Murder Rate

Oh, I'm tired of all of y'all This is a diss track to all of y'all

One diss track and it's too better with y'all Seven, two followers ain't good enough

You know what, I'm tired of mumbling, so I guess let's get right into it

Right through your motherfuckin' lungs Bitch, I had to get my bezzle up

Two opps dead, still dissin', it ain't adding up Full court press, all these bitches

think I'm travelin' Molly, Vicodin, ecstasy and Percocets

I can't lie to you, I flushed, they weren't workin yet

And as it seems that this beam hit you in your head

I'm boppin' in my room, gunshot through my head

I can feel it better off that I'm dead I ain't dyin' at 21, I'm dyin' at 16