(Apathy)
I'm on some Scooby-Doo, Hardy Boy, mystery shit
A ghost pirate holdin' swords on a rickety ship
Somebody say the wrong the shit it might get me to flip
Do a bid for 10 years come back physically fit
I lick a shot, I watch 'em dip quick, lickety split
Inexplicably with a flick of the wrist I fit in the clip
In a fit a rage I'm fallin' down like Michael Douglas
Every microphone he crushes into microscopic dust
Is excavated by a palentolgist wipin' brushes
From cyphers in the 90s in the dungeon lightin' dutches
Biters get to crutches when the mic is in my clutches
Calibrated like a scope on the rifle a sniper touches
I'm Mr. Fantastic, call me Reed Richards, I ain't talkin' 'bout women when I say I beat bitches
Leave 'em in deep ditches deceased 'til they need stitches so they sleepin' with the fishes and branded with three 6's