[Verse 1]

My shit's straight bile, you're mild, you've got no style

I won't be impressed 'til you possessed by Belial

I make beats, like surgeons resume to stitch up your wounds

Inside the emergency room

They must work urgently or you'll permanently be in a tomb

You seein' the clergy soon

I'm taking this rap game, serious from the start

Like your chest cut open with scalpel holding doctors working on your heart

Playing fucking God, lacerating to pieces of lard

Like vultures ripping Jesus apart

You're chopped up and divided in cubes

My tracks pump like blood pumping through IV tubes

The human body's gore, who the fuck created it?

Veins and brains are insane, it's some creative shit

Satanic organs, melodies of morbidness

Over the ramming sword of sicknesses, the world absorb of this

You rap like a cadaver, there's no life in you

I should stick a knife in you, right through your windpipe will do

[Chorus]

Twenty four shots in your head

I know you're dead but I want to make sure you're dead

So, I pump four more in your head with the Beretta

You're dead but I want to make sure you're deader

Twenty four shots in your head

I know you're dead but I want to make sure you're dead

So, I pump four more in your head with the Beretta

You're dead but I want to make sure you're deader

[Verse 2]

My pumping tracks, hit you like gun shots, fire crackers

And jumping jacks, wrapped into one attack

This year, is just another point in time

Another year time devours the joints in your spine

Until you're stressed with no credentials left

Just your essential breath and the potential death

It's, maggots and blindfolds, winter jackets and rifles

Caught up in the cycle of psychos, it's when your life goes

I'm done with babbling, a kid disses and I grab him

Then I'm gonna stab 'em, son, you ain't fronting on my album

Spitting on your bitch's tits, they shift the shit

My pistol grip is sadistic like Mephisto's clique

[Chorus]

Twenty four shots in your head

I know you're dead but I want to make sure you're dead

So, I pump four more in your head with the Beretta

You're dead but I want to make sure you're deader

Twenty four shots in your head

I know you're dead but I want to make sure you're dead

So, I pump four more in your head with the Beretta

You're dead but I want to make sure you're deader

[Verse 3]

Not since World War Two has a rapper slaughtered you

With the impact of Necro's rap, it's morbid truth

In fact, not since the first sin, has a poet created grim verbatim

Like me where you making the industry cringe

I've had a profound effect

My angle has strangled the underground like a noose around the neck

My first radio coverage introduced you to being bludgeoned

And took you through the brain of a Brooklyn kid that was thugging

Now I've got hundreds loving, who would have thought

I'd be considered the greatest cat, explaining the verbal onslaught

Now everyone's objective is directed

Towards finding a Necro record or a freestyle where I wreck the respected

[Chorus]

Twenty four shots in your head

I know you're dead but I want to make sure you're dead

So, I pump four more in your head with the Beretta

You're dead but I want to make sure you're deader

Twenty four shots in your head

I know you're dead but I want to make sure you're dead

So, I pump four more in your head with the Beretta

You're dead but I want to make sure you're deader

[Outro]

Die!