Shovels

First I rise up out of the coffin, make some coffee then I start my day
Smoking weed and busting raps and making beats and getting paid
Shipping these orders out like crack, and cracking busters in the face
Fuck you stupid bitches, theres no bitch up in my DNA
You can hear this oldschool wickedshit from like eight blocks away
Swerving through the city in a hearse, up to the spot you stay
When you come out Ima dumb out, get my axe and chop away
Split you into sections, destined to a disrespectful grave
Take your body parts out to a field and let you rot in peace
Flies get to buzzing in my head, when I even think about the rotten meat
I stop before I leave
I take my time arranging your remains into a secret sacred circle, piece by piece
Ever since I could remember, I wanted to dismember
Everyone who even ever made me question their intentions
Depression ain't shit when you got voices in your head
That tell you to rip your intestines out, and throw em over a bridge, next
That happened to me in real life, Dylan Ross, I really live this wickedshit
It make no sense to me, if it only stem from fiction
I dont fit any description
Motherfuck your G-O-D, I worship me, and Im on a mission with my own religion
I am the higher power, father final hour
He who worship the self preservation of Lila Fowler
Yeah, Im high as fuck
This valley isnt sweet
All this milk is rotten, and the honey is sour
Dylan keep it living, murder rapping so extensive
Most offensive methods of dissection that I cannot mention
I dont give a fuck about a thing if it dont give me presidents
Watch, as I mutilate the minds of these religious idiots

I come equipped with the shovels to be diggin yo grave