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ǝʇɐɔoʌpɐ s,†ıʌǝǝp ǝɥʇ - thee cipher, part ii lyrics

[verse 1: kuzgun]
headless vegas strippers with blood and cocaine on their -sses
i was spawn from rotten condoms, dropped to the earth to cause problems, f-ggot
dropping cl-ssics, f-ck rotten catholics, you a forgotten dramatic
i got that benz up waiting, these rappers menstruating, them niggas melodramatic
only living motherf-cker that spawns dulics and makes spondulicks
and makes blood and every other possible fluid start oozing
i’m the official rapping aborted fetus necrophilliac
you just a torn shit-eater we know’s really wack
that’s an 10-syllable rhyme for you ignoramuses
i’m simply aiming this at these lame as shit, aimless tricks
any life anyone pretends to live, i really live it too
f-ck, i’m lazy, i’ll just let this be a 12-bar interlude

[verse 2: didact]
my words speak for they self
when you mentioning wealth
you better be counting your bread
dead prez heads, pussies biting out it like adam’s apple
diced pineapples, running circles round y’all
game locked like monitor bracelets round niggas ankles
got rappers in shambles, turn tables ‘round
aiming, 1 eye closed, leaning back
wearing some leather sandals
example, i put trifectas in vandals craniums
playing the game wicked, 50 tickets at your local playdium
wait, seats for 50 at your local stadium, paining em’
spitting cursively, purposely like desiigner brothers
motherf-ckers, verse for a he-rs- placement, throne vacant
taking it like jackets of niggas who lacking
can’t go easy my nigga what’s bracking
squad attacking your establishment
establishing kingdoms, right over top of yours
art of war, build and build and build
we here to take it down and destroy
walk in your city like troy, all for the heels of the boys
something soft, 50 vicodins feeling right
higher than houston got a problem
name’s dwight, flight attendant better land the flight
70 years too far from seeing heaven’s light
is it all for spite?
or do i really k!ll these artists for better nights
or for worse days
i swear this pain is a substance that never goes
it never goes astray
y’all pseudo-intellectuals gotta go away

[verse 3: murkman]
i’ll -ssault triflely and silently, like a fox, nay to silento
when blasting in the manner of going h.a.m., in a soliloquy of this solo
the same way, kanye would go ad-lib with a choir loop
of his “han!”‘s, on bg repeat indefinitely
until all 6 intros to george’s films, scroll long enough to turn you into a romeiro
definitely, the right kind of defined criteria, of “yeezy the type of nigga”
to do that thing at a specified rate of time, not in any right-angled frame of mind
the only one capable of handling, out of hand situations
so, i traded my mic rapier, for a darth knight’s light saber
f-ck being flyer than any baller, fool, i don’t travel around you court jesters
i write and a kin to luke, i’m a skywalker, so i don’t need to be a dweller
steal my lines, i’ll lop off your left hand, put to the dark side of the path
a cloaked muslim, with the sithest of intentions, alright?
transport you to the pharcyde, with your candy land -ss, right now not later
push my switches, be reduced to a pomagranite, aged with the fruit face of palpatine
i’ll raise gravitational hell, razing your sensory perception when using warped, concussion grenades
having a phase rifle here, is to being a pussy, with the weight of a sabretooth tiger
from these clouded heights view of a vantage point, that’s my advantage
dissing this windu of a nigga, doesn’t add to yours, a disadvantage
begging for a death wish, b-tch?
i’ll emit a scourging burst, from this timesplitters plasma rifle
the star arriving in the form, of falling planets from the galaxy’s line
feel all that heat compressed in one unit, melting through you jones clones
that group dashing away to the nearest light, to flee from that darkness, if you stay, see?
black lives may not matter to you, but in science, dark matter does, proof you need?
princess leia fighting for good, amidst the swarthiest of astral plains
yet where was stacy, when she dashed fast enough, hoping to diminish her skin color?
anyways, i’ll have your pooped flukes, of scatter-shot, noob stormtroops
dancing in dazed circles of radiated rain, to be duke nuked
rest of you? well, will have been not well resting, seeing celestial stars
viewing star’s face, while transported into a dead space
doom, trekking with no direction in a stargate system cemetery place
earth is for those lings, who’d choose to linger, stranded on billion old terrain
i’m beyond being a fire sign, born in the scorching core of mars, mayne
which is saying, i won’t squander my resources when beginning your end
ionizing these mars bars, to celebrity, stalwart stars, who’s warring aren’t up to par
they’re farther, after i intergalactically catapult them, instantly
to the sun’s solar flaring surface, by firing my armory at full capacity
immediately, asap ending any chance, for there to spark, and start war
what problem we have of you? you hail from houston? i don’t recall your lexicon
either you from the future, or your past due your dated referential base
because, y’all warbling auto-tune, wall-e tools keep imitating tony montana
from the most south down in cali, never spoke french, dude
there’s a regional boundary line, that shouldn’t be crossed, you new?
i don’t like aliens, let alone being kind to humans, all destroyed too
cause, judging from your inflection, you sound like atlien, shapeshifty ones
take what my subculture has, your burial area’s, gravesite 51

