Death By Guillotine

(álbum: The Priest Of Bloodshed - 2012)

No not too much is new. I'm so fucking high, I'm a spit a bomb verse.
D-Mothauckin'-Moz nigga. Cyssero. Vin. Some real shit right here baby.
Problem.

[Demoz:]
Look, ever feel suicidal to the point that you tried it
And when they asked you about it, you don't know how to deny it
Doc all in your face, asking what is the motive
You got split personalities and it's hard to control 'em
Taking xenes and perks, drinking liquor and beer
Feeling sick to your stomach, trying to shift thru the gears
On a slippery rope, plus your vision is blurry
Worse case scenerio, they'll miss you after you're buried
Wife fucking your man, brotha stuff in the jam
Thought and starred at your pictures, like where the fuck is my dad
I'm a problem atomic, trying to rhyme with these chickens
Shit 'em out in the morning and take a piss on the omelet
Made an honesty promise, I ain't gotta be modest
I ain't got to be parted, this whole economy's garbage
I'm a comet in space, I ain't part of this land
I'm a fucking two-face, why would you call me your man

Tongue twisted like Pun digging my tongue tissue
It's one missile, we blow you to little lunch issues
We fuck with you, we came with you but left dolo
We stuck with you on one issue, we reign solo

We through a bomb in the parade at these gay homos
We manic  [?], how the fuck are they gonna break kodos
Freddy roaching a corner, 'cause we ain't saying nothing
And we just sitting there twitching like we sniffing our caine bugging

[Cyssero:]
Creep quiet, but that chopper loud (you know how we do)
Look, the way I perform with that K that'd rock a crowd
Mask and glove when I squeeze them slugs
Make a bloodbath, we gonna need a tub
Shit, we riding dawg
When we catch his ass let that super-soaker wet his ass
Dry him off, military tactics
Moving silent dawg
Paint the neighborhood red when that iron drawn
Yeah, Da Vinci of the gun-slinging, shots make a bastard leak
Make a masterpiece, get your casket dropped
That's the art of war, bang at the targets
[?] war, then burn the bodies, what you need a coffin for
If you ain't built for all that, what you talking for (be quiet)
Yeah, tell your homeboy calm his mad
Unless he want a fucking problem on his hands (for real)

Tongue twisted like Pun digging my tongue tissue
It's one missile, we blow you to little lunch issues
We fuck with you, we came with you but left dolo
We stuck with you on one issue, we reign solo

We through a bomb in the parade at these gay homos
We manic [?], how the fuck are they gonna break kodos
Freddy roaching a corner, 'cause we ain't saying nothing
And we just sitting there twitching like we sniffing our caine bugging

[Vinnie Paz:]
Yeah, Pazienza put the torch to him
Young rap version of Dr. Kavorkian
This pussy done, put a fork in him
Or I'm a have to let the.44 ball get him
He better pray he got a squad with him
Like the prototarian revolution of Marxism
Put your body in the star system
Reveal itself as bleeding light, Allah wisdom
Bullets fast when they travel
And the silencer is strong and it's long like a javelin
Now he dead put a bag in him
Green from the dope phene lean, and a scag in him
I hold the ratchet unorthodox
Brenell Whitticher, I'm ducking all sorts of shots
Various types of torcher plots
And I'm a ride 'till I die and the coffin drops