Exorcist

[Killah Priest] Each flavor jolly ranchers Eight astronauts in space Analysts suffer from brain cancer Now they speak backwards The Earth awaits the center of mass as they arrive Only to thrive off a human flesh Santa clause wife breaks her neck And beaten to death, the Jesus theory was just a hoax The devil catches The Holy Ghost From a psalm that the Archangel had wrote Hitler jerks off on the top of Jezebel's head Give the children stone instead of bread Chop off his head, split his body down the middle I'm like a three year old and your bones are skittles Riddle, diddle, little, sickle, pistol Piddle, paddle, rattle, tattle, taboo The bottle of Vicodin or Oxycodone Now I see Martians, wavin' "Hello" Their arms are long, their teeth are yellow Pop another gram so I can see the Son of Man I look up, oh yeah, the Son of Man Now you see, now you don't The trick is makin' them believe but they won't Who killed 2Pac and ODB? Somebody's watchin' me Paranoid drinkin' Coca-cola The coffee cup spills over, I grab soda-after-soda A drive-by shootin' at a weddin', so upsettin' White gown, rice rose petals, blood spreadin' Fuckin' then killin', killin' then fuckin' My brain's empty, my heart feels nothin' My left side is numbin' I ask myself, lemme ask you somethin' Tryna catch my breath while I'm tryna write somethin' so fresh [Killah Priest] 80 grams of Dilaudid, dopa- troponin Hydromorphone, my eye's low, I morph into a King Holdin' idols of the mammoth, gaff mist of stream A psychedelic, angelic, relic Used to bind Leviathan's wings A night perish, his wife's precious Holdin' his head, slide off his helmet Lizard face, she drops 'em Looks around the reptilian race wit long part tongue My pupils dilate, my brain goes cuckoo I must annihilate, I leap yoo-hoo I feel great, a basket full of snakes Upon the tablets, a long beard, a stone I still scrape A poem of madness, I shot the devil on Easter eve Behind hell's walls, you can still hear his wife grieve She wore white on his funeral All dead animals came back to life, it was beautiful Lookin' unusual, a long trench-coat, lookin' grim Ground hems spend smoke, slightly build posture It's Priest the Mobster A sick smile, holdin' his next vic', a small child Could it be the next Savior? Look for more millennium flows Futuristic poems in my comic book of reality Called the stargazer papers