[verse 4: daemonum]
can’t stand commandments, sorry lord but i broke all ten like i detest the testaments
i said my name six times, peering in the mirror and i appeared, still don’t know what the lesson is
habeas corpus and the rigors of ex mortis, my testimony was “klaatu barada nikto”
homicide is evil to all but the dead, stiffened up when they caught me, in flagrante delicto
consulting the hoi polloi for the vox populi, my soul’s on fire so i hit em’ with the third degree
cruel and unusual punishment, brain stem wrapped in solar flares, i’m burning up those close to me
rimmed with brimstone, rawer than the god of the sun
shawshanked seven serpents with irredeemable darkness
apophis meditating in lotus, levitating in the seventh circle of hell, chakras ensconced with starkness
erebus needs a therapist, mind hazardous, kinda like nine basilisks
acrobatic atticus with an abacus, groggy and stumbling–so you know where the addict is
herodes remains flyer than a finch and he knows how to flip the mockingbird to you pacifists
cadence coming harder than meeting a gorgon’s gaze
bludgeoned by the back of a blunderbuss and bathed in the blaze
i’m about as one-track-minded as a mobius strip
harpooned her man like i was straight out of moby d-ck
my flintlock-jaw and spoken steel spheres ignite contingencies of philistines
psychological simulacrum of my grotesque proclivities
got a penchant for bagging mementos, kept her pendant and a bag of ten toes
striding through ravenholm, tonguing these deer haunter distorted demons
lambda on the amalgam alpha, radiating the evil within my mental beacons
headcrabs and sprouters, time to split, hoping your future’s perfect, not redeeming
hooked appendages and barbed wire wrapped crowbars, combine mind stems for the citadel’s deacons
dedicated to the premeditated, heavily medicated
you don’t know what i am, with a bic pen–that’s the contaminate
iambic pentameter, dipping the fountain pen in a pool of my blood
more murders than a flock of crows
heroes disgust me, along with every deuce he throws
put the turpitude to the paper, leave homicide to the prose
felt a devil’s god inside, gutter for a grave, and that’s without a rose
similarly, my symphony of sinful similes, symbolize my sickening strife for sophrosyne
sipping some chardonnay while i somaticize, saturnine and seeking to slaughter a new dream
brainpan dripping with venom and the art’s in the -rs-nic
prideful of penning this hellfire, am i a writer or an arsonist?
it’s all ashes to ashes—and after; i practice happiness—like i’m a pyro-narcissist
ones and zeros coalesce in the death row echelon formation
the dark saint paints the portrait of an enslaved encephalon’s d-mnation
apothecaries carry the carrion of the seraphim
voluminous miasmas echo the haunted prayer hymns
skulking ghoul, wandering the shadows of golgotha, sipping propofol
american gothic prophet, tailed by an angry mob, pitchfork and all
bury and quarantine your dead, wrapping up the plagued is the protocol
literary lantern lit leprosy, coughing up blackness from my soul
ragged quill spilling illness, pathologically transcribed to the vellum whole
the denouement of babylon’s pantheon, keep speaking your antiphons
woebegone athenians ramble on when i impinge upon the deities in the parthenon
untethered plane movement, an interplanetary transcendental phenomenon
a cosmic pantechnicon, light-years of breakneck on a cross-dimensional autobahn
necrotic automaton, practically a hellbound son of gilgamesh
necronomicon, spastically scribed in blood and bound in flesh
love to compute the arithmetic of witchcraft like hp and buckland completed the rest—
in pieces, your epitaph’s gravely set in stone, b-tch

- ǝʇɐɔoʌpɐ s†iʌǝǝp ǝɥʇ lyrics

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