Sullee J, Ca$his, Royce da 5'9" - I'll Bury You lyrics

Im not the one to step to
My word, I'm the shit
Unless you a fuin deaf mute
You heard I was sick on my 4th record deal
The points ain't change run up on your rover
And put you in point blank range
Microphone terrorist verbal bin laden
Tear your head off in front
Of 30 mil' watching dirty pill poppin'
Pusy eating criminal money making
Murda, mc general!

Cynical! Haters get evaded
With lasers, eradicated pistol parading
Trigger ventilation uncivil with the 9
No limit, elimination
Soul snatching bigoters
Bitter the generation
Belittle til' there little
Through drivel manipulation
Ignorant deliverer's
Figure with no parameters
Incinerate the image
Of visionary ambitioner's
The devil keep on talkin'
But never was I a listener

All you haters go to hell
My soul i'll never sell i'll bury you!
Down with the shovel
You ain't even on my level

I'm a lyrical dope man
I should get my phone tapped
Slaughterhouse wizard
I should rock a cone hat styrofoam cup
Is probably where the patron at
In the mouth of your bih
Is probably where my bone at
I went from getting into fights
Getting sparked at
To sipping, sitting at the light
Getting gawked at
The vale see me and tip me just to park that
We bought everything out of gucci
Now we off that

My trigger straight raid
Deliver with vigor rage
Pass Royce the machete
Deminish you, with a plague
I deposit you in rivers
Dismiss you, I will invade
With a razor, incinerate!
Disintegrate! craze! I just rose out of hell
With a cold cerebell
Kill't the devil and his hoe
Kept my soul, so surreal
Ask God, I been to heaven
Til' He forced my expel
Reveal i will a spell with a torturous quell

Im in an out of them cases hD lab
Started out in the basement
Free from the chains
The industry like a slave ship
And underground acts
Built they hip hop nation remain un-famous
Young, wild and dangerous
The come round suckers
That don't know how good my aim is
Spark the weed, flaming
My night lights, bright like in vegas
I'm way to major for all y'all haters
Cook corners in the tricked out whip
This ain't basic
Underground sound out the basement
All black whips from soft white
Something like a slave ship smoked out
Live in the matrix theres money all around
No need to chase it be at bay, banking
6 digit's in franklins
Indiana pacin', drag racin'
180 on the side street
Screaming mama, I made it