Thought you could come up in my grill and ignite me, start beef
Well imma cook you through and through until it ruins your week
Because you're a waste of space and meat to me, honestly
I'd rather pull my teeth out with pliers and then slit all my arteries
The ****t that spills out from your mouth, no doubt
That people would rather meet the Father than live in your drought
Not sure which is worse, your words or Beck's bottled beer
When it comes to drying out my love of good things its unclear
Just for the record that ****t is liquid Vegemite
And it'll blow your a$$hol3 open like a six pack of dynamite
I'll stick by the bottles of ***** and my shots of tequila
Then whatever the f**k you call those bars, like
Terminator over being weird!
roasting the roast beef, dead to me
