[Verse 1: GAWNE] This a warnin' shot to every motherfuckin' Little one-hit-wonder, rap mumble brother Crypt and I finna get paid a bundle, so we teamed up Top five dead or alive, we're bringin' the rain and thunder Goin' insane, I'll be choppin', like a helicopter blade Man, the wolf's begun to hunt the jungle Stomach rumbles, lookin' for somethin', damn Where the fuck's Lil Pump at? I'm kinda hungry These kitties better never come to my city Come to the Windy, you gon' get nothin' but animosity Midwest monopolies, monstrosities Rap god, I'ma leave the beat in poverty! Hostility, drop a bomb on the enemy Artillery, blowin' up your auxiliary Hit 'em with the intercontinental capabilities Leavin' no stability in the Middle East Benghazi, Hillary, yeah Will I be a kamikaze and kill a beat? Nobody really wanted this smoke, so I'm hittin' 'em with the Juul pod, nicotine Smokin' 'em like a chicken in the rotisserie Finger on the frickin' detonator, incinerating And straight eviscerators, I consider eliminating Every hater in the visible vicinity like Arnold Schwarzenegger Terminator, fuckin' mumble rap exterminator Then again I spit it, wicked, demented and venomous 'Cause I'm sick of the bitter freakin' diggin' and reapin' the benefits When I'm rappin' it like a missile, disintegrated in remnants I'm beginnin' to be the reaper, so I load the MAC, attack! Doo-doo! Everybody dies when I nuke you Screws loose, losin' my mind, I'm goin' cuckoo Who knew I would be the rap Babe Ruth? Jésus in suede shoes, I hit 'em and straight shoot The skeletons walk through the elements, wordsmith, the Letterman Way too competitive, rap with the best of 'em, the veterans And I've just entered the seventh level of hell, the devil Mama, made it out the ghetto So how the fuck could I not be the illest when I feel like a villain Killin' anybody at will? I'm villainous, still a gorilla I'm pillagin' villages and buildings, pavilions, King Kong I'm pro'bly makin' a song for Kim Jong So ching-chong, kiddies sing-along as I'm rippin' about the quickest Yeah, when I'm pickin' apart the rap and I put the pen the pad And Peter Piper pickin' a pickled pepper, Peter, I picked it next I figure that I'm doin' this straight, just shittin' tracks at mumble rap Uh, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang (Brrt!) Shooting range, too much rage, who to slay? Grippin', I weaponize all the rhymes, they demise To the mumble gods when we hit 'em like it's MMA Gucci-Gucci-Gucci-Gucci-Gucci gang Murder everybody like a shooting rampage Yeah, kill 'em all, Fentanyl, blow 'em up, molotov Mazel tov, death to mumble, I rule the game
[Interlude: Futuristic] Sheesh! Yo
[Verse 2: Futuristic] Yo, I'm not a hater, but I'll call a nigga out on his shit I see a lot of people makin' money off of the kids They poppin' pills, tryna hide they real feels See somebody OD, then be surprised when it happens to them I'm counter-culture, y'all some vultures, fuck that! Prayin' on they downfalls and bump that! Use this music, dudes is foolish Ignorant niggas flashin' they cash, blowin' money they don't have Flow infinite, I let 'em all rent it, and I laugh Futuristic the illest with the pen and the pad Since a young lad, been out as the gun blast I was writin' raps while you was still watchin' Rugrats Ante, I'ma up that (Uh) Put your money where your mouth is, you don't want smoke, your lung's black Took a year off to sing on a bunch of songs I was tired of rap, but now I'm joinin' with a comeback (Sheesh!) I'm tired of verses without a purpose (Yeah) I'm tired of guns in the videos (Uh huh) I'm sick of fakin' it until you make it That shit don't make sense when you really broke I'm sick of that mumblin' BS That music that regress, I just wanna see less I'm tired of seein' the homies on shirts With the R.I.P letters right off of the heat press! (Damn) Get your mind right When the time right, I know that they'll reflect You don't gotta listen to my music, it's cool But you do gotta show the young man respect Or my hand up on yo' neck 'til I stretch the cords Mumble rap: zero, us: four, check the score (Woo!) There's somebody to come at me, I'm the best with wars I move in silence, comin' up like Tesla doors! Ugh
[Interlude: Crypt] Yeah! Huh!
