[HOOK]

Laughing at these assholes like ha-ha-ha

.40 caliber — you gasping out like ah-ah-ah

.38 — these shots ain’t cold, them bitches hot-hot-hot

I’ll be the reason that your breathing fuckin’ stops-stops-stops

[VERSE 1]

Bitch, they call me the Deadman, the master lyric killer

I’m a fanatic of tactics on beats to prove who’s realer

I’m like the hungriest bully — emcees are food for dinner

Anybody can get it, from vets to new beginners

So when I fuck a beat up, there’s no question who done did it

Richard Ramirez of rapping, I choose to stay demented

I choose to package the bodies up in the basement hidden

But ain’t no place in this game left for you to say who’s iller

I must got patience — it’s been days since I last killed a rapper

I feel amazing slaughtering tracks on an addictive bender

I’ve been elite since age sixteen — or do you not remember?

Me in Boone Park alone, remixing “Better Weather”?

If I don’t get you on a beat, I’ll come and get you in the street

Then take the body home with me and disassemble it in pieces

With your bowels, teeth, and spleen all flung around the room this evening

Was delightfully devising — on the mic I’m like a heathen

Yeah

[VERSE 2]

You be the victim, I’m the killer — all players against the dealer

So either fold or raise your bet, I might be white but not vanilla

I never played about my skrilla — your days are numbered, pick a pillow

I’ll pick a spot that they can’t dig up

Knock knock — I’m at your spot

Kick in the door and let off shots

Slipknot — these bodies drop

Don’t have my face posted on Fox

I’m way too dope, I can’t detox

I need a straitjacket with locks

The way that I connect the dots

Will leave your body cold in shock

Beneath the ocean with the sharks

Stay in your house, it’s after dark

I got the whip outside in park

I’ll put that shrapnel in your heart

Treat that boy like Tony Stark

Murdering rappers turned to art

Play with your life like that was smart

I sneak around, cut off the lights

Turn off alarms — you turn the corner

Lose an arm, you get to runnin’

Where you going? Footsteps echo — just stay calm

This what you wanted, so what’s wrong?

Do what you said inside your songs

Before you laid up dead and gone

Machete blade serrated long

And this your fate, so sing along

[HOOK]

Laughing at these assholes like ha-ha-ha

.40 caliber — you gasping out like ah-ah-ah

.38 — these shots ain’t cold, them bitches hot-hot-hot

I’ll be the reason that your breathing fuckin’ stops-stops-stops

[VERSE 3]

My good side is your worst demon

Your worst fear is here — no screaming

Raps Wes Craven — you just dreaming

Bitch, wake up — you know you bleeding

I need some therapy, some Seroquel

And yes, man, I need Jesus

Ayo, profa — am I tweaking?

Or was that a Deadman there that’s speaking?

People die if I get even

You one-up? What was you thinking?

On the mic — B-los elitist

Getting flushed — aborted fetus

No — in fact, I rap aggressive

Fuck ’em all — dry entry demon

Ain’t no point for me to ease in

Lubrication isn’t needed