Tron Cat

Satan's getting jealous of the wolves, the demons say they preferring us
Books on not giving a f*ck, is what they referring us
Wolves I know you heard of us, we're murderous
And young enough to get the f*cking priest to come and flirt with us
You n*ggas rap about f*cking b*tches and getting head
Instead I rap about f*cking b*tches and getting heads
While you n*ggas stacking bread, I can stack a couple dead
Bodies, making red look less of a color more of a hobby
I'm not a rapper nor a rapist nor a racist
I f*ck b*tches with no permission and tend to hate shit
And brag about the actions in a rhyming pattern matter
Then proceed to sat her down when I go splatter in her chatterbox
Atta boy, Odd Future you're not in our category
Torture with the super soaker at the Asian liquor store
This the type of shit that make a Chris Brown want to kick a whore
That make songs about the wet blockers when it rains and pours
(Umbrella) I hate this, screaming f*ck patience
Got a n*gga shaking like the calmest f*cking Haitian
After chronic masturbation, asking where Mary-Kate went
I want to be the reasons why all lesbians hate dick
I make this damn Bullwinkle the red moose
Game of duck-duck-duck tape with a dead goose
She running around this motherf*cking dungeon, her legs loose
Until I accidentally get the saw to her head, oops
Victim, victim, honey you're my fifth one
Honey on that topping when I stuff you in my system
Rape a pregnant b*tch and tell my friends I had a threesome
You got a f*cking death wish, I'm a genie it'll get done
Nice to meet you but it's more pleasant to eat you
With a leaf of salad and some dressing pouring out a teacup
B*tch I'm Tyler the Creature, suck your feet up like a beach of leeches
Rubber more than the f*cking bottom of a sneaker