I throw a brick at your crib, have you standing on the porch Screaming "Look what you did!" I ain't feeling no remorse
N**ga, just pick up the kids: Swift got first dibs
With these cherry-hot slugs that'll barbecue your ribs
I'm preparing deathbeds. Quick to bust lead
While I'm staring at the Feds, tearing off they legs
Once you drop dead, they'll be swearing it's a plague
I'm sicker than a coke Rastafarian with dreads
You get shanked if you move; ditched with no clues
Dopest shit on yo' tape was yo' skits and interludes
And once I finish you, they wouldn't put it in the news
I'm nuts, so you hoes ain't got the guts to interview
