What?
Fuck what you think, bitch
Fuck what you thought
Till my corpse rot, deadboy to the top
Try to give it what you got but what you got ain't enough
Time to hang to it up take a walk-in lunch
Everything I touch a bud will always get touched
Skeleton hands remain through the flood
Floating down the street up to no good
I done see ya hood now let me take you to the woods

Decomposing, decomposing
Every second decomposing
Decomposing, decomposing
Every second decomposing

Put some silica gel packs inside my casket
Don't need to mold already live thru that shit
Hold to the story if they keep on asking
«Bones, who did you sign too?», — yes, I'd imagine
That it would seem that way, now tell me is it good or bad
The hundred dollar bill pass just for the wood packs
No, not at all it was El that booked that
If you want a show it depends how I feel bitch

I won't flip for some bills, bitch
Do a frickin' cartwheel for 8 dollars
«I won't do a cartwheel for 8 dollars»