blkvixon, route 1,
first itl be vixon, this bitchll get plugged more then Richard nixon,
split this fag, over his heads where Im breakin bricks an,
this prick is way over his prime melon, (head)
Ill trap this wack mcee, found dead with syllables stuck in his cerebellum,
lace the track, cock back the top gat and plot the maps for destruction,
blast the syllables out the barrel, and make your brain have mass reduction,
funnel in the introduction from the rap industry,
blast this cat till he known just as a rap mystery.
Route 1,
let me lay it back, for this wack cat, he thinks hes all good, but never can find the right rhymes to attack back, you need to strap a flack jack, to your chest,
before my syllable pierce and drain the milk out your breast,
impress the rest with my sadistic blessins, talkin bout me bein emotional,
well I think being frozen in the ocean will, change your thoughts of me,
get a premotion your fuckin devoted to workin at the local dairy queen,
it seems to me, that this fag is claimin to be, the newest routine, that world has ever seen,
but the dream of green is about to be cut short,
cause Ima drive you to resort to some racist shit,
blatent indescribable report, to the gas chamber route,
contort your limbs to make them into the fas gas angle like acute,
abuse you, like nazis in the ww2,
STOP fuckin comin at me, cause your shit is worse,
then the verse spillin out an priest, cease your rhyme feast,
leave you skinny like the poor children in Africa,
please before this crease beef ends you in disbelief,
just stop cause you already let the lyrical gat cap ya
