666 Death Cult
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Die
Why the fuck ya act all damn tops
This ain't black ops you jack off
Ya ain't blast shots, ya strap talk's
Just your strap on you fag walk
While ya grandma walks fast jogs
When ya still gasp off a half block
Where's the gat talk, the handcock
Or the grand god master talk
You never had shots, just ask cops
They'll only say ya had props
To hand jobs for your dad's cock
A math problem for ya jack offs
Is a ballot box with a pad lock
With the keys in each master lock
In front of ya and still can't pop
The damn lock with a hacksaw
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Die
I hear ya talking but I've got a coffin
With ya name engraved on it
Pop three OxyContin and drop it
Low cunt, fuck just pop a bottle with
Shots of gin to stop living on this
Planet you faggot, ya ain't honest
Say you're a prophet and talk shit
When you're not Jesus, Muhammad
Or Dalai Lama, ya ain't a God bitch
Ya never made a profit, just stop it
Even Jesus and God wish Boston
And Austin had bombed this
Lost kid who talks shit but fallen
And can't get up, ya mom's sick
Come out the closet and talk it
Like you've got it you soft bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Die
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Die
Why the fuck ya act all damn tops
This ain't black ops you jack off
Ya ain't blast shots, ya strap talk's
Just your strap on you fag walk
While ya grandma walks fast jogs
When ya still gasp off a half block
Where's the gat talk, the handcock
Or the grand god master talk
You never had shots, just ask cops
They'll only say ya had props
To hand jobs for your dad's cock
A math problem for ya jack offs
Is a ballot box with a pad lock
With the keys in each master lock
In front of ya and still can't pop
The damn lock with a hacksaw
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Die
I hear ya talking but I've got a coffin
With ya name engraved on it
Pop three OxyContin and drop it
Low cunt, fuck just pop a bottle with
Shots of gin to stop living on this
Planet you faggot, ya ain't honest
Say you're a prophet and talk shit
When you're not Jesus, Muhammad
Or Dalai Lama, ya ain't a God bitch
Ya never made a profit, just stop it
Even Jesus and God wish Boston
And Austin had bombed this
Lost kid who talks shit but fallen
And can't get up, ya mom's sick
Come out the closet and talk it
Like you've got it you soft bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Why ya say ya doing shit
When ya really losing shit
Ya stupid bitch
Die
Credits
Writer(s): Ethan Peterson
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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