i keep it morbid, the gore that i spit,
is more obscure than a bitch wit 4 tits suckin on 4 dicks
im so sick like a patient wit aids virus
i slay tyrants, shave em wit blades, i crave violence
you cant touch me, my raps to rugged its ugly
ill be relaxin on the beach drinkin booze whiel porno bitches tug me
ill split ya brains, on the street while yur fetus jus hangs
outta yua stomache, the results of gettin hit wit a train
survivin this pain, by poppin large amounts of oxycottons
youll end up in coffins, stinkin, like a thousand nazi's rottin
when i see hookers on streets, i gag then vauhmit on they feet
thye like "yo matt wtf" sry i think im O.D'ng off this E
so next tiem you see me, ill probly be high, drunk or dead
more likely the first 2, cuz i already shot myself in the head