Lyrics: Vylet Pony
Music: Vylet Pony
This town ain't big enough.
Check yourself at the door,
I know more than you think.
Debt on the scoreboard,
kicking up a stink.
Form right over function,
takes a bitch to do it right.
Blood on your land when you're losing every fight.
You know how we do it on the bodies of your men.
Put a bullet where his brain should be,
plucked right off the stem.
Double barrel shotty,
pump that shit he's rabbid.
Another has-been in the bag,
stitched up by a faggot.
Yuh.
Fall to your knees mortal.
Outlaw me bitch,
outlaw me bitch,
outlaw me bitch,
then this shotty boutta put you out of the 'biz.
Line the men up the wall,
bag their heads with a smile.
Send these mic'd up boys to the redneck trials.
Yeah, shoot a dog just to fear the bite.
It's on sight.
Salt the wounds of the snow,
'cuz it's **** ice.
The new town square ritual: public castration.
Throwing bricks at the straights,
making queer vengeance great again.
Red hat and glasses skipped all his classes.
All these mother****ers put their money where their ass is.
He's such a stupid as hell, white, bratty incel.
Nobody has to kill him,
'cuz he'll do it himself.
He's like "41 percent,
" but everybody can tell even though his god ain't real,
he already in hell.
Oh, ****. And he's just doing ****ing dirty work.
He don't know that he's just a tweet of someone's birdy bird.
He likes his guns,
but he's just scared of words.
He's gonna jump just 'cuz he heard 'she/her'
Aye yo she cuddle the Ruger EC9S,
not no Blajaj.
SS on mama's hotspot,
sticks cook 'em like hotpot.
**** Judy Hopps, Jim Hopper, and Robocop.
You by the throne, spit shinin' my spot.
They scan her fit on Google Lens.
They call her Open Carrie since they Sauer with a SIG.
Aye, roll up your Top Five 'cuz she cool with smokin' on mids.
Make you horse famous, Colt 45, put you on Fox 10.
Even the terfs think she really him.
Dyke with a ArmaLite for ice, and a 9 for the 2 and 10.
Shawty dump the shit,
then get in the whip and then get in the wind.
Aye yo, I strut my shit,
I pull up my skirt and then stuff in a stick.
And if I boymode, it's preme dunks, my nails glitter.
Don't melee with mini Hitlers, we hit 'em with holo tippers.
And if you unaware of what we do with MAGA N**gas.
Ask Grok, my Glock pop, you haunting a data center, pussy.
Tell 'em. Hahaha
Aye, anon, ask Grok to tie your noose for you.
You the Combine,
breaking every single tourist trap under your step,
on a fine line.
Bumble out the Gonarch Lair on a Rhine dime.
My sign says all of you bitches are gonna do time, time.
Cry bitch, there's nothing great to replace,
only the hive minds.
I find every white man in contempt.
Wannabe terrorists invading every space that they can't bench.
Here's the sitrep,
Camp Cracker's overrun and spent.
You can outlaw the idea,
but you can't run from Ol' Betsy.
Yo. Pop, pop out on 12.
HECU V. the HEV from hell.
"We can always tell," pray tell.
All it takes is ashen one, to demon fell.
All the men outlevel health,
but got no mana for the spells.
Running up the L's. Gunning for themselves.
Give 'em cells, solitary sells.
Televise it to their kin,
loving Christ compels.
We never shot first,
but the smoking gun smells of a red hat brat the Rainbow Mafia's about to shell.
Yeah, I'm loosing up now.