[Verse 1: GAWNE]

This a warnin' shot to every motherfuckin'

Little one-hit-wonder, rap mumble brother

Crypt and I finna get paid a bundle, so, we teamed up

Top five dead or alive, we're bringin' the rain and thunder

Goin' insane, I'll be choppin', like a helicopter blade

Man, the wolf's begun to hunt the jungle

Stomach rumbles, lookin' for somethin', damn

Where the fuck's Lil Pump at? I'm kinda hungry

These kitties better never come to my city

Come to the Windy, you gon' get nothin', but animosity

Midwest monopolies, monstrosities

Rap god, I'ma leave the beat in poverty

Hostility, drop a bomb on the enemy

Artillery, blowin' up your auxiliary

Hit 'em with the intercontinental capabilities

Leavin' no stability in the Middle East

Benghazi, Hillary, yeah, will I be a kamikaze and kill a beat?

Nobody really wanted this smoke, so I'm hittin' 'em with the Juul pod, nicotine

Smokin' 'em like a chicken in the rotisserie

Finger on the frickin' detonator, incinerating

And straight eviscerators, I consider eliminating

Every hater in the visible vicinity like Arnold Schwarzenegger

Terminator, fuckin' mumble rap exterminator

Then again I spit it, wicked, demented and venomous

'Cause I'm sick of the bitter freakin' diggin' and reapin' the benefits

When I'm rappin' it like a missile, disintegrated in remnants

I'm beginnin' to be the reaper, so I load the MAC, attack!

Doo-doo! Everybody dies when I nuke you

Screws loose, losin' my mind, I'm goin' cuckoo

Who knew I would be the rap Babe Ruth?

Jésus in suede shoes, I hit 'em and straight shoot

The skeletons walk through the elements, wordsmith, the Letterman

Way too competitive, rap with the best of 'em, the veterans

And I've just entered the seventh level of Hell, the Devil

Mama, made it out the ghetto

So how the fuck could I not be the illest when I feel like a villain

Killin' anybody at will? I'm villainous, still a gorilla

I'm pillagin' villages and buildings, pavilions, King Kong

I'm probably makin' a song for Kim Jong

So, ching-chong, kiddies sing-along as I'm rippin' a pad the quickest

Yeah, when I'm pickin' apart the rap and I put the pen the pad

And Peter Piper pickin' a pickled pepper, Peter, I picked it next

I figure that I'm doin' this straight, just shittin' tracks at mumble rap

Mm, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci Gang (Brrt)

Shooting range, too much rage, who to slay?

Grippin', I weaponize all the rhymes, they demise

To the mumble gods when we hit 'em like it's MMA

Gucci-Gucci-Gucci-Gucci-Gucci Gang

Murder everybody like a shooting rampage

Yeah, kill 'em all, Fentanyl, blow 'em up, molotov

Mazel tov, death to mumble, I rule the game

[Verse 2: Futuristic]

(Sheesh, yo)

Yo, I'm not a hater, but I'll call a nigga out on his shit

I see a lot of people makin' money off of the kids

They poppin' pills, tryna hide they real feels

See somebody OD, then be surprised when it happens to them

I'm counter-culture, y'all some vultures, fuck that (Uh-huh)

Prayin' on they downfalls and bump that! (Uh-huh)

Use this music, dudes is foolish

Ignorant niggas flashin' they cash, blowin' money they don't have

Flow infinite, I let 'em all rent it, and I laugh (Yep)

Futuristic, the illest with the pen and the pad

Since a young lad, been out as the gun blast

I was writin' raps while you was still watchin' Rugrats, ante, I'ma up that (Uh)

Put your money where your mouth is, you don't want smoke, your lung's black

Took a year off to sing on a bunch of songs

I was tired of rap, but now I'm Jordan with the comeback (Sheesh)

I'm tired of verses without a purpose (Yep)

I'm tired of guns in the videos (Uh-huh)

I'm sick of fakin' it until you make it

That shit don't make sense when you really broke (Nah)

I'm sick of that mumblin' BS

That music that regress, I just wanna see less

I'm tired of seein' the homies on shirts

With the R.I.P. letters right off of the heatpress (Damn)

Get your mind right, when the time right, I know that they'll reflect

You don't gotta listen to my music, it's cool

But you do gotta show the young man respect

Or my hand up on yo' neck 'til I stretch the cords

Mumble rap: zero, us: four, check the score (Woo)

There's somebody to come at me, I'm the best with wars

I move in silence, goin' up like Tesla doors! Ugh

[Verse 3: Crypt]

(Yeah! Huh)

(Bow-bow-bow-bow-bow, woo)

I don't really know what to do, be comin' and spit fast

Flow so immaculate, give me a pat on the back (Huh?)

