I Came 4 U - Vakill, Panik

I come from a land where the apex

Of man evolves back to ape necks every eight sec’s

Tecs have fetishes for bullet hole gape sex

Latex is placed on trigger hands, when finger-fuckin we leave no finger prints

Shit, my nigga caught a close range, close quarters, closed casket

I’m haunted by the questions his ghost askin:

(When your toast blastin?

I wanna see a violin his throat slashin

Wanna see you ride with a devout passion

Revoke passes, use acid when provoked, soak masses

I wanna see you go out in gunsmoke spazzin

In a go-for-broke fashion

Make him choke from the blood in the throat gaspin

Grasp a icepick and slowly poke gashes

Make him cough up puss when you quote classics

I want bodies flyin like planes and boat crashes

Crackin jokes while my spirit float past him)

I feel you, that’s just what I aim to do

On your life before I squeeze I’ma tell him that I came for you

I’m still in the mood to show and prove that the crown don’t move

Exceed sick, nigga

If it ain’t six figures disfigure’s permanent

Terminate, whether 16's or click-blickers

Spit triggers, a sick psychosis

My focus 90% Geico-ish — my eyes on that money, nigga

The game too docile, this hostel the beats

My gospel the streets, fuck around, you a fossil beneath

Spit a virus too hostile to treat

Findin survivors is like Bedrock break pads, nigga, impossible feat

And a lotta new niggas can’t stand me

I hear the hate that they hand me

Like, «He ain’t that amazin flow-wise»

But learn one thing

Only two ways that a pussy could earn its wings

They don’t make Allways in yo size

My story’s the pain that last underneath scars

Brokeback, I’ll rob vending machines if I want Heath bars

You speak delirium, my flow equilibrium, peak’s imperial

Now plus this eagle equals 'Here he come — be wearisome'

I’m still in the mood to show and prove that the crown don’t move

Long as the economy remain stagnant aim Magnums

At you pain magnets, scatter his brain fragments

At a distance forensics just ain’t baggin him

It’s Chi ritual, it’s habitual when I empty every mag in 'em

My city don’t sleep, its eyes got heavy bags in 'em

Fiends dodgin coppers for copper and spitters want platinum

The term 'pig' is an acronym — pussies itching with guns

Scared of every nigga with a tilted or backwards brim

It’s dirty job season, niggas ain’t got no prob squeezin

Find yo head missin for some odd reason

Freeze and bow when you in the lord’s presence

Speakin of blessings — when I spit it it’s hard to address it like God sneezin

Lord help us, niggas hungry and can’t afford shelters

We only cut the deck with the sword dealt us

Nice but at times I wish that more felt us

So fuck it, I’m trigger-aimin too

Shit, my kids need food and I came for you