[Verse 3: Crypt] I don't really know what to do, be comin' and spit fast Flow so immaculate, give me a pat on the back (Huh?) Like I'm Brady and Belichick, I got these haters in check, I leave a mess if (Huh?) They thinkin' of steppin' to the best, then give 'em whiplash Whether if you noddin' up and down from the beat of the track (What?) Or givin' 'em uppercuts 'til their feet is up in their ass (Huh?) I'ma kill a mumblin' motherfucker before he kill somebody else (Huh? Huh? Huh? Huh?) With the message that he's tryna make come to past (Huh? Huh? Huh? Hoo!) Hello, motherfucker, you heard me, right? Guess it's hard to listen when your head is filled with purpose, right? Get murked tonight, 'cause bitches like you deserve to die Get hurt inside with rhymes, and it's absurd that I Have to come back and reiterate this shit I'ma charge you a fee for extendin' my hit list Play stupid games, win stupid prizes They'll have you forever lookin' at the back of your eyelids (Yeah) And yeah, we just got back from a funeral (Uh) Luke, Mac, Crypt and Futuristic, it was beautiful (Yeah) We had to say goodbye to some of the ignorants in the game But that's what happens when they ruin the image that we portray ([?], hoo) We don't play around, the audience should know it now (Nope) Now I'm not sayin' we played a part in the death (Ha) But to be honest, if ever the blame goes around We take responsibility 'fore we dig 'em up and kill 'em again! (Oh- woo!)
[Verse 4: Mac Lethal, GAWNE & Crypt] Oh, y'all sell tickets like Marvel movies? Well, I still hate it like Scorsese Y'all are just food from McDonald's And I am a gourmet filet that's more tasty I'm more crazy than a short lady Tryna give birth to eighty-four babies In the very back of a Porsche Cayman I bury rappers, then pour pavement Just because you're rappin' fast Doesn't mean that you're sayin' something Y'all mo'fuckers rap so damn slow That, somehow, you're literally sayin' nothin' Just because you can rap fast Doesn't mean that you can rap good Well, just because you can rap at all Doesn't mean that your motherfuckin' ass should Should'a, could'a, would'a hit a hood up with a psycho Analytical, metaphysical mastermind, I'm makin' a fuckin' mockery Of anybody makin' an attempt at taking the fuckin' top from me I brutalize the beat and get the broccoli Brru-brru! Build a Tommy gun and then the bodies come Du-du-du-du-du-du! Here the choppers come Everybody gotta win, you gotta get aboard There's blood up in the ocean water, and it's washin' to the shore, ayy I'm rotten to the core, catch a body, maybe four I'm gonna drop you to the floor, like this is Gatti versus Ward I got a shotty and a sword, in fact, I'm already at war You know I got a perfect score, but I'ma stomp on you some more You'll be dead, body in the morgue, talkin' to the Lord You ain't got an audience no more, all of 'em are bored You don't party anymore, nobody watches when you perform Now you gotta go and get a job at the Gucci store Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang Song is two years old, gee whiz, who would think? Pull your motherfuckin' pants up, your coochie stank Fuck the dumbass tats on your stupid face I'd rather listen to Wu-Tang I'd rather listen to Luke and Crypt I'd rather listen to Futuristic And you'd rather listen to this I'm about to really go insane if the game Gives even a half a lil' bit of fame To another motherfucker that got "Lil" in his name Fuck Gucci, you should join the literacy gang Kids used to want to be astronauts in space Now kids wanna put tats up on they face All we tryna be is the best MCs This the death of mumble rap, rest in peaceTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
