@8-e-tude,
I'm flippin' bodies on the call like an old Motorola
Slidin' you with this Nokia and leavin' you in a coma
You probably high as **** thinkin' "I LOVE SOSA!"
Is the rawest **** you heard, jackin' off with a bottle of soda
You so disillusioned thinkin' you got the best rhymes
Then your fans walk up to you with they ears bleedin' and ten knives
Talkin' bout, "quick kill him, it was this guy!
He sucks so ******* much he gave a hairy blow job off to Tech N9ne!"
You cower up in your basement like, "the hells wrong with these guys?!"
Then you replayed your music and saw every roach in the room die
You started thinkin' bout how maybe you weren't so great
How your fans never liked you and you should isolate
But then you went in denial, sendin' your pen in a spiral
Listeners turn homicidal, holdin' them rifles, your flow suicidal
Here, I give you the title, for suckin' so much in a cycle
(speed it up)
Bitch don't gimme the word, I'll give you a burn
Clip you and kill you with all of this yearn
To shoot every bitch, who claim he the ****
And boot every bit of his fame he might get
I'm packin' the jacket with Remington packets
And smack em' all in soon as I see the faggot
Who's rappin' Jurassic like cry me a river, you will when I'm blastin'
And you will in your casket, which will be your mattress
I murder you brutely and hide you with tactics
Then hack your own facebook and keep posting status
So bitches be thinkin' your ghost in the attic breathin' asthmatic
rememberin' the night he got killed and just vanished
#TeamBackpack