You couldn't possibly be fucking ready for me
I generated the phosphate to fuse with my old school hate
Synced to the beat decomposed fucking smelly feet
The shit's far from ill it sucks dick pickle dills
Standing here at your grave with the likes of Pat Magill
Spittin' on the head stone I bet you fuckin' died alone
And now a multitude snacks your fucking bones
Failed to achieve the excellence that you'd once shown
You think to yourself deep in the ground
Are they laughing at me, what the fuck is that sound?
Ready for an inoculation?
The year is 1954, and I'm at the door
With my thumbs balls-deep in a Croatian whore
Knife fighting at the ice cream social, fucking hardcore
You stand stunned at my sight, my beats are fuckin' tight
Try to hold a candle to me but the flames are in my pee
Suck my piss bitches, or else leave with a mouth of stitches
Your arms are now replaced with some fucking titses
The way we operate, motherfucking inoculate
You got a cherry red Stratocaster, you're fuckin' great
Now shut the fuck up while I blast beats on your fucking face
Your last moment on earth, realize you're eternally replaced
Bitch