[ VERSE 1: Vakill ]
I come from a land where the apex
Of man evolves back to ape necks every eight sec's
Tecs have fetishes for bullet hole gape sex
Latex is placed on trigger hands, when finger-fuckin we leave no finger prints
Shit, my nigga caught a close range, close quarters, closed casket
I'm haunted by the questions his ghost askin:
(When your toast blastin?
I wanna see a violin his throat slashin
Wanna see you ride with a devout passion
Revoke passes, use acid when provoked, soak masses
I wanna see you go out in gunsmoke spazzin
In a go-for-broke fashion
Make him choke from the blood in the throat gaspin
Grasp a icepick and slowly poke gashes
Make him cough up puss when you quote classics
I want bodies flyin like planes and boat crashes
Crackin jokes while my spirit float past him)
I feel you, that's just what I aim to do
On your life before I squeeze I'ma tell him that I came for you
I'm still in the mood to show and prove that the crown don't move
[ VERSE 2: Vakill ]
Exceed sick, nigga
If it ain't six figures disfigure's permanent
Terminate, whether 16's or click-blickers
Spit triggers, a sick psychosis
My focus 90% Geico-ish - my eyes on that money, nigga
The game too docile, this hostel the beats
My gospel the streets, fuck around, you a fossil beneath
Spit a virus too hostile to treat
Findin survivors is like Bedrock break pads, nigga, impossible feat
And a lotta new niggas can't stand me
I hear the hate that they hand me
Like, "He ain't that amazin flow-wise"
But learn one thing
Only two ways that a pussy could earn its wings
They don't make Allways in yo size
My story's the pain that last underneath scars
Brokeback, I'll rob vending machines if I want Heath bars
You speak delirium, my flow equilibrium, peak's imperial
Now plus this eagle equals 'Here he come - be wearisome'
I'm still in the mood to show and prove that the crown don't move
[ VERSE 3: Vakill ]
Long as the economy remain stagnant aim Magnums
At you pain magnets, scatter his brain fragments
At a distance forensics just ain't baggin him
It's Chi ritual, it's habitual when I empty every mag in 'em
My city don't sleep, its eyes got heavy bags in 'em
Fiends dodgin coppers for copper and spitters want platinum
The term 'pig' is an acronym - pussies itching with guns
Scared of every nigga with a tilted or backwards brim
It's dirty job season, niggas ain't got no prob squeezin
Find yo head missin for some odd reason
Freeze and bow when you in the lord's presence
Speakin of blessings - when I spit it it's hard to address it like God sneezin
Lord help us, niggas hungry and can't afford shelters
We only cut the deck with the sword dealt us
Nice but at times I wish that more felt us
So fuck it, I'm trigger-aimin too
Shit, my kids need food and I came for you
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