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My rep defy injury |
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I set the standard of nice so high |
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Once I'm in Heaven, 144,000 are denied entry |
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Can it be candidly |
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Vakill single handedly amputated hip-hop from humanity |
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Til every emcees are Stan fan of me |
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Let the world catch sleep and it's curtains for the canopy |
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Every time light bulbs pop over my head |
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The roaches running across the dark walls of my sanity, so |
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You're stuck with two options |
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You can swallow your pride and hand me dap |
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Or watch your family clapped |
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Competitions like parking spots |
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Good ones hard to find, everything else is handicapped, homie |
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We vise versa, I'm a nice person |
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They only good for one nice line in every verse they invent |
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Lava ran through my saliva glands with the sole purpose |
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Of turning every hood to ash like the first day of lent |
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The Earth comatosed last time the king feuded |
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Bring units when mandibles sling fluid |
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Ya'll can't be serious |
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Vakill's like Colombians sitting in a circle |
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My name has a dope ring to it |
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My reigns one step towards tomorrow |
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A new world order model flower |
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Spitting harder then a boxer with piss in his water bottle |
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The Second Coming |
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With a sperm count so high girls got to chew before they swallow |
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The end of the beginning is Kill |
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Dominion is mine |
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The world don't stop spinning until |
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Who should oppose? I'm bending his will |
|
Put ten in his grill |
|
(It's not a game) |
|
The ending is real |
|
The end of the beginning is Kill |
|
Dominion is mine |
|
The world don't stop spinning until |
|
Who should oppose? I'm bending his will |
|
Put ten in his grill |
|
(It's not a game) |
|
The ending is real |
|
Some emcees I should have been blazed by now |
|
Talking that front page murder |
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You couldn't make headlines with raised eyebrows |
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Traditional hip-hop is beating a dead horse |
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One mark[?] posted on the internet |
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Check your bed for its head when I send a threat |
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Cause hell hath no fury strict as mine |
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Yet disillusioned statements of hypocrisy are the sickest kind |
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It's like sign makers on strike |
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While holding them shits up in picket lines |
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Not everything that's abstract is coming from out the wood work |
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It's ill or deserve the skill |
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The underground circuit or circus's filled |
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With bodies of my meat hanging from trees |
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Like Blair Witch stick figures in Burkittsville |
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I'm above niggas with divinity, I spit the Trinity |
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So you up against trio odds and losing ain't a God or Ms. Cleo cards |
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The sickest emcees is beneath me |
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Snapping under my nuts like leotards |
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I'm [ ? ] and violentest [ ? .... ?] |
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[ ? ........... ? ] with straight razors at your trachea |
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Half postal worker, half terrorist anthrax biochemist |
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I'm the sickest pushing the envelope, please |
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Born nice and dying nicest |
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Dionysus-like, I keep a hand full of ass and a wine cooler |
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Most quotable line ruler |
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In a class by myself like a bitched up tutor hiding from Columbine shooters |
|
The end of the beginning is Kill |
|
Dominion is mine |
|
The world don't stop spinning until |
|
Who should oppose? I'm bending his will |
|
Put ten in his grill |
|
(It's not a game) |
|
The ending is real |
|
The end of the beginning is Kill |
|
Dominion is mine |
|
The world don't stop spinning until |
|
Who should oppose? I'm bending his will |
|
Put ten in his grill |
|
(It's not a game) |
|
The ending is real |
|
The end of the beginning is Kill |
|
Dominion is mine |
|
The world don't stop spinning until |
|
Who should oppose? I'm bending his will |
|
Put ten in his grill |
|
(It's not a game) |
|
The ending is real |
|
The end of the beginning is Kill |
|
Dominion is mine |
|
The world don't stop spinning until |
|
Who should oppose? I'm bending his will |
|
Put ten in his grill |
|
(It's not a game) |
|
The ending is real |
