| Bitch | 
| Poltergeist, Celph Titled, and Capitole D | 
| Fuckers | 
| Yeah, yo | 
| I hear the demons talkin' in my head, tellin' me to murk somethin' | 
| Spray bottle filled with strychnine, press the squirt button | 
| You a hater and we blastin', my fan club street team members just happen to be | 
| trained assassins | 
| Stash in the barn yard, it’s bail money | 
| Put the yay in Glad bags, weigh 'em on the scale for me | 
| The evil in me, it lives there | 
| Drive your family van into a zoo exhibit, and leave your kids there | 
| So ease off the tough guy act | 
| When I squeeze, slugs fly at your snapback hat, make the brim fly back | 
| The Glock’ll punish you | 
| Say you handle beef, but you work at the store stocking Lunchables | 
| Once your rigor mortis sets, I’m throwin' up my set | 
| Detonatin' dynamite on your grave and shootin' up what’s left | 
| So next time you crowd surf, come out your skirt | 
| I make the pounds work and leave your body in the outskirts | 
| See, I remember everything like it coulda been last night | 
| Demons creepin' in my house and they try to kill Cap’s life | 
| Manifestation of evil forces when I write | 
| As people waitin' to see my deadly performance on the mic | 
| Memories are faded, everything I get is written down | 
| Flipping trough the pages of the stories like a killa clown | 
| Can you believe that I murdered in mass amounts | 
| Capitole D getting cash and the burner, I fiend to count | 
| What I got, get it any way that I can and I got it now | 
| Flashbacks to my brain it happens in sounds | 
| Backpacks full of weed deliver into your town | 
| I’ll be painting cities green, get you wait for the pounds | 
| Red tear. | 
| yeah, tell me if you like | 
| I’ll rest here every other motherfucking night | 
| In the city that bleeds | 
| You fuckin' with the ghost life | 
| Capitole D and Celph Titled | 
| The poltergeist |