grenade launcher

mad child and c-lance

we formed an alliance

fuck these bitches

we the horniest ornery giants

the way i rap's mathematics

it's sort of a science

your rap's wack

i'll do more than just corner your client

i leave 'em fuckin' mortified

dog

i terrorize

my rhymes are more than fuckin' clean

holmes

they're sterilized

sometimes i lean so hard i need a kickstand

i wrestle alligators and i dance on quicksand

i call a rapper tin man cause he got no heart

each line's an arrow dipped in poison from a blow dart

yeah

these rappers they got no parts

me against them's a maserati to a go-kart

these young punks

they think they're so smart

i might be old

but i'm the sickest fuckin' old fart

i'm so much better

you can blame it on the age difference

you got your party clothes on

i'm wearing beige slippers

i give a fuck about a club

it's just a meat market

these girls will open up their legs like it was free parking

of course i like to fuck

but there's no challenge

i must have fucked a thousand bitches since we dropped balance

the law of averages says we win again

hand grenade parade

we blowin' up

pull the pin

and then

boom! make room for swollen

man

and then

bang! it's a battleaxe thing

the law of averages says we win again

hand grenade parade

we blowin' up

pull the pin

and then

boom! make room for swollen

man

and then

bang! it's a battleaxe thing

street fight

pit fight

red nose

blue nose

old school vinyl so cold like blue note

head spin

head win fills up the sails with

prevail's gifts

press to lean

my recipe is very secret

see my destiny inscribed on a tablet stone

rappers leave rap alone unless it's in your chromosomes

monsters in your closet

watch it

turn you to skeleton bones

think you mr. hardcore

callin' you gelatin jones

look upon my boardwalk empire

al capone

you think you lucky" like luciano