“I don’t need a Xany’ or a shot of brandy,” he spits. “To murder a nigga, playin’ me like I’m cotton-candy/Get ya kids napped, tell ’em ‘pop the nanny’/Turn your house into The Adams Family/Whoa, you wanna know what I just thought about?/I think that I should’ve been in Slaughterhouse/Leave you with a rib-eye tryna’ clown me.
“Boy, I knock the legs off a cow just to ground beef/So call Backpack or Smack and tell ’em set it up/And anyone who wanna bring a half-a-mil’, we can bet it up.”
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