Bermuda Triangle

[Verse 1: Brotha Lynch Hung]
Yesterday, my pitbull ate a dead body
Took some of it, put the rest in the Maserati
Backseat, Madesicc, back on track, track me
Kamikaze karate, it's that heat, Miami
Goddamnit, I'm so hot, I play with a butcher knife in your face then I scrape
Pussy hole niggas gettin' raped
Scoliosis niggas all been out of shape
Don't tell him, oh he knows this
His flows flow, spit sick in this psychosis
Turnin' bitch niggas into ghosts
Whoever comes closest, bodies all coma-toasted
Toasted, that motherfucker's toast
Cookin' up, front rows, hit 'em up with that rippin' the gut signature
Chainsaw leavin' your brains raw, niggas gettin' cut
Nigga, I'm spittin' nut ejaculation
Sangra, I open my apron
Beast roots get on my plate, and
I'm on fire, murder for hire, I get loose
Like a [?]
Call me Bishop, I get juice
Off the sick juice, Mr Ripgut, [?]
With the brains blown, twenty-two's on 'em, game over
I'm a flamethrower, givin' out haircuts, I'm a lawnmower
Cuttin' 'em up into pieces and eatin' 'em, I'm more sicker than [?]
Look at these dead [?]
Dinner and a movie when I'm eatin' human [?]
I eat pussy clits and brains for dinner
I put pussy last, and became a sinner
Spit that shit that'll rip you up in half
Split up, get up, get out, rid out, shit out livers and intestines, they get out, get out
[?], Kevin's on a rampage
Y'all just mad 'cause you ain't on my damn page
Pushin' notifications, rewind it
I'm this quick to leave the bullshit behind us, my sinus
Capricorn, fill a nigga's cap with corn, backwards
And after that shit, I shit heavily, facet
Never be, I see forever I sever these rivals
And liable to piss on your bible
And I know, that's a little too much for the eyeballs
Niggas think they sick 'til I hit 'em with the NyQuil
Hit 'em with the nine, though
Turnin' to bodies to wax like vinyls, I know
(I'm on fire, murder-)

[Verse 2: Eminem]
Augh, yesterday my dog died
I hog tied a ho, tied her in a bow
Said: "Next time you blog, try to spit a flow."
You wanna criticize, dog? Try a little mo'
I'm so tired of this I could blow, fire in the hole
I'm fired up, so fire up the lighter and the dro
Better hold on a little tighter, here I go
Flows tighter, hot-headed as Ghost Rider
Cold-hearted as Spider-Man throwing a spider in the snow
So you better get lower than Flo Rida
Inside of a lowrider with no tires, in a hole
Why am I like this? Why is winter cold?
Why is it when I talk I'm so biased to the hoes?
Listen, dog, Christmas is off, this is as soft as it gets
This isn't golf, this is a blistering assault
Those are your wounds, this is the salt, so get lost
Shit, dissin' me is just like pissin' off the Wizard of Oz
Wrap a lizard in gauze
Beat you in the jaws with it, grab the scissors and saws
And cut out your livers, gizzards, and balls
Throw you in the middle of the ocean in a blizzard with Jaws
So sip piss like sizzurp through a straw
Then describe how it tasted like dessert to us all
Got the gall to make Chris piss in his drawers
Tickle him, go to his grave, skip him, and visit his dog
So if I seem a little mean to you
This ain't savage, you ain't never seen a brute
You wanna get graphic, we can go the scenic route
You couldn't make a bulimic puke
On a piece of fuckin' corn and peanut poop
Sayin' you sick, quit playin', you prick, don't nobody care
And why the fuck am I yellin' at air?
I ain't even talkin' to no one, 'cause ain't nobody there
And nobody will fuckin' test me
'Cause these hoes won't even dare
I'm wasting punchlines, but I got so many to spare
I just thought of another one that might go here
Nah, don't waste it, save it, psycho—yeah
Plus you got to rewrite those lines
That you said about Michael's hair (Whoops!)
(You're on fire)
That's how you know you're on a roll
'Cause when you're hot it's like you're burning up everyone else's cold
(You're on fire)
Man, I'm so- I'm so hot
My motherfuckin' firetruck's on fire, homie
(You're on fire)

[Verse 3: DNA Tru Lyricist]
I might get graphic, smack you over the head with a ratchet
Then attach it to the back of some C4 plastic, let it get drastic
When I blast it sixty-two billion fragments, then match it back up like a jigsaw
When I rip y'all, nobody does it the fastest
'Cause if I act if I'm the best, I'll never hear the last of it
I might just tip your casket, let you roll into the grass with ticks and fire ants
Every second I advance, the higher diaphragms of violence
Strangle you to silence with a violin string with tired hands
Hi, I am the lyrical Ted Bundy
You be with your girl on Sunday, then found her dead on Monday
One way or another, I'ma get to you
Take a butcher knife and hack you up so many times you become chicken food
Or fish food, which do you prefer?
I wish you used your verbs in a better manner
When I listen to your words, I laugh my ass off
Doze, then pass off into a deep sleep
You're weaker than the last soft rappers spittin' that wack talk
You couldn't be hard if you were to jack off
I'm 'bout to lift a car over your head and take the jack off
Put you in a box like I took the jack off
There, I just used "jack off" in three different manners, you fuckin' jack-offs
Oh, make it four, and since I'm on the mic - just make it more
I bounce you like a ball, then scoop the jack off the floor
Jack and Jill went up the hill, then Jack fell off some more
I don't even know why I should jack off with you for
So hit the road, Jack, take off and don't come back for more
'Cause I'll jack you off the mic and leave you jacked up on the floor
Strapped in a straightjacket, you can't jack it anymore
Then I pull out the jackhammer and I jack you up some more
Okay, chill, I think you get the picture
I'll sink you in a pitcher of piss mixed with gizzards
This is the wizard, I spit snippin' scissors
To snip the lip of hypocrites who get on my [?]
I chose slang over vocab, it figures
If it's disfigured, don't fix it, I won't fix it
You just don't get it, you punk bitches don't want none of funk physics
I won't get into it with Funk Volume, I won't risk it
"Won't risk what? Gettin' outrapped? Hah"
I stare at 'em in the face with dark shades "I'll be back"
Then crash a car through the building
Pull out the semi-auto and terminate their feelings
I may not have been able to learn to make the millys but I've learned to make you feel me
I'll make you choke on the mic like your girl did, it's easy
Believe me, I'm 'bout to beat the motherfuckin' life out of you
Stick the mic in your stomach, go back and take the mic out of you
Sauerkraut-ass bitches don't want none
But come and holler at me if you want some
DNA Tru Lyricist, bitch, I'm done
Go ahead and cut this shit off, time for you to run, motherfuckers

[Outro: DNA Tru Lyricist]
Tru Lyricism for life, bitch
You already know this statement
Don't make me engrave it in your forehead, and mash your forehead into the wet pavement, motherfucker
DNA, Lynch, Eminem, hate on us
Hate on the remix
Hate on the way we wreck you weak tricks
Please, don't even get me started
Oh yeah, that's right, I'm already done, bitch
Go ahead and hop on the mic, scared-ass bitch
Sick of these motherfuckers
Visuals 2 comin' soon
This ain't even on it, this is just to keep your motherfuckin' appetite fulfilled
The real shit's on the way