Like I'm Brady and Belichick, I got these haters in check, I leave a mess if (Huh?)

They thinkin' of steppin' to the best, then give 'em whiplash (Yeah)

Whether if you noddin' up and down from the beat of the track (What?)

Or givin' 'em uppercuts 'til their feet is up in their ass (Huh?)

I'ma kill a mumblin' motherfucker before he kill somebody else (Huh? Huh? Huh? Huh?)

With the message that he's tryna make come to past (Huh? Huh? Huh? Hoo!)

Hello, motherfucker, you heard me, right?

Guess it's hard to listen when your head is filled with purpose, right? (Uh)

Get murked tonight 'cause bitches like you deserve to die

Get hurt inside with rhymes, and it's absurd that I

Have to come back and reiterate this shit (Yeah)

I'ma charge you a fee for extendin' my hit list (Hoo)

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes (Yeah, haha)

They'll have you forever lookin' at the back of your eyelids (Yeah)

And yeah, we just got back from a funeral (Uh)

Luke, Mac, Crypt and Futuristic, it was beautiful (Yeah)

We had to say goodbye to some of the ignorants in the game

But that's what happens when they ruin the image that we portray (Bow-bow-bow-bow-bow-bow-bow, hoo)

We don't play around, the audience should know it now (Nope)

Now I'm not sayin' we played a part in the death (Hah)

But to be honest, if ever the blame goes around

We take responsibility 'fore we dig 'em up and kill 'em again! (Ooh, woo)

[Verse 4: Mac Lethal, GAWNE & Crypt]

Oh, y'all sell tickets like Marvel movies?

Well, I still hate it like Scorsese

Y'all are just food from McDonald's

And I am a gourmet filet that's more tasty

I'm more crazy than a short lady

Tryna give birth to eighty-four babies

In the very back of a Porsche Cayman

I bury rappers, then pour pavement

Just because you're rappin' fast

Doesn't mean that you're sayin' something

Y'all mo'fuckers rap so damn slow

That, somehow, you're literally sayin' nothin'

Just because you can rap fast

Doesn't mean that you can rap good

Well, just because you can rap at all

Doesn't mean that your motherfuckin' ass should

Shoulda, coulda, woulda hit a hood up with a psycho

Analytical, metaphysical mastermind, I'm makin' a fuckin' mockery

Of anybody makin' an attempt at taking the fuckin' top from me

I brutalize the beat and get the broccoli

Brru-brru Build a Tommy gun and then the bodies come

Du-du-du-du-du-du! Here the choppers come

Everybody gotta win, you gotta get aboard

There's blood up in the ocean water, and it's washin' to the shore, ay

I'm rotten to the core, catch a body, maybe four

I'm gonna drop you to the floor, like this is Gatti versus Ward

I got a shotty and a sword, in fact, I'm already at war

You know I got a perfect score, but I'ma stomp on you some more

You'll be dead, body in the morgue, talkin' to the Lord

You ain't got an audience no more, all of 'em are bored

You don't party anymore, nobody watches when you perform

Now you gotta go and get a job at the Gucci store

Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang

Song is two years old, gee, whiz, who would think?

Pull your motherfuckin' pants up, your coochie stank

Fuck the dumbass tats on your stupid face

I'd rather listen to Wu-Tang

I'd rather listen to Luke and Crypt

I'd rather listen to Futuristic

And you'd rather listen to this

I'm about to really go insane if the game

Gives even a half a lil' bit of fame

To another motherfucker that got "Lil" in his name

Fuck Gucci, you should join the literacy gang

Kids used to want to be astronauts in space

Now kids wanna put tats up on they face

All we tryna be is the best MCs

This the death of mumble rap, rest in peace