Black Hole Propecies

[Verse 1: Metropolis] We gather in celebration of life, when embracing the mic One taste of my strife, full straight from fight Raising my right fist, blazingly high Stating my right to recite, I'll be taking a flight Lazin' above clouds, ravin' up high, I Sail to my touchdown when I clutch crowds and I bust loud And instruct how the rhyme form can be twisted, can be Lifted above norms, handed visions Random writtens that drop jaws, making your clock pause, I'm Shaming to clog pores, aiming to lock jaws, changing the fuck laws As we come to the fore, inspired by the sweet scent of skunk from the floor Words tumbling forth, crumbling hordes In verses they stumble of course, and burst under my force Survivors left with their wonder and awe, we exit stage left to a thunderous applause [Verse 2:Orifice Vulgatron] He lives alone in a black hole It's the bow-legged masochist, who's savage with a crack pole He snatched souls, ravaged whole towns and villages Stole pounds with which he fills the cold mouth he drivels with He comes around you with his gold and brown vintage kicks Trying to snoop around to use some old sounds from ninja flicks They let him go about his business, said he wasn't to be trusted since he tends to things with clenched fists [Hook] Iron Man slang is the one with vile tongue Spit venom, still strip yelling by the hollow home Ice-faced vagrants take flight like a bird of prey We murder, praise, first enslave vermin, break their vertebrae Pilot plans scams from the brain of the Sire scum Higher strand math from a stray who defiles slums We walk forward, make haste until the sundown Living to the fullest, feel like bullets from a thundercloud [Verse 3: Orifice Vulgatron] He came to Earth to make a mark on this existence With a strategy so elusive most remark with thick indifference It’s the visions of the ancients, lost words of the episcopal Risen from within, he sips a gourd that’s filled with pilfered souls As though he walks amongst the damned, holding nothing but a cold can of fiction in his hand He was a storyteller, outlaw, working on a masterpiece Head amidst his hands, he chased the stars until the laughter ceased A common thief bestowed forth into oblivion Caught past the millions of warlord’s forced dominions The cold hearts of billions, the raw stock simian Forethought sought to spawn his brawn amongst his minions He spread his wisdom with a strange grin The Grand-Wizard-Alchemist-Prison-Rat who chased skin He played king to all those who drifted The sweet taste of sin plagued the tin he pegged his lips with [Verse 4: Metropolis] A humble home in the shredded threads of a borrowed bra But my bowl holds sorrows in a hollow hold See, I'm of the Apollo mold Meaning I drift though space via bull with a copper tone Me, I run a rhythm like a cartel Never stop giving them the sharp nail, hard tail We impart dark tales in the deep of night Poised, the poison tips all sail at the speed of light [Repeat Hook]