[Verse 1: SykoCutter]

I'm so sick and ferocious, you know it

I'm workin' to ownin' and towards the closin'

Bodies are cut open and decomposin'

Don't be heretic, exchange the person for another murder scene

Mercilessly I merk the beat, every verse; it clean

You'll have the urge to bleed

I'm so diabolic and psychotic, my knives' cutting

I'll leave people capless inside boxes

Violently, it's a way of life to me

I see cops approachin' and sirens glеam

My mind's morbid, draggin' bodies inside a Porsche, Mеrcedes

Forcin' a Torrance hand, it's gorgeous to see blood pourin' and see their organs

My mind's fucked and it quite distorted

I'm a renegade, you are what I instigate

There are so many people that I intimidate

Endin' your pathetic life, no one left behind

No bodies anyone can identify

Prepare to be deceased, as you can barely breathe

I can already tell that you're just a hair from defeat

And you'll have your last breath released

If you mess with me, I can hear your pathetic screams

As I'm causin' your neck to bleed

Can you hear the pain? Are you listening?

That's astounding, your whole life in a seam

And it's ending quick, all of the blood you're drenched in

Stabbin' you with my knife and, yo, I'm bending it

My music the sickest, so wicked when I'm spittin'

This verse is gonna end in an instant

[Verse 2: Playboy The Beast]

I'm the definition of Horrorcore, I'm a psychopath

I really do half the shit I rap about, it ain't no act

Dissolve your corpse in a plastic barrel like Breaking Bad

Fill up a sack with newborn kittens then I take a bat

I black out and just snap and I start stompin' cats

'Til the bag is flat, blood splatters, they little corpses; smashed

Cadavers of little kittens with guts hangin' out they ass

No one survives, I'm on a war path, I don't need no mask

No free collabs, so don't even ask or you'll eat my axe

Hear no evil, see no evil, but I'm evil, that's a fact

You see the horns, your life's over, nigga, that's a wrap

Hogtied, whole family layin' on the tracks

My fuckin' dick in your bitches mouth like she play the sax

Cock it back and I'm aimin' it at your Old Bay hats

You can't run, 'cause you're wearin' your girlfriends tightest pants

Bitch, I'm a beast, so fuck that, man, I won't relax (Yeah!)

[Verse 3: Dizpized]

I write with metaphors consistently

I was bred and born in misery

My life is headed towards the endless street of enemies

Specifically, a sick emcee gets better if we

Wearin' a wife-beater, so how do I have tricks in my sleeve?

And I'm gettin' so good at this that I could just spit in my sleep

You don't want a diss or a beef because it's written in ink that I'm bitter and mean

You should know that it's a routine for you bitches to bleed as I'm grippin' the heat

The bullets rip through your spleen at such a vigorous speed

I'm takin' your throat and slittin' it quick as it instantly leaks

So, throw away your mic, I'm sick of the trash you're makin'

You don't wanna fuck with me, you'd be better off masturbatin'

The tough talk, relax and save it, don't get aggravated

I don't mean stretched ears but I'll be blastin' gauges

It's past persuasive that my craft is amazin'

I'm the type of rapper to blast in your playlist

My heart is rapidly pacin', I'll be bashin' your face in

If you're sayin' that I can't rap, that's not an accurate statement

I get hype energetically as I'm rhymin' impressively

The bell already rang, so why are you testin' me?

'Cause I'm wise intellectually, on the mic, I can wreck emcees

I advise you, it's best to leave, you're invited to rest in peace

[Verse 4: Street Skolla]

Devil rebel, ghetto nigga all in one

Hell, no, you made a devil killer all in fun

Neighborhood superstar, with these bars, I be rippin' shit

You're better off claimin' y'all is illiterate, no stoppin' this

Cyko poppin' shit is nada, I'll beat your baby mama's Progologist

You designed this fabrication and forgery

Innaccuracy in every aspect of your story

Said the same thing in three ways, you dig?

'Cause you tripled a trick, Holy Trinity a bitch

Street Skolla be proper or be robber

Ready for The New Machiavelli or B. Poppa

That's alright, the last guy that read right

You're losser than your mom's vagina, loser, don't act tight

Ain't no sittin' and thinkin' I past y'all

Y'all trippin', you trippin' on whack songs