B.James - Patrick Bateman lyrics

Dont f** up the beat, yah, hit a mutha f**a with the heat, yah Cut em with a knife life line deplete, imma end this sh** control, Alt, Delete While most ya'll write your rhymes for the paper, I set fire to currency I could give a f** about fame, really fed up with the game, hence why ya ain't heard of me I fly under the radar, k**in with a saber, like vadar, wanna hop up on my tools named maynard Ya betta think twice, your blowin up my gaydar Looks like i'll have ta rip your hair out, fashion up a wig, an wear it while i cut your throat and gut ya like a pig, b*tch Six feet deep in a ditch, you dig, you dont really wanna f** with a dick this big I'm runnin right up in your houses, fist up in spouses, fill em up, light that cig And wait, for the day, you step up to my f**in face, ya little b**h Really wish you'd wipe that smile off, ya won't find it funny when the blade meets wrist I k** it, get it? got it, GOOD, gut a mutha f**a chop it up like wood Leave a puddle of blood where the mic once stood, compete with a nuttbag? wish you could Damn, black and white's straight runnin this sh** through the day in night Who's puttin up a fight? point em out, lemme grab my knife, imma spit up on the mic and imma take his life HOOK I'm a Pretty Sick Guy (4x) I'm attackin rappers with pa**ion, slash and stab em, cut em up but why? i'm a pretty sick guy (6x) I'm attackin rappers with pa**ion, slash and stab em, cut em up but why? I'm a pretty sick guy (2x) Sick and sadistic when I rip it get stuck, ya bish In the back of your throat i'll piss, then i'll f** your chick I'll put your a** in a box, Chop Chop, make ya fit OH, I deliver the fire, hot, burn ya sh** Cuz i'm insane in the brain but I never complain, inflict pain and maintain My psycho sick game and if a label wanna sh** on my name, get stained Neglect From a record exec.? f** em, show no coward respect I'll put em up in hearses on purpose, no playin possum with threats These Words spit by Malice infect, These words spit by malice infect I can hear ya b**hin whatcha really wanna get it? imma cut your f**in tougne out, fry it in the kitchen These words spit by Malice infect, these Words Spit by Malice infect Quick cut with the machete, now my clothes all reddy, betta call the coroner i got the bags already Makin brain confetti, got the blades like freddy, well what a ya know your toe tagged already Gettin brain, that becky, drain a vein, perfect, thee flow is on another mutha f**in Page Betty k** em on the beat I"ll f** em up and leave em leakin if i'm x pill peakin imma nut up on your mommy Any p**y mutha f**a comin ta bring the beef on me i'm breakin every bone, fold em up, Origami HOOK