I'm after ya carats like a rabbit, but u ain't got none,
I have a bad habit, it's to reak havoc wit a shotgun,
You ain't phat u jus carry excess weight, lucky ur an archeologist, cuz when I bury u, u'll have to excavate,
I'll punch you wit an upper-cut to help you elevate,
I'll make your disappereance a mystery like Agatha Christie's,
I'll leave on the floor after a snap, crackle and pop like rice krispies,
I'll kick you in the head wit my loafers, till ur in a coma from brain malignoma,
Then you'll get driven to the hospital by the ambulance chauffeur,