Alfred’s Theme

Before I check the mic (check, check, one, two)

I give it an extra swipe with a Lysol disinfectant wipe (good evening)

Coronavirus in effect tonight

Antiseptics on deck, I got every type (yeah)

I throw on my tux, then I (yeah) give zero fucks, then I (yeah)

Act like a jockstrap (uh), cup my nuts, then I (yeah)

Check my ball hair (what?), make sure it's all there (yeah)

Then call the pallbearer (yeah)

It's Music to Be Murdered By again, why stop?

Overkill like a pipe bomb in your pine box

You're all hitched to my cock (what?)

Went from punchin' a time clock to getting my shot

Then treated it like a cyclops

Like it's the only one I got

And my thoughts are like nines cocked (chk-chk)

Every line's obscene, pervertedest mind, got the dirtiest rhyme stocked

That's why there's parental advising (visine) every time I drop (eye drop)

So throw on the theme to Alfred, I'll channel him like the Panama Canal

But how could I get up in arms about you saying trash is all that I put out?

Bitch, I still get the bag when I'm putting garbage out

Plus, the potty mouth, I'm not about to wash it out

The filthiest, so all this talk about "I'm washed up", how preposterous

Because if cleanliness is next to godliness

It's obvious that it's impossible for me to be beside myself

And I'm 'bout that capital like a proper noun

Still on top the pile

Got me sitting on numbers like a pocket dial

Quick to call you out on your bullshit

Don't make me give that crock a dial

'Cause if I do, it's see you later, alligator

Made it out the trailer, then I made a vow to cater to no one

So hate, I've gained about the same amount that's in my bank account

So here's some more shit for you to complain about, I say the

Bars that never slack, but always get attacked (yeah)

I think they're gunnin' for me, it's startin' to feel like that

Like I'm marked, 'cause when I rap, it's like fallin' on my back in a tar pit

'Cause I have this target on my back (ew, yuck)

But if I ever double-crossed my fans and lost my Stans

I'd probably pop five Xans (yeah)

Go in my garage, start my van

Inhale as much carbon monoxide and exhaust I can

And doze off like

But odds like that, with these thoughts I have's

Like a giant getting squashed by ants

If this is the test of time, I'd pass with flying colors

Like I just tossed my crayons (tossed my crayons)

Small, medium, and large size cans

Sanitizers of all types, brands, cost nine bands

Which is a small price for Lysol wipes and

If my palms brush across my pants, I wash my hands

Shit, hold on, man

Motherfucker

Happy birthday to-

Fuck (shh, quiet)

I sit in silence in candlelit environments

Sipping Wild Irish while getting violent

Homicidal visions when I'm spitting like this

But really I'm just fulfilling my wish of killing rhymes

Which is really childish and silly, but I'm really like this

I'm giving nightmares to Billie Eilish, I'm Diddy's side bitch

What the fuck? Hold on, wait

"I'm Diddy's side bitch?"

Oh, I'm still east side, bitch

So until the E-N-D, since EPMD

Been givin' y'all the business (yeah), D-R-E and me (yup)

From the MMLP to MTBMB (bitch)

Bitch, it's 2020, you still ain't seein' me (haha)

So call me Santa Clause (Santa Clause)

'Cause at the present (yeah), I out-rap 'em all, I'm at the mall

Got your bitch in a bathroom stall, she could suck a basketball (uh)

Through a plastic straw (yeah) with a fractured jaw (damn)

My dick is coat check (ha), she wanna jack it off (yeah)

I'm so far past the bar, I should practice law

Mentally, I'm fucked up General Lee (duh)

Dukes of Hazzard car (yeah), get the cadaver dogs

'Cause this is murder, murder and you'll get murked, murked

This music 'bout to kill you, brr, brr (brr)

This chicken hit my phone, she said, "Chirp, chirp"

I said, "Hut, hut, hike your skirt, skirt"

Then go eat some worms, like the early bird

What the fuck is love? That's a dirty word

Make me fall in it, there's not a girl on Earth

Or any other planet, that's a world of hurt

And I won't buy a designer, 'cause I don't pander (panda)

But I'm back with so many knots, I need a chiropractor (damn)

And this the final chapter, 'cause I'm either frying after

Or they gon' give me the needle (what?) like a vinyl scratcher (DJ)

Yeah, I'm a card, like Hallmark

At Walmart with a small cart buying wall art

And y'all who claim to be dogs aren't

No bite, like a tree, mostly just all bark, arf, arf

But y'all pickin' the wrong tree

They call me dog because I'm bar king (bark, bark)

And I got a lot, yeah, like where cars park

I'd describe it as bowling (why?) ball hard (ball's hard)

'Cause the gutter's where my mind is and when

It's in this frame, better split like the five and the ten

'Cause without a second to spare, I'm strikin' again

And when the beat is up my alley, I go right for the pens (pins)

The cypher begins

I'm talkin' smack like heroin, the mic's a syringe

It's like a binge, Vicodin, I would liken to tin

My mind is a recycling bin

There's no place I never been

But I never budge and I never bend

You hyperextend on me, this game's life, it depends

Like adult diapers for men

Even when I'm rappin' less stellar

It's sour grapes, I still whine, I'm the best seller

Like a trey deuce, spray you as these shots penetrate through Dre's booth

And go straight through your grapefruit, no escape route

So you won't leave here just scathed with a few scrape wounds

Your ass is grass and I am not gonna graze you

But if bars were semi-mac's, I'd be the Mad Hatter

'Cause I got so many caps, and you don't have any straps (nah)

So you'd be a fitted (yeah), so don't act like you fittin' to snap

Bitch, I'll pee on your head like a Phillies hat (haha)

No stoppin' me, you're on a window shopping spree

Bitch, you probably go broke at the Dollar Tree

You never buy shit, all you ever cop's a plea

You're always punkin' out like Halloween

You rather opt to flee, you need to stop it, punk

Homie, you're not a G, act like you got the pump

And you're gonna cock the heat or get the Glock and dump

Bitch, if you shot a tree, you wouldn't pop the trunk

Yeah, and I'm buddies with Alfred, we about to

Disembowel them, gut 'em and scalp 'em, yeah

This is 'bout to be the bloodiest outcome

'Cause we gon' make you bleed with every cut from this album

So I'm choppin' 'em up like Dahmer

The nut job with the nuts that are bigger than Jabba the Hutt

I'm in the cut, and I'm out for the blood

It's lookin' like it's that time of the month

Carvin' 'em up with the bars while I sharpen 'em up, dog and a mutt

I'm gonna fuck your mom in the butt with a thermometer

Fuckin' phenomenal, but

Y'all'll get cut the fuck up like abdominals if you don't vámonos

I keep droppin' like dominos, the formidable, abominable

Stompin' a mudhole in my comp even if it's off the top of the dome

Son 'em, get the Coppertone, I'm at the Stop and Go coppin' the Mop and Glo

Got your stomach in knots like you swallowed rope

You out of pocket though, like a motherfuckin' wallet stole

Wait, why'd the beat cut off?

Fuck it