I am the Bic slayer, the bricklayer, the carpenter.
I stick craven bit players in hospital.
Giftsayer, legit mayor of obstacles.
Trick laden, gristle traitor apostle.
The dictator, I spit razors and gospels.
Six layered terminator colossus.
Skip haters. The bread breaker, the Godsickle.
I’m hostile to generic vacant impostors.
Give in to the grifter gift boom bap savior.
Bitter pill twitter kids jacking his flavor.
Trickster sick twisted riffraff castrator.
Mr. Rip a Zig-Zag and I’m back player.
Black the slayer, I am Vader with his mask off.
Crack black tops and I’m burning up yer laptops.
Picking scabs off, still thinking bout my last loss.
The mack soft but he’s ready for that track drop.

Y’ain’t ready for that track drop. Track drop.
Y’ain’t ready for that track drop. Track drop.

Goth kid lost it. Watch the shark get feral.
God with raw gift got the marks in peril.
Flawless fox, this hostage is sterile.
This scarecrow sparrow staring down the barrel.
A werewolf, careful, beware his curse.
Ock got the knowledge to make you berserk.
To cage him strangers erased him first.
He still got the skill left to take you to church.
His teeth at your neck. He’s the king of the beasts.
At least in his head which he rests on the street.
Left for undead again on his feet,
To tread where his demon’s first taught him to speak.
You and me we ain’t go about it the same.
Feuds and beefs: keep ‘em out of my lane.
Through the heat of defeat he tempers his blade:
A sage tongue of flame which he takes to the stage.

Y’ain’t ready for that track drop. Track drop.
Y’ain’t ready for that track drop. Track drop.


The dopes back. He the broke mack. Need a tailor.
The known Kracken of old, Vlad the Impaler.
He won’t master his own nasty behavior.
A throwback with the throned lackey, the failure.
Sho' ‘nuff, he done shown us his weaknesses.
Thrown us with his broken down pieces. Him
Grown up. He gone loaned us his thesises.
A cold gun with his flow honed is ceaseless. When
The beast is ready for the levy to blow.
With ease he get the message. Better get it to go.
The demon head is crowned set to let 'em down? No.
Feasting on power, his tower, his throne.
Cowards and clones can’t match the don dotta.
Bout to bout with the crow, then you better try harder.
Ten thousand hour flow, Black strapped to the alter.
Out with the old now back to the slaughter.

Y’ain’t ready for that track drop. Track drop.
Y’ain’t ready for that track drop. Track drop.