[Verse 1]

The crowd explode when I spit fire

‘Cause one line’ll set ‘em off like a trip wire

A sick cypher, pit fighters in a minefield

You dick riders, watch your step wearing high heels

You quite ill? Well I’m a word doctor

Bully raps—I’ll put these nerds in a Hurt Locker

Y’all worth not a [?] cubic zirconia

No-vision-having-ass niggas—pupils getting cornea

I gotta school ‘em, put the truth in they formula

Open up they eyes with they view on the coroner

Glock coma, pop culture. Moody euphoria

This is murder music—I’mma shoot up this orchestra

I kill the sound, boy. Got to call me Phil Spector

I’m still respected in this game like Bill Withers

So step aside. Yo, my clan be some real niggas

And we don’t recognize your brand like Hilfiger

[Hook]

We doing numbers in this game—y’all should know that

We really hungry in this game—never low-fat

We keep gunning ‘til we reign—it’s a known fact

So here, hold that. Here, here, hold that

I’m moving forward with my fans—can’t go back

I see the future of these plans, light a dough stack

And y’all ain’t doing this, son, ‘cause y’all so whack

So here, hold that. Yea, killa, hold that

[Verse 2]

Killa say he got hands, but his style’s weak and

He ain’t touchin’ nothin’, shadow puppet with a violent streak

He a cyber G. He ain’t the type to beef

His keypad is his speed bag ‘cause he type his beef

So many haters, I’m Al Qaeda to these silent sheep

Body slam a Wacka Flocka fan like an Iron Sheik

I ain’t even tryna speak

‘Cause son be lying through his teeth ‘til he see his teeth flying like [?]

I’m bucking at ‘em and I’m wiling for these papers [?]

As-salamu alaykum or get silenced with the fader and these [?]

What comes from the mouth of these haters

Well, y’all can eat a cock… roach Tyler the Creators

And when they see me, they don’t say shit

Softer than Neo—I’mma beat ‘em out this Matrix

Freaking Soulja Boy, son got me so annoyed

Image real shaky like a motherfucking Polaroid

[Hook]

We doing numbers in this game—y’all should know that

We really hungry in this game—never low-fat

We keep gunning ‘til we reign—it’s a known fact

So here, hold that. Here, here, hold that

I’m moving forward with my fans—can’t go back

I see the future of these plans, light a dough stack

And y’all ain’t doing this, son, ‘cause y’all so whack

So here, hold that. Yea, killa, hold that

[Verse 3]

I’m too fast for these tracks, so I’m steady growing

I’m running laps around these haters like Jesse Owens

These athletes is half-sleep like melatonin

I’m weight up like a 747 Boeing

They try ta blacken the skies like chem trails

‘Cause they don’t wanna see black in the skies like the Red Tails

My team fly, ‘bout to blow like Osama folk

A [union?] bomber when it’s time to push the envelope

A new man, [?] girl boxing go postal

I fed your ex-girl cock—she call my [?]

Open mic with this overnight delivery

My skills ill and kill like the packages—y’all sick of me

Y’all silly genre is comparable to Willy Wonka

A Milonakis. We militants outta helicopters

You useless like Obama with no teleprompter

This murder music turn the booth to hotel Rwanda