Royce Da 5'9" - It's Over (Freestyle) lyrics

[Royce Da 5'9"] They say I'm the best in here Picture your wife f**in your twin, I'm like him May the best man win, so later for you bums A ways back I made a pact to stay sharp enough to sharpen a razor on my tongue I'm sick with this, you sick like a panty sniffer And you just wanna see her pee, like a dick blister Y'all remind me of Fantasia brother, y'all be whylin On TV every day I turn on y'all and y'all be cryin I'm SURGICAL with this motherf**in pen The sickest n***a spittin 'til the end {*echoes*} I don't really have to go against actors I'm the last lyrical W.T.F.O.M.G. factor So back off 'fore I blow your kneecap off I'mma eat this beat like a beet eatin vegan, industry's where the beef is In the car goin beep-beep while I roll over the drums and just straight peel through the pieces 'Bout to build me a time machine and, get in it, and go back I'm done Find Frank Nitti and Al Capone like, "Can y'all autograph my gun?" Haha, I ain't tryin that hard right now, I'm just havin fun Tell the whole world I just had a son, first name Earth, last name None You live on that and your cash ain't come and you don't spit that sh** a** ain't gone Raised by a gangsta, come in the house with your a** whipped and you get an a** whoop-un What a n***a know about the water in the shower gettin cold cause the bathroom faucet is on The reason why I grabbed you, stabbed you, out-rap you when I ain't feelin like talkin' with chrome Heat a n***a house with the oven, like I like thuggin, what I probably just spit on my mother Had to heat up the house with the oven, had to spend the night with my cousin Guess I'll be poppin lots of sh**, you can't do nothin 'bout it b**h So get the heads up or be my Rock'em Sock'em opposite I'm like a stock or bond, that could drop a bomb Ridin slow with the slidin do' on the side Open on that minivan intended for no soccer mom Lighters up high, I'm your fire supply Writer with mad sk**s, I'm ill so hire your guy Nobody's harder, he don't give a fu*k what he slaughters He will drag your s*utty daughter through the muddy waters This beat is bait, get it out of me I can sh** it out me it's ate, I think I owe Drake an apology Tweet about that you little f**in fruit