comin for you

can not run can not hide when i jump on the mic, youre past out if time, runnins all you can try, leave you burned and twisted just like some curly fries, stuck in place like a pair of rusty pliers, cant escape and thats no lie so why even try, either way youre gonna die especially when i start to kick it with the wicked sickness have ya wig split from the intricate spittin, bass hittin hard like ooo, yea i comin for you so you better look around, or youll end up 6ft under ground, better give me my crown, just smile its the willoa clown