[Verse 1: Vakill]

Looking at my Gucci, it’s about that time when I check hoes

Stomp holes in niggas so deep, they’ll be rhyming in echoes

(In echoes) Deep as the grave in rhyme when I’m engraving lines

Don’t try to act brave and shine, save that for fucking Daylight Savings Time

I’m the shit as a whole, no need for niggas to wanna know the half

I go to grab the mics when I throw the gab at emcees with the wrong

Flow to have and unholy now. Fuck, blow the crab out the frame

But, luckily, half of you bitches hardly ever make it to the photo lab

International, a ghetto celeb type. What I write put lives on the line

[?] without a website internet [?]

[?] when you claiming rap pages in Source, Nikes

Throwing their ass a bandage, and I’ll probably force Christ on a cross twice

Vakill the Boogeyman (Nigga), [?] when I squeeze M-I-Cs

Your whole fucking family dressed in black like the M.I.B.s

In my jurisdiction, not only will I severely injure his diction

But commence to slap kids the fuck back like a PEZ candy dispenser

Smoke an author’s ass to ash/Ashe like Arthur’s last name, mayne

With more drunken fist techniques than an alcoholic abusive father has

Fuck you thought? Save that before surgeons be getting costly

Why spit flows when men are pausing? Like rented cars, it’s pussy enough

To leave even the most masculine nigga menopausing, so fuck throwing in the towel

With that style, throw in your whole motherfucking linen closet

Y’all verbally button-wet, nigga [?]

‘Cause if I was to cum on your eye right now, nigga, you still ain’t see nutting/nothing yet

Not a sudden threat, this a full-scale, whole assault, and since y’all running

Out of ideas, then here’s one: think about my nuts and hold that thought

[Verse 2: Vakill]

I was told it ain't

How fat the rhyme is but the billfold from a half a mill’ sold

And niggas on New York nuts with raps when any size or skill show

Not what you was popping less than a year ago when your ass

Was putting out records, campaigning ‘bout keeping it real and lyrical

Hypocritical ass, typical trash you produced, they gassed you up

Since you finally made a record that sold at critical mass. Bitch, please

Fuck you and your missed marks ‘cause y'all not only on East and West Coasts’

Dick soft. Y'all niggas getting it up the nose like tricks’ sores, so

Stop manning your stations ‘cause the cannon you’re facing’s a verbal

Gun-clapper about to give y’all ass a standing ovation

Why in the fuck these overnight [?]

‘Cause they started making tracks with keyboards instead of piano loops

And nothing decent’s been coming from out their ass since. In the last

Tenths of a milliseconds, shit that they thought was next was past-tense

And none of that shit you find incredible stun me

Wetting your ass with flows sweeter than diabetic fags sporting edible undies

So expect it ‘cause y'all were selected to die hectic

Deaf dialectic, I never let bullshit Slide even if it's Electric

Your whole dilemma’s facing elimination, riding the next

Nigga dick, trying to take credit for artificial insemination

Cheap imitation, buy your generic shit, but I'm more

Than capable of getting in niggas’ asses with a biogenetic fit and then

Running up in their slimmies’ colons, breaking these kids’ flows

Like semicolons, no question I could halve any fucking opposition. Y'all

See me holding my dick and scrotum. After I kick [?]

It comes to skill, watch your fast bitch-ass copping some steel

And rapid ducks bleed at rabbit-fuck speed, vocab that succeeds

And bust a nut while all these wack-ass niggas swallow and suck seed

Read the fine print. If you’re like me, the alignment’s done torn out

Pussies in ways unimaginable, left running vaginal flow, so

This is a full-blood assault, niggas that wasn't so butter cough

(“Say something now”) Yeah, nigga, that's what I thought