Lyrics:
I'm Ted Bundy's only seed fabricated inside a test tubeMy Sentences are outrageous like a judge in a bad mood
Swing my fist at your happy home turn it to a pile of bricks
Swipe the heavens clean from angel dust when I need a fix
Born on the 6th of June, 1666
My centuries are rolling on as your seconds slowly tick
Hit you faggots with more kicks than Death metal music
Horrific concepts that out shine the shining of Stanley Kubrick
Slit your wrist use your blood to write you a suicide note
Punch you in the stomach so hard you'll puke out your ghost
If my bitch stays boasting she's hot I'll make a toast
No cheers involved, spark her up & let the bitch roast
Demons are invoked in my presence skies turn red
For us to fight fair I'd have to be paralyzed in a bed
Strap myself in explosives greet you with open arms
My art form is the reason there was even a renaissance
I burn the roots of the alphabet when I syllabify
Defeat the Alpha & Omega in less than a blink of an eye
Out smarten a smart bomb with a grin on my face
Biting 100 bullets per second while tying my shoe lace
Compose anagrams from my victim's primary name
My pen isn't sharper than the sword it disintegrates the blade
Live by the pen, Die by the pen
Re-incarnate in ink just to help writers excel
Driven by the force of when gamma rays burst
Out shine every galaxy when I'm encrypting my verse
My revenge will be far from a dish served cold
Dine with your relatives and feed them you whole
A nutcase lost in a maze of asylum corridors
Godfather of the 12 Olympians breeding demigods
I'm aeons ahead of the big bang the creator of Zeus
Re-activate Mount Tambora if my screws get loose
Too many snakes in the grass now it's hunting season
Suffocate an Anaconda prove my point within reason
Reside in a region developing futuristic species
Causing atomic destruction by performing telekinesis
Feasting on Ogres when the munchies take over
Drink a gallon of whiskey and still remain sober
Colder than Russian weather at its lowest degree
Fight Sub-Zero in his comfort zone without getting cold feet
Your plots get demolished like a defected building
Hip-Hop is my religion travel to hell and back as a pilgrim
Wield weapons create a breeze splitting the pacific sea
Dig my own grave with a shovel crack the earth's magnetic fields
My brains a mechanism sought after by the Chinese military
But not even they got enough manpower to scratch me physically
God's gift to your ear drums his most precious element
The inheritor of Gods will in his final testament
Click to expand
Chapter Zero @Facebook
0 Response for the "Chapter Zero - The Final Testament (Produced by Rhys) "
Post a Comment