Carnage The Executioner - Hand Woven Catastrophe Overly Attached to Beats lyrics

(Verse 1) I am a nightmare walkin', this…Psychopath talkin' sh**/ …Tacti-cal depletion season, scary! Stalkin' b**h- …Ma**ive balls the reason he is very often prick/ …Vagi-nal secretion demon, rarely softened dick- Enemy of Venom & web slinger in comic book…Respect lingers/ With non left-wingers & mess bringers not the good…Dead ringer, too- I'm a crook…Whether with Heca Click or any others…Plenty brotha's/ Know that fatso drops heavy…Not ready them skinny f**ers!- …All varieties put eyes to ‘C'…Might it be how I/ Drive the heat? Survive & eat…Too live & these lackluster wack busters- Can't Steal shine from me! Sack tuggers act rougher…Better quit/ Evident you ALL s** AND swallow, never spit clever sh**!- Lettin' this down rookie try this…He can freestyle, now could he write it?/ How good recited? “WACK!” Now him and the sound bully fightin'- Coach Carnage compared with the best…Broke arms & I'm tearin' ya' flesh/ For spittin' your written's like you got no heart & ya' wearin' a dress- (CHORUS) …Majority…No…Each and EVERY/ Rap released…Nothing short of thee status-ing of- Masterpiece…Immorally…Hand-woven/ Catastrophe tapestry orally attached to beats- …Historically…Shown…Each and every/ Rap released…Nothing short of thee status-ing of- Masterpiece…Immorally…Hand-woven/ Catastrophe tapestry orally attached to beats- (Verse 2) Allow n***a...Make crowd shout…Out-wigger…Hey, loudmouth!/ Route rigger, how it a git fly? Diff I from maggot average…Higher sick ma**- Cla**ic acid fire it's that…Some slobber shed, whiper/ Come copperhead viper…Redrum dropper strike yer, b**h a**!- …Lurkin' bash-waxer…Observin' that factor/ Word is draft master is more than a nerd & fast rapper braggin' boastin'- Gag & choke when I craft a focused magnum opus/ To smash opponents, friends, plus ANYONE perceived hotter at the moment!- …Came to in-crease murder rate…Time to re-treat…Bellicose & bane/ In-credible the pain when…Game begins he serves a fake- …Swallow ‘em whole, grin…Bottle the soul, then…Strain the skin re-gurgitate/ Minus thee meat…Skeletal arrangement- …Murdering gits a win…Make sh** of 'em sit 'em in chitterlins/ My widdling rhythm is further be-littling little men…Hit 'em & won't run- So dumb! No un-shrivelin'…Grow some, don't front! You feminine!/ Said you tote gun, wrote one…But got no proof like Eminem!-