Homicide

Son, you know why you the greatest alive?
Why, Dad?
Because you came out of my balls, n—a
Hahahaha

Fuck rap, busting like an addict with a semi-automatic
Who done had it, and he ready for anybody to buck back
Hold up, catch a vibe, ain’t no way in hell we leavin’ nobody alive
Leave a suicide note, fuck that
Bobby feeling villainous, he killing this
I’m coming for your man and his lady and even the baby
I’m feeling like I’m chicka-chicka-chicka Slim Shady with rabies

I’m foaming at the mouth, ain’t nobody takin’ me out
Every single rapper in the industry, yeah, they know what I’m about
And I dare you to test me
‘Cause not a single one of you motherfuckers impress me
And maybe that’s a little bit of an exaggeration, but I’m full of innovation
And I’m tired of all of this high school, “He’s cool, he’s not” rap shit
Can a single one of you motherfuckers even rap? Shit
No, this ain’t a diss to the game, it’s a gas to the flame
Nowadays, everybody sound the same, shit’s lame
Like a moth to the flame, I’ma reel ’em in and kill ’em
Know you feeling lyricism when I’m spillin’ it, I’m feeling myself
Yeah, yeah, Bobby Boy, he be feeling himself
Mass murder like this can’t be good for my health
When I rap like this, do I sound like shit?
Well, it don’t really matter, ’cause I’m killing this shit
Yeah, I’m killing this shit
Oh yeah, oh yeah, I’m killing this shit
Bobby, how many times you been killing this shit?
Find another rhyme, goddamn, n—a, shit

Fuck rap, busting like an addict with a semi-automatic
Who done had it, and he ready for anybody to buck back
Hold up, catch a vibe, ain’t no way in hell we leavin’ nobody alive
Leave a suicide note, fuck that
Bobby feeling villainous, he killing this
I’m coming for your man and his lady and even the baby
I’m feeling like I’m chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka Slim Shady

There’s nowhere to hide, we call this shit genocide
Hit ’em with that (doot, doot, doot) and they die
We gon’ leave ’em crucified, we call this shit genocide
I got bitches, I got hoes, I got rare designer clothes
No, we ain’t fucking with that
Yeah, there’s a time and a place, but if you ain’t coming with the illest of raps
Callin’ yourself the greatest alive
Then you don’t deserve to do that
No, no, oh no, no, please do not do that
You gon’ get smacked, you gon’ make Bobby attack
You gon’ make Bobby Boy snap
You gon’ make Bobby Boy snap (Bobby Boy!)

Fuck rap, busting like an addict with a semi-automatic
Who done had it, and he ready for anybody to buck back
Hold up, catch a vibe, ain’t no way in hell we leavin’ nobody alive
Leave a suicide note, fuck that
Bobby feeling villainous, he killing this
I’m coming for your man and his lady and even the baby
I’m feeling like I’m chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka Slim Shady

Jigga-jigga-jigga-jigga-jigga like Jay-Z
Jig is up, you fuckers who didn’t write anything
Are getting washed now, chicka-chicka-chicka, like bathing
Young Hova, I know hitters like Yankees
Gun toters that pull triggers like crazy
Unloadin’, leave you shot up in your Rover
Your body goes limp and slumps over
Like A-Rod in a month lull, but he just homered

Hold up, I said Rover because now your Rover is red
Like Red Rover, so you know what I meant
But I roll over my opponents instead
Makin’ dog sounds ’cause I gotta keep breakin’ these bars down
I’ll go slow for the speds
But when I go (roof) like the doberman said
I still think the (roof) would go over your head (haha)
Beast mode, motherfuckers ’bout to get hit with so many foul lines
You think I’m a free throw
Figured it was about time for people to eat crow
You about to get out-rhymed, how could I be dethroned?
I stay on my toes like the repo, a behemoth in sheep clothes
From the East Coast to the West, I’m the ethos and I’m the G.O.A.T
Who the best? I don’t gotta say a fucking thing, though, ’cause MC’s know

But you don’t wanna hear me spit the facts
Your shit is ass like a tailbone
And you’re trapped in your cell phone
On my chicken scratch, or my self-loathe
I don’t want to fucking listen to you spit your rap someone else wrote
Used to get beat up by the big kids
Used to let the big kids steal my big wheel
And I wouldn’t do shit but just sit still
Now money’s not a big deal
I’m rich, I wipe my ass with six mil’
Big bills like a platypus
A caterpillar’s coming to get the cannabis
I’m looking for the smoke but you motherfuckers are scatterin’
Batterin’ everything and I’ve had it with the inadequate
Man, I can see my dick is standin’ stiff as a mannequin
And I’m bringing the bandana back, and the fucking headband again
A handkerchief and I’m thinking of bringing the fucking fingerless gloves back
And not giving a singular fuck, like fuck rap

I sound like a fucking millionaire
With the Derringer with a hair trigger
‘Bout to bear hug it, fucking terrier, the Ric Flair dripper
Y’all couldn’t hold a candle at a prayer vigil
When I vent, they compare me to a fucking air duct
I’m about to bare knuckle it, nah, fuck it
I’m gonna go upside their head with a Nantucket, abraca-fuckin’-dabra
The track is the blood, I’m attracted, I’m attackin’ it
What? Dracula, fuck that shit
I’m up, back with a thud
Man, stop

Look what I’m planning, planning, I’m planning to
Do all this while you panicking
And you’re looking and staring at mannequins
And I’m going to Fanagan’s, trying to get up a plan against
All of the blana-kazana-ka-fam-bam-bannigans
While of all the bana-kazanika Hanna in a cabana
You’re in a cab
I’m in a cabana and a Janet
I’m in a cabana chantin’ all this stand up banter
While you don’t got the stamina, you’re lackin’ the stamina
You’re lackin’ the stamina while you’re divorcin’ Harrison Ford
And I’m in a Porsche on the floor boards
While I’m world touring
You usin’ way too many napkins, papkins, lapkins and chapki
You using ChapStick and napkins while I’m papkin’
Flappin’ around like a bapkin’
Flammina babbita playin’ a jampkin
Dammit, a can of pa

Logic – Homicide ft. Eminem
5 3

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