Like potent stenches in morges im driftin through doors/
With all tha names i've claimed i dont know y im mentionin your's/

Never tha less my words are simply rippin ya chords/
They're like verbal x-lax... i'll have this kid shittin his drawers/

Hand this bitch his corpse i dont know y you're steppin to X/
Cuz ill put mirrors in ya casket so u can reflect on ya death/

With teks to ya chest your countin down tha seconds that's left/
I'll cut out ya lungs and throw em at u to help u catchin ya breath/

comin wit a murderous style dat can't be touched/
messin wit me is like a prostitute pussy, ya fucked/

been here for a couple of months, now they know who I be/
you'se a washed up rapper, there's a seat by Heavy D/