Untitled Song

They don’t know this killer,

cuz real ones keep it on the low./

Reaping all these souls

behind the scenes, it’s bound to show./

I got scoundrel flow

and a thousand quotes

cut with Widow Blancos coke./

Your product blows, cut with chalk and only blocks the nose.

(They don’t smell dat!)

You frogs will choke!/

This leaves responses caught in throats./

They try to stop the goat.

Only providing me chances to stop and gloat./

You jock my glow? Impossible./

You get chomped to bones,

my rhymes like piranha droves./

Surk is beyond the talk of dope./

Discussing me?

That’s discussing gods and ghosts,

Ahyuasca trips beyond the body’s hold./

I’m deep space thought,

your screams fade off,

I reply with cosmic groans./

 

Fuck whoever tries to throw their hate./

They write their first bar in response,

I’ve already wrote a page./

I could slow the pace,

I’d still be lapping them repeatedly,

Daytona race./

This is only a call out.

We should set to do three and promote the date./

I’m game to get down and dirty and unbolt your frame./

Nothing to hold you up, watch you fold in place./

Ain’t nothing sweet. Im sending you straight shots without the cola chase./

Know your place./

You try approach this flame./

I roast your face./

Flesh scorched with pain.

Have you begging for deaths cold embrace./

You can flow with rage, go and probe my name,

maybe my profile can promote your aims./

Go insane.

I hope you find a personal angle that could hold some weight./

If you can find some dirt, I’ll have no complaints./

But if you get smoked, you’re trash,

cuz I just killed you with my throwaways./