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[Verse 1]
Before I check the mic (Check, one, two)
I give it an extra swipe with a Lysol disinfectant wipe
Good evening, coronavirus in effect tonight
Antiseptics on deck, I got every type
I throw on my tux, then I (Yeah) give zero fucks, then I (Yeah)
Act like a jockstrap (Uh), cup my nuts, then I (Yeah)
Check my bald hair (What?), make sure it's all there (Yeah), then call the pallbearer (Yeah)
It's Music to Be Murderеd By again, why stop?
Overkill, like a pipe bomb in your pinе box
You're all hitched to my cock (What?)
Went from punching the time clock to getting my shot
Then treating it like a cyclops
Like it's the only one I got and my thoughts are like knives cocked (Ch-ch)
Every lines I've seen perverted it's mine got, the dirtiest rhyme stop
That's why there's parental advising every time I drop
'Cept I want a fiend, the Alfred Al, channel him like the Panama Canal
But how could I get up in arms about you saying trash is all that I put out?
Bitch, I still get the bag when I'm putting garbage out
Plus, the potty mouth, I'm not about to wash it out, the filthiest
So all this talk about I'm lost is half preposterous
Because if cleanliness is next to godliness, it's obvious that it's impossible for me to be beside myself
And I'm 'bout that capital, like a proper noun
Sit on top the pile, got me sitting on numbers like a pocket dial
Quick to call you out on your bullshit, don't make me get that croc a dial
'Cause if I do, it's see you later, alligator, made it out the trailer
Then I made a vow to cater to no one
So hate I've gained about the same amount that's in my bank account
So here's some more shit for you to complain about, I say the
Bars that never smack, but always get attacked
I think they're gunnin' for me, it's startin' to feel like that
Like I'm marked 'cause when I rap, it's like fallin' on my back in a tar pit 'cause I have this target on my back (Ew, yuck)
But if I ever double-cross my fans and lost my stans
I'd probably pop five Xans (Yeah), go in my garage, start my van
Inhale as much carbon monoxide and exhaust I can
And doze off like, but odds like that with these thoughts I have
It's like a giant getting squashed by ants
If this is the test of time I pass with flying colors, like I just tossed my crayons
Small, medium, and large size cans
Sanitizers of all types, brands, cost nine bands
Which is a small price for Lysol wipes and if my palms brush across my pants, I wash my hands
Shit, hold on, man
Happy birthday to-
Fuck (Shh, quiet)
[Verse 2]
I sit in silence in candlelit environments
Sipping wild Irish while getting violent
Homicidal visions when I'm spitting like this
But really I'm just fulfilling my wish of killing rhymes which is really childish
And silly, but I'm really like this, I'm giving nightmares to Billie Eilish
I'm Diddy's side bitch
What the fuck? Hold on, wait
"I'm Diddy's side bitch"?
Oh, I'm still east side, bitch
[Verse 3]
So tell the END, since he PMD
Been givin' y'all the business, D.R.E and me
From the MMLP to MTBMB
Bitch it's 2020, you still ain't seein' me (Haha)
So call me Santa Clause, 'cause at the present, I out-rap 'em all
I'm at the mall, got your bitch in a bathroom stall
She could suck a basket ball (Uh) through a plastic straw (Yeah) with a fractured jaw (Damn)
My dick is coat check (Ha), she want to jack it off (Yeah)
I'm so far passed the bar, I should practice law
Mentally, I'm fucked up generally (Duh)
Duke's a hazard car, get the cadaver, dawgs
'Cause this is murder, murder and you get murked, murked
This music 'bout to kill you, brr, brr (Brr)
This chicken hit my phone, she said "Chirp, chirp"
I said, "Hut, hut, hike your skirt, skirt"
Then go eat some worms, like the early bird
What the fuck is love? That's a dirty word
Make me fall in it, there's not a girl on Earth
Or any other planet, that's a world of hurt
And I won't buy her designer, 'cause I don't pander
But I'm back with so many knots, I need a chiropractor (Damn)
And this the final chapter, 'cause I'm either frying after
Or they're gon' give me the needle (What?) like a vinyl scratcher
Yeah, I'm a card, like Hallmark at Walmart with a small cart buying wall art
And y'all who claim to be dawgs aren't
No bite like a tree mostly just all bark, arf, arf
But y'all pickin' the wrong tree, they call me [?], 'cause I'm barking (Bark, bark)
And I got a lot, yeah, like where cars park
I describe it as bowling (Why?) ball hard (Ball's hard)
'Cause the gutter's where my mind is in [?]
It's a misframe, but a split like the five and the ten
'Cause without a second to spare, I'm strikin' again
And when the beat is up my alley, I go right for the pins
The cypher begins, I'm talkin' smack like heroin
The mic's a syringe, it's like a binge, Vicodin
I would like to pretend my mind's a recycling bin
There's no place I never been, but I never budge and I never bend
You hyperextend on me, this game's life, it depends
Like adult diapers for men, even when I'm rappin' less stellar
It's sour grapes, I still whine, I'm the best seller
Like a train do spray you as these shots penetrate through Dre's booth
And goes straight through your grapefruit, no escape route
So you won't leave me at your scathe, with a few scrape wounds
Your ass is grass and I am not gonna graze you
But a bar's [?], I need a Mad Hatter
'Cause I got so many caps, and you don't have any straps (Nah)
You'd be a fitted (Yeah), so don't act like you're fittin' to snap
Bitch, I'll pee on your head, like a Philly's hat (Haha)
No stoppin' me, you're on a window shopping spree
Bitch, you probably go broke at the Dollar Tree
You never buy shit, all you ever cop's a plea
You're always punkin' out like Halloween
You rather opt to flee, you need to stop it, punk
Homie, you not a G, act like you got the pump
You're gonna pop the heat or get the Glock and go
Bitch, if you shot a tree, you wouldn't pop the trunk
Yeah, and I'm buddies with Alfred, we about to disembowel, then gut 'em and scalp 'em
Yeah, this is 'bout to be the bloodiest outcome
'Cause we gon' make you bleed with every cut from this album
So I'm choppin' 'em up like Dahmer
Got 'em bigger than Jabba the Hutt
I'm in the cut, and I'm out for the blood
It's lookin' like it's that time of the month
Carvin' 'em up with the bars while I sharpen 'em up, dawg
I'm the mutt, I'm gonna fuck your mom in the butt with a thermometer, fuckin' phenomenal
But y'all looking cut the fuck up like abdominals
If you don't vaminos, I keep droppin' like dominos
The formidible, abominable, stomp in a mudhole
Even if it's off the top of the dome, saw 'em get the Coppertone
I'm at the stop-and-go, hop on the mop and gloat
Got your stomach in knots like you swallowed rope
You out of pocket, throw like a motherfuckin' wallet stole
Wait, why'd the beat cut off?
Fuck it

Lyrics was added by StanMitchell

Video was added by StanMitchell

Music To Be Murdered By: Side B