Hello mufucka, how you doin' mufucka?
I was thinking, wait, skip the thinking
No cameras nor lights, but, definitely action
I walk up to you and smack you in the head with a mic,
Now, your head is open, spewing alphabets that used to be words, which used to be phrases, which used to be sentences
I observe the mic, feelin a lil bit like OJ Simpson,
I sin, cos there's alphabet matter all over the mic;
And the mic imprint on your skull fits my mic,
Plus, the mic happens to be my favorite murder instrument - I guilty
I guess that makes me Grim the Mic Reaper
I grin, as I proceed to eat the mic as a snack, Or
did I eat the mic to hide the murder weapon?
Either way, as I eat the mic with alphabet matter that used to be yours,
I create new words which turn into phrases which turn into sen'ences,
also known by emcees in ciphers as verses that Just Bla-zes
And for my dessert, imma rap Pentagons around your brainless corpse,
then crash a plane-full of lyrics to Dolbe surround-sound you
I sound so good, don't I mufucka? I know I do cos I turn one hit wonders into mo' hit wonders
But you wouldn't know (would you?) cos I just described your death to your carcass
That means you suffered death by my words, biiiietch!