You couldnt possibly be\
fucking ready for me
I generated the phosphate
to fuse with my old school hate
synced to the beat,
decomposed fucking smelly feet
the shits far from ill,
it sucks dick pickle dills
standing here at your grave
with the likes of pat magill
spittin on the head stone
i bet you fuckin died alone
and now a multitude snacks your fucking bones
failed to acheive the excellence that youd once shown
you think to your self deep in the ground
are they laughing at me, what the fuck is that sound?

ready for an inoculation?

the year is 1954, and iM at the door
with my thumbs balls-deep in a croatian whore
knife fighting at the ice cream social,
fucking hardcore
you stand stunned at my sight,
my beats are fuckign tight
try to hold a candle to me,
but the flames are in my pee
suck my piss bitches, or else leave with a mouth of stitches
your arms are now replaced with some fucking tits-is
the way we operate, mother fuking innoculate
you got a cherry red stratocaster, your fuckin great
now shut the fuck up while i blast beats on your fucking face
your last moment on earth, realize your eternally replaced BITCH