Untitled Song

You lookin at Atilla

The psychopathic killer, the caterpillar

Don't tell me when I'm supposed to rap until

Especially when your favorite rapper isn't even half as ill

A savage still, the tracks a banana peel, attack of the silverback gorilla

You're havin' a little trouble fathomin' this is actually happenin'

Like Anderson Silva when he snapped his shin in half

And then had shit hangin' by a flap of skin

After he tried to plant the shit back on the mat again

Pad to pen I'm batty like eyelids when they're blinkin' a lot

You copy me, but you're not

You can't be butterflies

My offspring's are just moths

If I see that thing, I'ma squash it and rip the wings of it off

So ring the alarm, pull the extinguishers off of the wall, set the sprinklers off

Like Jada Pinkett and Queen Latifah, 'til the shingles come off the roof

We'll shatter the ceilings

Slaughterhouse in the building, middle fingers aloft

Say what I think when I rhyme, in ink-pen I talk

And the language I speak is my mind

Kingpin and Penguin combined

Spit like it's King of the Dot

A singular thought I'd think I would help you distinguish

A brother from the cream of the crop

Wait a minute, hold up

Like a flash card

Damn dog, is that copyin', or payin' homage?

It's sad because dad taught you to rap as a damn toddler

My dad is your grandfather

I have to rehatch on you

Come back as black wasp

Half yellow jacket, you can't swat a

Sasquatch dancin' on top of a ant,

Trample it and stomp it, smash it and stand on it

Dammit, I can't stop it

The rap is a vag and I can't stop goin' in like a tampon in this bitch

It's is manslaughter

Stampin' out grasshoppers, you can't be no Rap Gods

In fact you're exact opposites

You make a wack song, and can't hold a candle

But even Daniel-san wax off, you jack-offs

Need to come to grips, like a hand job

The boom bap is back with an axe to mumble rap

Lumberjack with a hacksaw

Number one, but my pencils are number two 'cause that's all I do with 'em

Poop is my pseudonym

On the john like a prostitute when I droppin' a deuce and

When I'm producing them lyrical bowel movements

These beats are like my saloons

'Cause these bars always got my stools in 'em

And I don't need Metamucil to loosen them

Bitch it is real like I pooped Jerusalem

I'm 'bout to go spin another cocoon

And I'm cuttin' you from your mother's womb then I'm flushin' you