Tuck the cannon in the low fabric Slick Rick grills, 24 gold karats The Kimber K6s is so savage It blew his brains all over the ghost mattress The Cartier vintage like ghost rabbits Man sent to Dennis Wilson crib, so lavish We went up in his face with a stone hatchet Southpaw, fight with the Left like old fascists Throw shots from close angles Have his body laid out like a snow angel Apply pressure till they both strangled Arms dealer sell biscuits like Bojangles Empty clips, give 'em my all Small fry, I got choppers that are bigger than y'all No small talk, money, just the jux and be gone I got shooters waitin' for you if you look at me wrong Muerte! 12 gauges were perfect for these kind of jobs, 'cause they were intimidating, they were big. You know, rather than just a handgun. We'd kick down these doors and, put the gun to their head and I'm just like, "Look, if you don't give me my money, then I'm gonna hurt you." A lot of times I didn't even need the money. I did it because, it just gave me this fucking euphoric feeling and I was addicted... Satan Laughs as You Eternally Rot Young Baloff with the burgundy snot You get surgically shot Drive-by you in a cloud of that purpley pot Can you see with your Eyes Wide Shut, certainly not And we all gon' die someday, Slowly We Rot Shooters might go get your funeral shot, ahk So choose wise who you keep within the circle of trust Tucked the schwammy in the gut Tommy, hand me the blunt Speed forth like Z. York in the green orb Swing swords, careen towards enemy hordes Tear the face off my enemy's corpse Mob through heavenly armed The cause with these heavy metal songs and bars Standing on a cliff harnessing the source of the Ark Past the banana clip, architects tortured in war Eye-patches on crisis actors Unrecognizable accents on ISIS captains Practice survival tactics Cut around your face. Rip your scalp, let it hang down. Rip your face off. And they put a mirror, in front of you, so you can get a real good look at yourself... They cut your dick and your balls off... Medina Arafat, return to the martyr's dream My squad gleams like October in the arts of fiends 'Cause Tuddy cooked a whole corpse until the barren clean Magazine melt your face away, it's guaranteed Roy DeMeo was the butcher from Flatlands Back of the garbage truck, we kill for pellets like Pac-Man Elegant Lou Duva body parts in the cooler Got shooters up in the crib smell like gauze and hot tuna Diadoras, the fat tongues and the yeshiva clapping Break bread, black Rabbi with the heater action Def Leppard, pyromania, I torch and go Rifle nut 40 aught, khakis and baby scorpio Young friend it's Gore Mortuary Drape Called Pazzy we burn the body raw till it was Frosted Flakes Nikki Sixx, the black Corvette from Uncensored Stomp your head out rock corpse paint Like Jon from Dissection One of my first acts will be [*sniff*] to get all of the drug lords [*sniff*] all of the bad ones, we have some bad, bad people [*sniff*] in this country that have to go out. [*sniff*] We're going to get them out, we're going to [*sniff*] secure the border [*sniff*] and once the border is secured, at a later date [*sniff*] we'll make a determination as to the rest. [*sniff*] But we have some bad [*sniff*] hombres [*sniff*] here and we are going to get 'em out. [*grunts and snorts*]