[Intro: Jim Ross & Domo Genesis]

The Elimination Chamber

You know, there's gonna be one winner

But I got a feeling, over the long haul (Yo)

There may not be any survivors (Um, yo)

[Verse 1: Domo Genesis]

Oh-so cocky, you can't stop me in this old Versace

Nigga watch me in the streets like it's roller hockey

Your bitch is floppy, givin' sloppy while she call me, "Papi"

Takin' the doggies right to the face like she Kobiyashi

You niggas' flow is washy, I'm gettin' mines dry cleaned

Tight seam, it might seem I'm sellin' bitches pipe dreams

Hi, fiends, I'm back with a bag of them packed white things

My Nikes clean, I see these niggas hatin' through my ice blings

I'm a bad motherfucker, I ain't use a rubber

Super lover, so soon, you'll say hello to your newest brother

The truest colors what I bleed, but you ain't seen enough of

Nigga leaking, you gon' have to go see the deacon, you stupid sucker

Young Dom, say you old niggas should wrap it up

You whack, focus back on the craft, you hardly rap enough

The fattest blunt, and death to that pop-hop, I ain't ask for much

And stop askin' for them collabs 'cause all you bastards suck

[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt]

This that thirty-deep-in-Saugus shit

Fire-starter squadron, dodgin' coppers since—

Ask her why she dropping, cuz, it's probably 'cause he prodigious

Pay the rent easy, leave the bank cheesy

And bass leave your face greasy, artisan, paint easy

Thick bristle type nigga on a bitch steez

Stanzas diesel like Vic Tanny on a fritz,

Whoops, system overload, itchin' for a foe to poach

Spittin' like the engine on a motherfuckin' motorboat

Gold glisten under overcoat

Missin' all affection for these niggas

Redirectin' all these niggas

Very literal, type to sip the Mickeys out of cereal

Drunk and driving, twisty, how he inked up in the swimming pool?

Hundred stand against me, I'm a menace, void a villain, sue me

Driving into fences 'cause I hit the whip a little woozy

Bitch, I'm busy cruising, 'scuse me

[Verse 3: Vince Staples]

Can't even walk up in the church without these niggas tryna testify

I live to die, better that than to live a lie

I rap better than most these rap veterans

Hard-headed and hopeless, hope that God let us in

Mama didn't wanna give birth to a nigga

Should've murdered a nigga, I'm a cancer to the youth

Automatics out the roof, .380 with the weave in it

On sight, scary as prom nights with Carrie

Or car rides with Berry— that's Halle, not Brent

Shooting like Brent and his brother, doin' what daddy had did

Niggas want Grammys and shit, that's funny to me

'Cause since the first take, it's been about money to me

I'm just tryin' to get what Diddy got, doin' what got Biggie shot

They told me that I wasn't shit, but left me in a litter box

Give it up and get a job

[Verse 4: Action Bronson]

Ugh, get a job, bitch

I'm like the boss from the end of the Nintendo game

My brain is on another level, I can feel the devil's pain

Only address me by my reverend name— the good doctor

The good author, good brain in a good Porsche

Dancing drunk in dress pants like I'm a hunk

Backflip in a jacuzzi, forty floors inside the Trump

Front-flip into this high-yellow Chinese bitch's rump

Then she make me chicken broccoli for lunch

I roll a joint like a Mutumbo arm, I'm high cousin

Every time I roll the dice, it's five hundred

When I order wine, it's nine hundred, French chefs kneel before me

End of story, take a shorty to the sortee

That's the bathroom, you already know what happens there

I pull my swimming trunks down

She suck me through the boxer while I'm wearin' flip-flops

Shit's real, grip the wheel, lift steel

[Outro: Action Bronson]

That's it

Yeah, woo

Fuck yeah, hello

Fanfare, bravo, encore