Uh, got a blunt, pop a trunk
Fill it with a fuck-boy
Bitch-boy spillin' his guts
Stomach acid mixed with blood
Staining my all-white white laced SB Dunks
Cop a couple bucks out his back pocket
Wallet got to have something
Otherwise, I gotta snatch something
So I pulled out his heart from his chest
Left the rest for his bitch
And then left them
I ditched for the seventh
Fuck a motherfucker duckin'
Tuckin' in his tail
I got a bone to pick with
Motherfuckers tryna see me fail
Creepin' like a vulture, bitch
I'm followin' his trail
Picking on his bones for the flesh
Leave the flies with the rest
Leave his body growing pale
Close his mouth with nails
Dead men tell no tales!

Yung Jack Torrance with some
Bodies in the storage
Lil' broke motherfucker wit' enough
To pay the mortgage
Got that torture in my barrel
Them ghosts inhibit my mind
It's that suicidal junkie
Yung Scorcese of my time
I'm creepin' with 59 in the Overlook Hotel
Takin' one look at us
You can tell we come from hell
I'm smokin' and chantin' spells
Packin' a couple bells
Poppin' waves back to back
I'm always riding the swell

With all these drugs in my system
Be hard to keep my attention
The narrow run full of tempt to
I see no one but these figures
The risk of losing existence
The only reason I'm itching
Itching to change up my present
Without me switching the mission
Of making millions
Intention to get it quickly and strictly
'bout getting money not flexin'
Then get some bitches start flexin'
And snatch a ring just for fun
'til I strike them digit's and add it to ya
You'd be wishing that you
Would've fucking listened
Wish you listened to me

Redrum, redrum, redrum
Redrum, redrum, redrum
Redrum, redrum, redrum
Redrum, redrum, redrum

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Songtrust Ave
Writer(s): Aristos Petrou, Jon Crawford, Scott Arcenaux