Lyrics
Time to get sick-wit-it, get the clips-spitting, this fuckin shit's-hitting//
Radio, Grip-chickens, flip-mittens, I'm fucking sick-bitches, wit a blade 6-inches//
It's-vicious, hit ya face wit-dishes, time to shit-bitches//
Ya weak-kittens, blast ya wit these pistons that I be-getting//
Freeze-bitches, blast a punk in the back while he's pissing, now he needs-stitches//
For ya chest, cuz I torn ya vest, now I'm reclipping, reshifting, a new position//
Look at these bitches, time to bleed-bitches, nuttin but shrieks-n'twitches//
I tweek-switches, I'm a freak-which-is, part of the gimmick, goto sleep bitches//
Ya meek-bitches, pushovers like diseased-midgets, or grandchildren wit assslaps and cheek pinches//
Every week-it-is a new reason to explode, and take ya wallet for free-riches//
These-glitches, in the matrix I hate this fake-shit, and you left for dead in creeks-or-ditches//
Shit, there's a cop, and he's-suspicious, so I'll reach-for-clippers//
Now im on the block wit coke-and-hash, no papers, we're smoking-ash//
Stab idiots in the throat-wit-glass, continue to toke-and-mash, and use my vocal-mass//
To show-my-plans, to takeover like Jay Hova, wit soap-and-grass, I hope-my-mans won't-choke-n-spaz//
And flip on these broken-grams, pull the heater and soak-my-hands//
Fuck you bitches, this-is-a-mission, leave ya blizted-n-twitching, now I'm gripping-a-piston//
And I'm ripping-yer-stitching, in yer shirt, and start to sicken-yer-vision//
Fuck that, I'm fishing-for-bitches, go start picking-the-women//
This is precision-incisions, rip ya wit a stripping-collision//
Now Im slipping-on-drippings, now I'm equiping-the-clips-in//
You'll be wishing-yer-missing, now yer with-a-mortician//
Kids think they cripping-they're-tripping, ain't dipping-equipment//
No shipping-a-shipment, no sticking-a-dick-in, these hoes they swear-they-fucked//
You don't scare-me-bruh, talking bout fighting me like yer gonna fucking tear-me-one//
You outta know I don't fight fairly son//
My anger's volatile, push-it-get-killed//
And get a eye just like Bushwick Bill's, fill yer cush-ions-wit-pills//
Fuck the crime shit, people won't say-or-may-say, I deserve radio play//
But it's all opinions//
I'll keep attacking wack rapper's weak-styles in freestyles//
Wit punches stacked as high as ODB's police files//
