You look like king koopa puta, and I'm about to shoot ya, with a bazooka,

straight to your face, and knock the taste,

out all your buds, then there's blood, on the carpet and the rug,

and then it's curtains, I'm certain, that I'm burnin, down your house, without a doubt, another strike I'm out, so I'm about,

to get real mean, make a fuckin scene, with my AR-15,

with plenty of ammunition, on a covert mission, but listen, before you start dissin,

I ain't the muthafuckin one son, on the wrong side of a gun, punk bitches scatter and run, pealin caps for fun, burn you like the sun,

or that hasn't been exposed, slap another hoe, after a rail goes up my nose, change my clothes, so the 5-0 don't know, which way to go,

or who to pursue, I thought you knew, don't leave a fuckin clue, for the boys in blue, remember the rule,

that no face no case, and no name no blame, cuz the main pains the same, in the game, as it rain, hollow points that I aimed, to gain,

even more duckets, but fuck it, I bust it, trust it,

and best believe, what you read, money's what I need, so I make em bleed, and bitch please, spread like a disease, proceed, to hit the trees,

and down yet another bottle, I'm unstoppable, you're layin in the hospital, blood drippin out your nostril, it's just not possible, to slow or stop me, just can't top me, so they copy,

my style, rhythm, and flow, now it's time to go, somewhere over the rainbow, jack a pot of gold, my heart is cold, so I hold,

even more dope in my pocket, what you need I got it,

sacked up and ready, I got plenty, never empty, and steady on the grind, more paper on my mind, and I find, there's a thin line,

between a sinner and a saint, but wait, bring the yellow tape, you can't escape, the fate of your demise,

don't try to hide, and I would revise,

your weak ass bars, another charge, and conviction, due to my addiction that's a contradiction in the jurisdiction of the penal code, as I load,

the clip and the chamber, your life's in danger, and it's a major, hazard to your health, so check yourself, or judged by 12, maybe carried by 6,

fuckin tricks, in my mix, when I pull a lick, and hit, you where it hurts, the whole earths my turf, but first I burst,

and pop goes the weasel, this substance is like lethal illegal, injections, not to mention, my intention,

to either ride or die, say goodbye, to the bad guy,

you'll never see another like this, as I sling this crys, and wish, I miss,

my own funeral, that ruined you,

in this verbal attack, you bustas are wack, I'm the fuckin mack, I'm back, and that's that.