Spoken Intro (laughing, layered with frying pan sizzle FX):
Ay yo…
Target: Joe Juoson.
Yeah, that boy.
Caught him lackin’ by the gravel — scrambled his lil’ egg head.
Blood look like ketchup…
Now the ants eatin’ breakfast.
Systematic.
⸻
🔪 Verse 1 (vicious, surgical disrespect):
Caught Joe slippin’ in Adidas slides,
Tryna act bold, but his soul ain’t ride.
Talked big game, but he lied with pride,
Now he laid out flat with his egg-head fried.
Ketchup splatter on the concrete glow,
Look like a cookout, but this beef too cold.
He folded when the pressure got bold,
Now the gravel got his secrets untold.
Lil’ pussy talkin’ like he hold that weight,
But his body told truth when he met his fate.
Broke his shell, now his brain on plate,
And the ants on scene like “damn, he late.”
(ad-lib: “Cooked him!”)
⸻
🍳 Hook (mocking tone, wild energy):
Scrambled ops — Joe got fried,
Laid in the street, not a tear, not a cry.
Blood like ketchup, mixin’ with pride,
Now his name in the dirt where the rats reside.
Yeah — scrambled ops — no alibi,
Cooked his dome like a 3 egg slide.
He talked like a king, but he died like a lie,
Rest in p*ss, Joe — you ain’t that guy.
⸻
🔥 Verse 2 (even more violent & taunting):
Heard his last words? “Wait—please!”
Too late, that karma cooked with grease.
I don’t fight fair, I just release,
Aimin’ for the yolk, no chance for peace.
Bitch-boy soft, made from foam,
Shoulda stayed quiet, now he etched in stone.
Did it so clean, I ain’t break no chrome,
Just bare hands — cracked him like home.
No body bag, just ants and flies,
Birds circlin’ where the coward lies.
His mama cryin’ but I feel no ties,
He made that bed — now maggots rise.
(ad-lib: “Shoulda shut up.”)
⸻
🍽 Hook (repeat, more vicious):
Scrambled ops — Joe got fried,
Laid in the street, not a tear, not a cry.
Blood like ketchup, mixin’ with pride,
Now his name in the dirt where the rats reside.
Yeah — scrambled ops — no alibi,
Cooked his dome like a 3 egg slide.
He talked like a king, but he died like a lie,
Rest in p*ss, Joe — you ain’t that guy.
⸻
🧼 Outro (low tone, savage calm):
Yeah…
He said my name.
He thought it was sweet.
Now his brains feedin’ insects.
Scrambled ops.
Systematic.
Nikoudium
