Muerte

[Verse 1:Ikon the Hologram] Enter the eye of the storm Rappers just battle me for the glory It gets gory They shitty like suppositories, that's the end of the story Bury his body in Missouri Banish the apparatus of Gladys to crematories My territory, perimeter of purgatory Stingy in winches of vicious, malicious inflictions upon your click Circulatory Causing head spasms Rip through your motherfucking temple like Phantasm Hologram has'em and walks through the holy arches Left you in the forest with your carcass in the harness Death is upon us, we slam like Adrian Adonis Swarm on the warm blood like malicious pirahnas Islamic Bombers, no contender is parallel When I'm on paper, devastate'em like 7L So where I dwell, without question rattles the league Left you in a vessel with severe battle fatigue Before you leave I insist you listen to more raps Before I saw cats, making weapons out of your thorax [Verse 2:Jus Allah] I inhale toxins Drunk off blood from dead cops and The watchmen, that kill us in this maze we locked in Side Cobra Clutch, only truth can sober us Wild cause we know there's no Jehovah watching over us Only 10 percent that's controlling us Try to take our souls from us, while they stay patrolling us Caged in we break barriers, change to new areas Dodgin' the pigs in chariots out to bury us Jus Allah don't make threats Leave your fuckin' necks clipped Have you speakin' the manual alphabet Seein' me is def not repeated or done twice I laugh as I cast the first stones at Christ Joint in ace bands, you move to Graceland and Satan Mics spray then, bury flesh in wasteland Infect you Inject you with the gunpowder pegs Indent your forehead with hot lead Whether in the abode of the dead Or resting in the Zions Allah stay chasin' the dough like wild lions Unchained tearin' your flesh we unfed Flyin' through, like birds we takin' your daily bread [Excerpt from "Greater Love" by Wilfred Owen] Kindness of wooed and wooer Seems shame to their love pure O Love, your eyes lose lure When I behold eyes blinded in my stead! Your slender attitude Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed Rolling and rolling there Where God seems not to care: Till the fierce love they bear Cramps them in death’s extreme decrepitude Your voice sings not so soft,— Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,— Your dear voice is not dear Gentle, and evening clear As theirs whom none now hear Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed