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letra de over my dead body - myles malice

if you don’t like it pack your bags and get the f-ck out of dodge!
don’t need ya

i’m by myself in this, i’m startin ta see that
but i just wish ya’ll wouldn’t question where the f-ck my minds at
i’m a stand up dude, but i spit so lewd i gotta be bad
right? all my life i’ve dealt with this keep provin wrong pompous prudes
this, music be my vessel that i use to convey
these thoughts of sickness that everybody got but most keep at bay
i set mine free, at a cost to me, with honest hope you’ll enjoy
these tales of horror i have conjured up but no you destroy
my essense, neglectin, my art, straight rippin out my heart
disgusted by my music, or the image that i impart
but you got it twisted if you think i’m switchin, pistol whippin
til the day i d i e, down where they rest my victims
neva gonna leave my system, if it does, i’m dippin out with em
i ain’t lookin for f-ckin sympathy, just sick and tired of your b-tchin, soo
imma put the paint on, spittin my napalm, anybody got qualms, bet they won’t stay calm
when i get to rippin it and make em all look impatent, i’m spittin my sickest sh-t ever whatcha gonna say punk?

hook
dark words so sick and provoking, weapons i’m dying to use
i’d give my life for my music, fight til i’m battered and bruised
this is the path of my choosing, i will not bargain with fools
stand down i’m never conforming, over my dead body, f-ck you

they say “its good but thats some twisted sh-t, i dont think its ever gonna find its place”
i know that its slightly sick dip sh-t, why you think i put the paint on? gotta hide my face
not ashamed of, i’m embracin it, i put a face for the thoughts and named it
malice, sick f-ck from another realm like
alice, comin for your head cheese, bum rush the palace
people lookin at me like its nothin but a gimmick but how could it be a gimmick when in everyday i live it
i put the paint on, my way of dealin with it, bu the nice guy hides behind the painted villian
all i ever wanted was to entertain, so i hopped up in a game with a bunch of lames
who all spit swag sh-t, ya’ll sound the same, imma hop up in the booth hopin to bring some change
but dont you test my boundry waters thinkin you can swim
fish, might have ta flip the script real quick and cut you like the b-tch you is
i’m a f-ckin monster, fe fi foe fum, swingin big d-ck
i’ll put my stamp up on that, certified, f-ckin with the realness
i keep droppin bangers, lyrical sickness, rippin ill sh-t
some of ya’ll just so blind to that, all you hear is, k!ll sh-t
if your thinkin i’m bound ta switch my lip, i’d rather be six deep, covered in p-ss
than a limp d-ck p-ssy with an infant grip, imma rip this sh-t til your neck gets slit b-tch

hook

- myles malice

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