Automatic Four-Four (Blaster Canon)

F*ck it, I lick off in tandem sixteens Ignite tantrums, violent miscreant firing pristine Pollack on blitzkrieg. The canvas is VisQueen The paint is the grey meat. I'm slaying these MCs Spraying these clean sheets with carnage Dispatch targets with quicklime parlance in Partlow rowhouse apartments, rolling bodies of work up in carpet And dumping them in the garbage Watch when I cop to the motive Cock back the magnum, concoct the opus Unlock the savage explosives and rock these Cabbages open with accented ordnance The marksman turns marks to carcasses Armed to the teeth, beefing peace-keeping cordons With a street-sweeper, carving these artists up like cadavers Raising the bar on that 4/4 caliber You don't pave roads to row in the same boat You don't spray folks and mope in the pathos You don't sleep. You don't eat You don't take "No." You don't take "No" You just pack (four-four) and blast (four-four) F*ck it, I build a fire out of bat-shit; scrape brown guano out of Caverns with a hatchet; strip the volcanoes in the Desert with a cactus, pissing upon the mixture Charcoal, saltpeter, and sulfur up in the tincture Grind the black powder in the mortar with a pestle And pack the black magic in the belly of the vessel Grab the barrel and put a hole through your temple With sharpened number 2 pencils implanted up to the ferrule They put the hands in the air 'cause it's automatic Somebody screams "Hell yeah" 'cause it's automatic The crowd moves out of habit. Pushers take the Credit for the rock when the crack is in the addict I take the muzzle recoil to move butts, and this mess is Simply a method to let you know that your number's up You gun runners up rock stock polymer I float steel in that 4/4 caliber You don't pave roads to row in the same boat You don't spray folks and mope in the pathos You don't sleep. You don't eat You don't take "No." You don't take "No" You just pack (four-four) and blast (four-four)