P.S.K.

[Intro]
Hi, I'm Tim Webster. We are here live outside the VMAs on the red carpet. We are here now with-- Oh, my god! He's got a gun!
Everybody freeze! Don't even breathe! Isolated Beingz, bitch! What the fuck? We wasn't invited? Let me get them numbers bitch!
Don't you fuckin' move, Seacrest
Oh my god!

[Chorus: 2-Face & Ruthless Rob]
Pop pop! Fuck all the Billboards, man
Pop pop! Fuck that Grammy in your hand
Pop pop! Fuck these faggot boy bands
Yo, it's P.S.K., Baltimore, Murderland
I'm a pop star killer and I'm runnin' this shit
Run up in your record label with a gun and some clips
Ain't nobody in they right mind fuckin' with this
IB comin' through with the wickedest shit

[Verse 1: Ruthless Rob]
I'm a pop star killer, fuck what you say
Fuck the radio and your whack DJ
Britney Spears gave me a BJ
Then I scalped the bitch, she said "crime does pay"
Sent her on her way, then I moved to the next one
Fuck the mainstream, I got 'em in check son
Peep the resurrection, swallow my erection
Wicked shit representin', break your neck son
Get 'em done with a one two three
Fuck the industry and the fake ass G's
Actin' like you hard with a small ass tee
I'll break your fuckin' jaw if you fucks with me
I'll kill your grandma with a broke CD
You wanna smoke my weed and act like you down?
Please, bitch freeze and run that shit
I seen them platinum plaques, bitch, I want that shit (Heh)

[Chorus: 2-Face & Ruthless Rob]
Pop pop! Fuck all the Billboards, man
Pop pop! Fuck that Grammy in your hand
Pop pop! Fuck these faggot boy bands
Yo, it's P.S.K., Baltimore, Murderland
I'm a pop star killer and I'm runnin' this shit
Run up in your record label with a gun and some clips
Ain't nobody in they right mind fuckin' with this
IB comin' through with the wickedest shit

[Verse 2: 2-Face]
Yo, run around the VMAs with a hand grenade
And a seven-inch blade, stabbin' stars in the face
I saw Avril and choked the slut with her tie
Her eyes rolled back in her head as she died
Sneakin' in the back, I see two fine-ass racks
Mackin' on Lindsay Lohan and Brooke Hogan
I left them bitches swimmin' in a blood-filled ocean
Then I took a hit of what they been smokin'
Now I'm on PCP and I don't give a shit
Threw the grenade at the band Good Charlotte
Straight lunatic, I stabbed the Fall Out Boys
Yellin' "Where my Zombiez at? Bring on the noise!"
I took out my ass and shook Timberlake's hand
I broke all the awards and I pissed on all the fans
Took off my pants and I did the murder boogie
Then I stuck my fist up Ashlee Simpson's cookie

[Chorus: 2-Face & Ruthless Rob]
Pop pop! Fuck all the Billboards, man
Pop pop! Fuck that Grammy in your hand
Pop pop! Fuck these faggot boy bands
Yo, it's P.S.K., Baltimore, Murderland
I'm a pop star killer and I'm runnin' this shit
Run up in your record label with a gun and some clips
Ain't nobody in they right mind fuckin' with this
IB comin' through with the wickedest shit

[Verse 3: Ruthless Rob & 2-Face]
Pop star bitch, I'ma pop that ass
Take your fuckin' life when I drop that ass
And straight cop some grass and smoke a blunt to your death
It's a celebration with a hole in your chest
I killed the whole nation, leave it a mess
It's wicked shit for life, it ain't goin' to rest
You bitches know we the best, we fuckin' sell out, fag
I kick the wicked shit and leave you in a body bag (Hah!)
Take your top ten and shove it up your ass, fag
You don't write lyrics so why you tryna brag?
You get toe tagged or left on a hook (Woohoo!)
It's Pop Star Killer and I'm playin' the crook
Yo I wrote the book How To Murder These Pop Stars
Dance like a girl so why you tryna act hard?
Drivin' in a fast car, yo, it makes me sick
You suck your manager's dick just to get an album hit

[Chorus: 2-Face & Ruthless Rob]
Pop pop! Fuck all the Billboards, man
Pop pop! Fuck that Grammy in your hand
Pop pop! Fuck these faggot boy bands
Yo, it's P.S.K., Baltimore, Murderland
I'm a pop star killer and I'm runnin' this shit
Run up in your record label with a gun and some clips
Ain't nobody in they right mind fuckin' with this
IB comin' through with the wickedest shit
Pop pop! Fuck all the Billboards, man
Pop pop! Fuck that Grammy in your hand
Pop pop! Fuck these faggot boy bands
Yo, it's P.S.K., Baltimore, Murderland
I'm a pop star killer and I'm runnin' this shit
Run up in your record label with a gun and some clips
Ain't nobody in they right mind fuckin' with this
IB comin' through with the wickedest shit