why does all the music sound the same down here?
Got me saying strange things like: ("I think you're next")
I'm sorry I'm dumb, I'm sorry I'm numb
I'm sorry that I'm tempted to bite my thumb
I'm sorry that you're face looks fun to thump
I'm sorry that I represent where I'm from
I'm sorry that I got a lot I must explain
I'm worried I won't have the time, I might be late
To my next operation, remember the date
That's the moment that I'll become the right hero to hate

[Bridge:]

I can rock your block, damn
I might pop out with a Glock, and I might knock your noggin in
Cause I'm stupid, but not enough to ring a shot
I'm the type to plot, a lot of rotten thoughts

[Verse 2:]

Can you other motherfuckers pretend you have a brain?
I listen to your music, and I'm mentally drained
Is this unironically meant to keep me entertained?
Bitch, it's trap, not trance, where's your energy?
I'm sick of sleepy rappers, waving round a gun
Grabbing jiggling asses, while they smoke a blunt
Saying that they'll kill me if I dare confront
While they grip on liquor, or a doubled cup
Fuck your contraband, imma confiscate
Fuck your mom and dad, I cannot relate
Fuck obnoxious wealth, that's a toxic pace
To spend the money that your label makes
That's a tax write-off if I've ever seen it
Give a year or two, all your shit's deleted
Forgotten by your fans, except when they're meming
And paying through PayPal for a fucking feature
Cause you've gotten desperate, we all can see it
Need to be in the spotlight, or you feel defeated
It's a damn addiction, and you've got to feed it
I'm not talking about the percs, xans, weed or lean
I'm talking about how you crave the fame
Respect of your peers, or atleast of your gang
You really need something to boost your name
Cause your numbers fell and you lost your place