Homicide

Album: Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (2019)
Charted: 15 5
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  • Son, you know why you the greatest alive?
    Why, Dad?
    Because you came out of my balls, nigga
    Hahahaha

    Fuck rap, bustin' 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 feelin' villainous, he killin' this
    I'm comin' for your man and his lady and even the baby
    I'm feelin' like I'm chicka-chicka-chicka Slim Shady with rabies

    I'm foamin' 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 feelin' lyricism when I'm spillin' it, I'm feelin' myself
    Yeah, yeah, Bobby Boy, he be feelin' 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 killin' this shit
    Yeah, I'm killin' this shit
    Oh yeah, oh yeah, I'm killin' this shit
    Bobby, how many times you been killin' this shit?
    Find another rhyme, goddamn, nigga, shit

    Fuck rap, bustin' 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 feelin' villainous, he killin' this
    I'm comin' for your man and his lady and even the baby
    I'm feelin' 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 fuckin' with that
    Yeah, there's a time and a place, but if you ain't comin' 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, bustin' 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 feelin' villainous, he killin' this
    I'm comin' for your man and his lady and even the baby
    I'm feelin' 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 fuckin' 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 fuckin' 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 comin' to get the cannabis
    I'm lookin' 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 bringin' the bandana back, and the fuckin' headband again
    A handkerchief and I'm thinkin' of bringin' the fuckin' fingerless gloves back
    And not giving a singular fuck, like fuck rap

    I sound like a fuckin' millionaire
    With the Derringer with a hair trigger
    'Bout to bear hug it, fuckin' terrier, the Ric Flair dripper
    Y'all couldn't hold a candle at a prayer vigil
    When I vent, they compare me to a fuckin' 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 plannin', plannin', I'm plannin' to
    Do all this while you panickin'
    And you're lookin' and starin' at mannequins
    And I'm goin' to Fanagan's, tryin' 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 tourin'
    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 Writer/s: Dillan Beau Bailard, Donnell Paul III Stephens, Jeremy Alexander Uribe, Luis Edgardo Resto, Marshall B. III Mathers, Robert Bryson II Hall, Tim Schoegje
    Publisher: ME GUSTA MUSIC, Songtrust Ave, Universal Music Publishing Group
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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