You’re lyrics are garbage, so you can’t be a rhyme-snatcher…….
I’ll still spill the blood in your jugular, make you a mime-rapper……
Tackle and Attacy-ya like a lunatic line-backer…..
Smoke You Like Dime-Sacks,Your Spine-Cracks When The Nine-Claps-Ya…..
I’m Spreading The Word, And I Hope it Gets through Your Fore-head……
And the word is: Bullet, and that’s why the Floor’s Red…….
Smokin’Hopeless, It’s The Greatest Way-To-
Get-High…….
I Only Got One Question For y’all How Gay-is-this-Guy…..
I’m taking you to your judgment, and leadin’-the-way-so-let’s-ride…….
We'll hot box your casket to celebrate the eve-of-the-day-that-you-died…….


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