Agony Fires

“Monsieur le juge, ce cahier contient des notes rédigées… J’attire votre attention sur les changements spectaculaires de style d’écriture, de ton et de point de vue. Ce que vous avez sous les yeux, ce sont les pensées intimes de plusieurs personnalités différentes. Si vous me permettez, quelques explications… merci”

I lick a shot in the sky

A war don, you're gone cousin, Optimus Prime

You a bitch, one of 700 Solomon's wives

I was in Constantinople during Ottoman's shine

My Glock is a nine

My thirty-eight Wesson a beautiful bitch

You rhyme like a ho, find a more suitable pitch

You bout to find out why German Lugers exist

Dig a hole, bury yourself, beautiful ditch

It ain't a single man living could fuck with the beast

Gay rapper, altar boy you fuckin' a priest

Fuck a cop, dirty pig we buckin' police

Dirt bag can't make money, he stuck in the streets

What you think? I'm sittin' in this cage for nothing?

If they release me it's curtains, that's why I live in the dungeon

All black nothin' lit up, I set up walls

And hang body's that I hit up, can't fit us all

Warchild got machetes with old blood on the tip

Paz sittin' with artillery to blow you to bits

Shit, King Syze with the getaway

All black UConn, shoes on everyday

Gun play nowadays more frequent

More real niggas mad fallin' off the deep end

And your life depends on me

I ice out the whole joint and put your men on freeze

You can start a riot in here, now who's wit me?

Who the fuck gon' ride when this shit get shifty?

Where my niggas at? I know who ride wit me

This Pharaohs shit fo' life, they gon' die right with me

Spur of the moment I could strike with a strategic blow

I hold the heaters low and ground you up inside a pita roll

Explosive botanist, obvious that I plant bombs

I stand out in crowds like I got fluorescent pants on

Satanic candles lit in my recording room

I'm makin' hits, singing songs of death in Autotune

Put a bear-trap on ya ankle

Drop you off at Foot-Locker

Mug the manager like, "What the fucks poppin'?!"

Punks drop it, while I stand tall

You see me, you seen the greatest rapper, modern man's call

Electric meat-shaver that's a modern man's saw

Precision chop limbs after I body slam y'all

Hand saw, body chopper

Bloody opera singer, Satan's trigger finger

Rock the bells in Hell, call me a dead ringer

Freddy Krueger sweater, rock a Beretta cocker

I'll dead a copper, head to Czechoslovakia 'fore they spot me

On security cams

My maturity shows

When I take these young rappers and I murder they flows

Including Weezy's and Jeezy's, if I had a genie

I'd make major label rappers Ice Cube's and Eazy's

Monster with the frees when I'm conquering MCs

I be airin' rappers out, like I'm sponsored by Febreze

If you stop to get some Z's

I just haunt you in your dreams

Smuggle yay from Medellin and vacation in Belize

Please believe me

[Hook]