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letra de unworthy - jak tripper

i sell art, spit for cash, straight for chems
box and bag dope, obnoxious -sshole
i go ham in a bl–dy doctor’s labcoat
smoked out like robert randall
new world order, don’t sleep, that sh-t has not been canceled
that’s why i arm the church, heavy a verse with glocks to handle
columbine locker slam, lock the lab though
i’ll be in the rocks with the bean like teens in swat and camo
and i don’t hate, i clap at the stars
f-ck gats, i’ll run and fetch the axe from the barn
chainsaw rip gore and hack him apart
icepack as a heart
you can’t run up in my house for my stash, i trap from my car
any level you on i’m on other, my heat i call it god’s thunder
barrels like red wood law, chopping large lumber
these kids is a school of squids, arm suckers
dust em off like a arm butler
if he’s my amputee twin, i got the arms brother
hands on, spittin, in the kitchen
hands on mitten, on mixing paint and what my grandpa’s sippin
my camp on sick sh-t, make nunchucks out of two tampons swinging
i hang around bugged out skaters like antwuan dixon
my skin i got ants on, i get around weapons
i’m like thing, my hand start twitching
crawling on sh-t ripping, blast on b-tches
i even blast on b-tches

[hook 2x]
i haven’t heard a worthy enough challenger yet
with a knife, hatchet, magnum, a tec
i’ll put your scalp to the back of your neck
fragments of your melon will splash the front row like a gallagher set
blood shoot out, splatter and jet

i’m a lion, you a butchered ribcage
when i go in your crib i clip everything
dogs, cats, guinea pigs, and kids shanked
not a witness, i’m flipping the fish tank
getting that piff stank
whirl in them tucked under ratchets
roll up on your mans if he got that bundle of packets
while he up in his whip, unbuckled and backing
hit him in his head twice
sh-t himself from his muscles relaxing
my raps are band in jacks and puddles of cat p-ss
my car trunk, stuffed with more skins than a bourn party
my christ of thorned scarred me
the hogs on me, after i bury those lovely bones in a cornfield like george harvey
we can kick it but i’m kicking from the corpse on me
-ss-ssin to the republic
glove grip, box of slugs
fill up clips, glock, dump it
in your head, to the brim like it’s a bucket
busted, till you hear clicking like captain hook when the croc was coming

[hook 2x]

(the law high executioner is always looking for a man to execute, and the law says his bride must go too.)

- jak tripper

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