Prepsychocious

Got dope and mean flow that feed you dopamine
Oh, feel free to oppose
Openly, though
For me? I’m dope
I mean, I don’t front
If I see a foe sweet talkin’
I’ll make sure he change his tone like he’s Michael Jackson, ugh!
I’ll jack son of God’s trait
I’d be jack of all trades, straight raise from the dead
Bet you’d caught strays, you son of a gun
I’ll aim one at you, better start runnin’ away
‘Cause I’ll be f*ckin’ comin’ out guns blazing
I’ll be the root of your demise
When I begin to utilize a needle and a few of them knives
Then brutally incise your mind, pull a tiny slice inside
You’ll realize I’m Lecter-like
Who like to make you lick your tissue from a skillet that I fry it