lirik lagu gamemast15r - automatics & coffins
[production]
[hook: scratches]
“feels good to watch a motherf-cker die before my fly -ss”
“take em up, take em out, bring em out dead”
“it’s the body bag game, b-tch i’m supplying coffins”
“and when you’re dead, i’ll never leave your coffin alone”
[verse 1]
i view this sh-t like what am i to do?
i only do what i’m designed to do
my mind’s gears wanna unwind and move
i can’t lie you to, i know my mind’s obtuse
the bad b-st-rd, all you do is air static
my craft mastered, all you do is air bad sh-t
stare into the hat trick, all they do is start laughing
you got wack sh-t and you rap in a bad accent
i’ll peel your wig back, ain’t no us in this sh-t, so get out
beat rappers like mike tyson, eat em’ all but kick the lisp out
destroy wack rappers, like you and f-ckin’ everyone else
we’re such unique perfect rappers, on another level itself
everyone acts like the best rapper alive
but the best rappers alive f-cking went up and died
other than a couple others, ya’ll set up your pride
so when the structure f-cking crumbles, ya’ll sit up and cry
[hook x2]
[verse 2]
now on a technical level, leave you embedded in metal
soul fall to the floor, wake up in bed with the devil
find your address, show up in bagged sweats
bust in the door and blast tec’s like it’s the past tense
first off ain’t n0body ill as me, i’m feelin’ bigger than lil’ cease
protect ya neck cause i’m coming like the k!lla beez
pay for your coffin? nah p-ss the bill to me, but i ain’t hillary
i told you i’m designed to move silently, you can’t k!ll the g
second off, f-ck you and the clique you f-cking claim
every wack f-cking rapper always spits the f-cking same
they talk about how they always in a f-cking gang
you harmless, you shoot big guns? they’ll leave you armless
ya’ll about as mature as a twelve year old farting with armpits
is that the sh-t you wanna go brag to your “accomplice”?
your careers will eventually leave you dead and done
feeling bi-polar, going through different personas like kevin crumb
[hook]
[bridge]
[verse 3]
it’s the end of the motherf-ckin universe, toast your gl-ss
the only thing i need to cook is the burner so i can roast your -ss
i’m the rap victor zsasz, both hands with a match
strike both together, bring the burner, tap dance on your -ss
oil spills, forest fires, everywhere i’m starting wars in
spittin’ hot sh-lls that rip through your spine like barbara gordon
i push hard times like apartheid
leave white rappers battered like a bar fight
i’d rather swallow my t–th then bite my tongue
i fight for my life like i fight on these drums
bust through your f-cking door in an animal mask
p-ss on your corpse to mark my turf, the animal’s back
i eat through more rappers than a hannibal snack
and pile up more dead bodies than a hannibal stack
i’m a blood thirsty b-st-rd, uzi bullets will rip into ya
pre-ordered your coffin, now they just got to ship it to ya
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