Текст песни A Tragic End - Dat Boi Vic

Tragic ending like Macbeth
The scene of death
Three witches came to the door step
And told me what to expect
Fake bitches who wanna get flown out
On a private jet
That'll break their neck
To put you in debt
And collect a check
Fake niggas
Who know what time it is
Be watching your patek
Will cross you for your connect
My rhymes come from Kemet
The ancient temple
The verse is basquiat painting on windows
Painting on tires
Soulful like singing on choirs
The forty will spin wack rappers
Like they in dryers
Any rapper mentioning Vic
Is playing with fires
The ill magician
Occult verses straight out the kitchen
Fake love from fake thugs
I feel suspicion
Wheels is twisting
Heels is clicking
Nigga we wishing
You put my name in one of them raps
With that wack dissing
That's a deadly game
Get smoked out like Eddy cane
When the dessy bang
The night he got hit
It was steady rain
Cleansing the planet
A seven hour lecture
Brother panic
Before the trans Atlantic
It was blacks in Denmark
Prince Hamlet
The tragic end
Madness and greed
Love and revenge
My hand extends
For niggas who'll stab it
With evil grins
My lethal pen
Is like a playwright from 1610
A soliloquy
I know it's niggas who ain't feeling me
But this is art though
I kick it like the last killer bee
Peace to poppa Wu
This high class art just not for you
My writings should be in Smithsonian's
Na not the zoo
The art exhibit
You looking at greatness
But you don't get it
Told Kobe he couldn't fit in them shoes
And than he did it
Five rings but would've been seven
If they ain't hate
Wish the helicopter never took off
And they escaped
Wish my dawg never went to that party
And caught eight
Wish I never ever had to sell dope
And cop weight
But that's the way it was
Just last night
They sprayed the club
A young girl got shot in the face
She laid in blood
A tragic end
Niggas with money
The saddest man
They bought everything that money could buy
And have to pretend
That's my life is great
On Instagram that's why I'm flossing cake
Got a million likes
But don't like myself
It's all fake
The trap artist with knowledge
But my fans won't let me grow
If I put some knowledge in my rhymes
They won't like me no more
If I rap about bitches and bricks
Watch a niggga blow
If I tell them to put down them sticks
They think I'm turning hoe
They could be looking at precious art
And they wouldn't even know
Cuz they don't know art
The black Mozart
The flow throw darts
The kid from oak park
Who bar for bar could rip the whole charts
Rap niggas with no skills
That's who they throw deals
But my lyrics could make the gods cry
And give them cold chills
Sharpen your sword
Money ain't real
Boston George
But it makes you happy
Buying new shit you couldn't afford
So fuck your award
The realist shit dropping
Will get ignored
One day reviews
Man half of the Jewels
Ain't get absorbed