Between Villains (feat. Viktor Vaughn & Earl Sweatshirt & Thundercat)

[Verse 1: Viktor Vaughn]
Vik, the wild islander, bringing out the child in ya
Singing out the silencer with more violence than Heil Hitler
He get some looks, some [bad word] [?]-over, a dusty pullover and a Pulitzer
musty, busted, crusted subwoofer sista
Foes is just bluffing, clear your nose from huff puffin'
glutton for bludgeoning blood gushing, here you go, stud muffin
It’s nothing, get it on the get by
Bet it on a dead guy, jet it on the red eye
Too many make mistake fillers, not enough live wires
Too many fake killers, and jive sires
Dropped these bombs on a critic from a grass knoll
Everybody got one, your moms is a [bad word]  [bad word] and smug to the utmost
Cut it close and catch a slug to the gut boss, word to Thutmose
What's worse, clutch your purse close lady
We get more cheese bread for the baby, toast to Grady, one-eighty

[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt]
I'm in the cut looking for some puss to pick apart
 Dirty like us riding in the whip that really isn't ours
Storming out the door, don't press record, I hate my [bad word] voice
 Trying to kill that noise, performing fill that void slightly
I'm swimming in water that's been dicy since landing
And I'm owing these niggas nothing
 Like all that I've been handed for free, don't pan your cameras to me
 Ho, don't command me to speak
Got these little niggas swinging from the banister, on Fax in his pajamas
Walking slow because the camels keep his stamina weak
And you could catch him like some halibut after a bad accident
 Trying to get jaw-jacked right where the catheter peeks out
Villain, Earl, and Captain in command of your street now
 Rapping good as [bad word] janitors sweep now
Getting business handled, get the cannabis cheap now
It's a bunch of nuggets on him like it's sand on a beach towel

[Verse 3: Captain Murphy]
Captain's back (yay!), so go on put your mic away
(Where?) Inside a microwave (oh)
When I die, I bet you Mike'll wave (tee-hee)
We blowing bubbles at the pearly gates
Took a selfie with the king but only see my face
I’m writing darker pieces in my thesis
I’m hiding in the park with all your nieces
 Trading head for Reeses Pieces
Interject in niggas' verses with this book of witches curses
 I cast a spell upon your [bad word] but my thirst is for the hearses
I’m spilling out my innards
 To these n-words, journey inwards
Caught her quarter past the moment
Got a cord of past opponents
In a fragment of a moment man I killed that rap then owned it
Hope to overtake the planet, with my banana in a hammock
 [bad word] manic parents panic, I’m a mechanic with these patterns
Propagandic with that chatter, matter of fact the Madder Hatter
Never mind the hammer, manners out the window
Pump crescendo, puff the endo, I’m Lou Ferrigno
Just pretendo, don’t ask him where the pen go
Cause the pencil got me paper paid and paydirt made them paint her
With the mask and faded sweatshirt, nothing lesser
Bet you’ll never ever guess what I left under the dresser
Hid a message in the 808 to pester all the Heshers