Step back, open ya eyes and realize wut I'm about to do
Psychological ILL spitter that's about to murder you
Brains filled up wit liquid lyrics which is about to spill
Ryhmes hott enough to cook on a George Foreman grill
I spit mad shit, crazier than Alfred Hitchcock classics
Mass pandemoneum with results that are drastic
Potential victims scattering and running for their lives
Heart rates up and Blood Pressure's 150 over 75
Catch an attitude an you'll catcha beatin that is serious
Emergency room type shit, have u delirious
Open wounds and bullet holes, spillin blood all over the place
Fuck plastic surgery, Dr. Dre couldn't repair ya face
CHRONIC pain is a sign that you've stunned by the Illest
My Sixth Sense tells me u gonna Die Harder than Bruce Willis

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