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gangrene - congratulations, you lose lyrics

[intro: the alchemist]
yeah, yeah
check me out
let me see what i got here

[verse 1: the alchemist]
d+ck in my duffle, got plenty style
put this whole sh+t on my back and walk many miles
place the duku on your face with a razor and spill the ketchup out
slingin foot in my bally shoe and you stretched it out
beloved, that’s a bad fit
chewin a matchstick, i’ll spike the punch and send you on a bad trip
that’s not a microdose, when it’s time for me to recite, i hold a microphone
close to my throat right here, draped in a robe
like issac hayes when he was black moses
fl!ckin ashes, smokin opposition packages in a massive dosage
i floated here on a magic carpet
say my name on a record makes you an automatic target
not i gotta take out the garbage, just gettin started
how’s it time to make my impression felt
gettin fat, need to add a notch on my versace leather belt
won’t give a f+ck, i let my nuts hang
them fly low like a dust plane, bustdowns dangle out the mustang
use a shirt to wipe off the rust stain then continue busting
speed in the foreign, neosporin to make the cuts sting
[interlude]
hahaha
you’re already ugly, you’re already ugly
ohh+ho+ha, son
don’t get me started, you b+tch

[verse 2: oh no]
yeah, the flood ain’t fair, ain’t no animals safe here
the archer park, you dead in the water, your archers stay there
that beast that you thought that was in you, i see it been dead
you can’t awake it, the cousin is sleep, the stone like a big head
cruise through the ruins, the attitude is “f+ck what you doin”
i could mousetrap, i’m stupid tryin to get a shoe in
cause there’s no vacancy for y’all to move in
y’all know the motto, keep it movin over shoulder movement
old [?] so we slappin new sh+t
goin past abuses, beat down the eardrums and no exclusives
checkin for your acoustics
sound like a rocket from the t+minus lift up
when the high comes down, i use your beard like a f+ckin swiffer
now you the made man, i let you clean the scene
not a barber but i’ll give you then fades, nah’mean?
the mad doctor is the occupation
i pull the ribs out of the chest improper like a game of operation
we make coaches out of samples from the surgery
don’t make me deactivate all your circuitry
i don’t work for you n+gga, you work for me
[outro]
shut up, you ugly motherf+cker
don’t get me started, b+tch
cause i’m not going for your stomach, i’m going for your face
you better hope you don’t get [?]

- gangrene lyrics

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