Go To Hell

The chosen one the wicked son, they call me Hitchcock
Talk some shit, and I’m a hit ya with this quick Glock
Body parts are scattered and sealed up in zip locks
With my steel caps get peeled up to six blocks
You can try to run away but you won’t get far
They call me Prozak bitch the knighted templar
I’m blowin' up your fucking brain like the death star
And lyrics come to me like ghost from the graveyard
Since my birth I’ve been obsessed with the dead
Homicidal thoughts while I was being breastfed
I tried to kill myself but I survived instead
From pieces of a broken mirror sliced my wrist bled
Shit my wicked rhymes will have you overdose, and leave your ass comatose
You try to play me close I’ll levitate through smoke
When I hit the fucking stage be like what’s that smell
Sulfur and brimstone bitch go to hell
(They call me Hitchcock)
The radios afraid to play my wicked paragraphs
Go to the station lock and load up on they whole staff
And let them know the danger of us crossing paths
And let it be known I spit the truth like a polygraph
So jot it down homie copy that
There’s always room for another carbon copy cat
They try to run with my style but I got it back
And try to sound just like me with your head in half
(Go to hell)