Strangeulation III

Wrapped in XLR cables

Up from my whiskers, down to my fuckin' kicks

Wreck-O was echoed in Gordon Geckos

You suckin' dick

Nobody be askin' me for secrets

I ain't chuckin' tips

I'd rather be bumpin' hips

On that ratchet with muffin tits

Tore up the limits

From Britan visions would rock their lives

Inside a prison where giddy bitches don't jock the rhyme

Born in precision

Rhythm spittin' could swat a fly

For them to just kick a single shillings from Spotify

Bye, Bye killers

On a high five business

Gonna ride by the sickest

In your high ride to the hitlist

If we ain't spoke in ages

Then miss me with broken favors

You Miley Cyrus to majors

You twerkin' on swollen razors (run now)

Dont make me come to dinnernail your tounge down

And have you plead your case to us

At Strangeland at sundown

Be careful of the biz

Cause everything has got a price attached

Wake up with a horse head in your bed

And next your life is snatched