right-left, right-left you toothless, and then you say, god damn them russkies, cause we chose to knock mothafuckas unconcious, eastern honkies, with still got clout on these streets, seek peace? I got war for you, torture you, roll you like a pair of dice and throw you, what's the result? my lucky number seven, that's how many MCs I can murder, still standing, call a reverend, cause you about to need a service, praying for your soul, while I despose of your corpses, storing bodies, ain't my business, I hate the smell, that's why they found other bitches in a fuckin well, I kill-and-tell, but still can't catch X, I stretch my legs, and put thousands of miles between the feds, they bleed instead, I boobie-trap my escape, you breathe wrong, and death will be your date....

or some shit like that