What I'm Feelin

The drugs keepin me high

I just wanna eliminate everyone thats in sight

The wicked shits alive in me and it will never die

I just wanna let you know inside what I'm feelin

Feelin' dead but I'm still alive*

Killers who cut throats the only ones that survive

The wicked shits alive in me and it will never die

I just wanna let you know inside what I'm feelin

I'm sick like hotel beds

And gettin head

In a motel where

My girls in the corner dead

The coroner said it was an overdose

So I cut his throat and left him for dead

Inside a moble home*

I'm a stoner with his motor blown

And I get high over leavin wack mcee's comatose

You ain't shit you suck

So what you got your vowels mixed up*

J hand me the bitch so I can pump this shit up like training day

I'm holdin the real killers who walk and never run away

Put your fuckin gun away

'for I get pissed off then piss on ya like a rainy day

I ain't happy I'm the other way

Stayin mad as fuck and always lookin to retaliate

So if you wondering why I magigate

Just refer to the real definition of assassinate

Here we go and were takin it back to basics

We make a mark in any marks trying to erase it

We take the number and usually we embrace it

We were born in chaos with carnival faces

Hows that for odds

Sent here to eliminate false profits and DemiGods of statistics

Media* moguls and spreaders of the falseness

With they heads lopped off and bodies tied to crosses

Followers have been exposed

With overactive temperal lobes

Up in they dome

No indiviuality more clones on the production line

Manufacture and faximilated rhymes for the twelfth time

Thirteen's synonomous with the oddity's

Stay hungry for flesh like the piranha be

Killer tryin to dishonor me

Nothin is sacred in a dead economy

So bury me deep* where the haters will never bother me

They got a problem with us and the way we tellin it

Not a statistic refuse to be irrelevent

Disorted in sick shit

Ooze from every element

You can blame it on my soul but the music be compelling it

To do the type to make you feel it when you hear it

Musical ducktape

To patch the holes in your spirt

No jump on fate

We tomahawk with the lyrics

And stay buzz wordy while your shits on clearance

You phonier than cinamax porn and bein torn

Between bein a label whore

And wishin you were never born

I'm not hear to scorn

I'm just sayin that your nothin more than a porn on a board in a fake war

And now you fuck with ya militia*

Whirl with that government issue

Wont miss ya

I ain't gotta spit a line to diss ya

I got a line around the block of folks commin to get ya

[Chorus]