You couldn't possibly be fucking ready for me I generated the phosphate to fuse with my old school hate Synced to the beat decomposed fucking smelly feet The shit's far from ill it sucks dick pickle dills Standing here at your grave with the likes of Pat Magill Spittin' on the head stone I bet you fuckin' died alone And now a multitude snacks on your fucking bones Failed to achieve the excellence that you'd once shown You think to yourself deep in the ground Are they laughing at me, what the fuck is that sound?
Ready for an inoculation?
The year is 1954, and I'm at the door With my thumbs balls-deep in a Croatian whore Knife fighting at the ice cream social, fucking hardcore You stand stunned at my sight, my beats are fuckin' tight Try to hold a candle to me but the flames are in my pee Suck my piss bitches, or else leave with a mouth of stitches Your arms are now replaced with some fucking titses The way we operate, motherfucking inoculate You got a cherry red Stratocaster, you're fuckin' great Now shut the fuck up while I blast beats on your fucking face Your last moment on earth, realize you're eternally replaced Bitch