Final Thought

[Verse 1: Vakill]
Looking at my Gucci, it’s about that time when I check hoes
Stomp holes in niggas so deep, they’ll be rhyming in echoes
(In echoes) Deep as the grave in rhyme when I’m engraving lines
Don’t try to act brave and shine, save that for fucking Daylight Savings Time
I’m the shit as a whole, no need for niggas to wanna know the half
I go to grab the mics when I throw the gab at emcees with the wrong
Flow to have and unholy now. Fuck, blow the crab out the frame
But, luckily, half of you bitches hardly ever make it to the photo lab
International, a ghetto celeb type. What I write put lives on the line
[?] without a website internet [?]
[?] when you claiming rap pages in Source, Nikes
Throwing their ass a bandage, and I’ll probably force Christ on a cross twice
Vakill the Boogeyman (Nigga), [?] when I squeeze M-I-Cs
Your whole fucking family dressed in black like the M.I.B.s
In my jurisdiction, not only will I severely injure his diction
But commence to slap kids the fuck back like a PEZ candy dispenser
Smoke an author’s ass to ash/Ashe like Arthur’s last name, mayne
With more drunken fist techniques than an alcoholic abusive father has
Fuck you thought? Save that before surgeons be getting costly
Why spit flows when men are pausing? Like rented cars, it’s pussy enough
To leave even the most masculine nigga menopausing, so fuck throwing in the towel
With that style, throw in your whole motherfucking linen closet
Y’all verbally button-wet, nigga [?]
‘Cause if I was to cum on your eye right now, nigga, you still ain’t see nutting/nothing yet
Not a sudden threat, this a full-scale, whole assault, and since y’all running
Out of ideas, then here’s one: think about my nuts and hold that thought

[Verse 2: Vakill]
I was told it ain't
How fat the rhyme is but the billfold from a half a mill’ sold
And niggas on New York nuts with raps when any size or skill show
Not what you was popping less than a year ago when your ass
Was putting out records, campaigning ‘bout keeping it real and lyrical
Hypocritical ass, typical trash you produced, they gassed you up
Since you finally made a record that sold at critical mass. Bitch, please
Fuck you and your missed marks ‘cause y'all not only on East and West Coasts’
Dick soft. Y'all niggas getting it up the nose like tricks’ sores, so
Stop manning your stations ‘cause the cannon you’re facing’s a verbal
Gun-clapper about to give y’all ass a standing ovation
Why in the fuck these overnight [?]
‘Cause they started making tracks with keyboards instead of piano loops
And nothing decent’s been coming from out their ass since. In the last
Tenths of a milliseconds, shit that they thought was next was past-tense
And none of that shit you find incredible stun me
Wetting your ass with flows sweeter than diabetic fags sporting edible undies
So expect it ‘cause y'all were selected to die hectic
Deaf dialectic, I never let bullshit Slide even if it's Electric
Your whole dilemma’s facing elimination, riding the next
Nigga dick, trying to take credit for artificial insemination
Cheap imitation, buy your generic shit, but I'm more
Than capable of getting in niggas’ asses with a biogenetic fit and then
Running up in their slimmies’ colons, breaking these kids’ flows
Like semicolons, no question I could halve any fucking opposition. Y'all
See me holding my dick and scrotum. After I kick [?]
It comes to skill, watch your fast bitch-ass copping some steel
And rapid ducks bleed at rabbit-fuck speed, vocab that succeeds
And bust a nut while all these wack-ass niggas swallow and suck seed
Read the fine print. If you’re like me, the alignment’s done torn out
Pussies in ways unimaginable, left running vaginal flow, so
This is a full-blood assault, niggas that wasn't so butter cough
(“Say something now”) Yeah, nigga, that's what I thought