(Crocker/ Verse 2)
/Ride beats, flow'll stray, colder, Jon Benet/ Or Benoit/ Hear voices, enigmatic like bent stars/ I cast a shadow like that of Goliath/ I'd've crushed David, raps too frustrating/ Replayed the ending to the tune of Waylon Jennings/ Stacked a few corpses and surveyed my winnings/ Massacre the game and converge with clips/ Son of Sam, I am the son of David Berkowitz/ When my time's up and my life's recapped/ I would've eaten enough rappers to force having teeth capped/ Vlad The Impaler, picturesque when I nail her/ Like..who would Jesus kill? And who was his tailor?/ Hate encapsulated with arsenic and a smidgen of lead/ Dear Lord, I am lost in the land of the dead/ Henceforth, barter salvation through the steel of a sword/ Behead Antoinette and keep slaughtering more/
(Crocker/ Verse 3)
/Confined in a rhyme that knows nothing of structure/ In time, the grind realigns and unwinds at a juncture/ It's up to me to tempt fate/ And bleed it like it menstruate/ Grip the pen and squeeze until the ink's raped/
/ Violate the pad with obscene visions and come-on's/ And eulogize departed, who I feel were done wrong/ Brimming with capitalism and a side of fascism/ Outlast the timid and buy and sell women/
With the sickle...I am so damn despicable/ Make an outright diss seem like a subliminal/ Far beyond the restraints of fear or apprehensions/ Rap's "G" with a compass, collapsing buildings/
Mother-fuck the rest of whoever the hottest/ I'm hard, like I finger-fucked a mythic Greek goddess/ Cease fire, lest, you stupid or suicidal/ You brow-beat, I beat bitches with Bibles/
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