Bible Pages - Slaine

I’m wordtastic, curb ratchet, you herbs wack

I spit crack, leave your pop filter smelling like burnt plastic

I’m just flipping words, my shit is verbal gymnastics

Now please chill and observe, practice

I literally consider myself a literary master

Smoking cannabis with me before a show could be a disaster

I’m obscene as every hood movie black pastor

Fuck blastin', when I see you I’ma smack past ya

This is track number 3 with the legend from Boston

Wow, I’m wicked awesome

I’m the type to skip and enforce them in Boston

They’re tripping, taunting, need to get floored in the lipper

Put that shit to the floor, son

I’m iller than illa, placenta fill us with raw some

Syllables, I just toss them

In the such intricate patterns you would think I run out of shit to say

But all you can do is pray, 'cause I’m not done

Back and my shit is vicious, I caught my glass of riches

Sick and sticking syringes and hit bitches, I’m twisted, we mask up

And we go hard in the Winter

Hard in guerrillas, father their children

The clattered tat of pharmacies

Think it’s a robbery, it’s like the lottery to us

Poverty struck us and molded us just like poverty dishes

Youngins hunting for victims, pop 'em for doctors to fix 'em

Shoutout to them jaw-twitching bitches, let me shove my rock in their kitchen

for crumbs

I get down, prescription pill on my tongue, shit

I used to be young, now I’m as sick as they come

It’s vicious malicious and I’m the terror that ripped through these slums

Blind to the risk I confront every day gripping my gun, living like scum

I’m a monster from the heart of the heartless

A product of a circle of sinners that’s living godless

Hostage to this nonsense, bare arms, no tolerance

Napalm, apocalypse on wacks, I demolish it

It’s Vicious

B town, what up?

I rock shows on the daily

Promoters trynna book me, I’m like «Fuck you, pay me»

They were sleeping 'til I hooked up with Slaine

Fuck the law, I’ma go hard 'til they can reign me

Battle raps, slash Mad Hatter with a battle axe

Swinging where your hat is at, smashing then it’s hatching out

I tuck a burner, taking albums in corner

I find a bum on the street and smack his couple quarters

Take it to Molly with a Somalian in a Ferrari

On his safari or in Narnia, you blow like a harmonica or Monica

You couldn’t see me with binoculars

You are below me, that means I am on top of you

I’ll turn your chick into a porn star

Film that bitch blowin' me and put that shit on Worldstar

Drug sniffer, cut liquor, dirty grunge spitter

Lyrical gun slinger, I let my buzz zing her

I’m catching charges if they guarding for mobbing and robbing nicks fans

Three for the last shit you see, before that mismatched mismatch

Spinning this til I’m giving her whiplash

'Teb with that kick stand more than you can withstand

Fuck it, if they poetry’s deep — they always fail

It’s all tall tales like cold shoulders in Hell

I own my own holder, it’s not what over your head

Before you knowing, it’s all in your head it’s over your legs

For me to flow from the head is what they hope for instead

Give me a moment to blast for us, a toast of the flesh

Administer the sinister, belittling them little boys

Quit spitting, that’s just too much talk and too little heart

They better have the stepping on my dawgs

'Cause if I apply the iron shit, you sleeping on the floor

In spite of what you saw, ain’t nothing as violent as the God

Got you hiding out, make you fucking riding out our store

I’m ill 'cause I slaughter your crew, guilty of bodying you

Yeah I know you in the building, I heard the audience boo

I emerge with deep words, be herbs those street curbs

You sounded gully for a second, it must be the reverb

I get money in traffic and I ain’t talking sinking bridge

I’m breaking ribs of hating kids from Gothenburg to Cambridge

Heyo Slaine, I got a table down, I strangle for us

Place bigger than the one fifth of a stegosaurus

Every time I rhyme, cats wanna delay the chorus

Walk through the beam with that green, look like a major tourist

Fuck with Esoteric you better arrange a florist

'Cause I’m flying, I’m deadly, they gotta spray the forest

I’m the nicest motherfucker out when I’m writing

But I’m biased, just a little, ask Tommy Heinsohn

You delicate rappers are deemed irrelevant

How you wore yourself out, but still you ain’t sell a bit

I became exactly everything you feared I would be

Seen the devil, man, I put the holy spirit in me

People looking at me like nobody weirder than me

Couldn’t hear me though unless they had their ear to the street

But, my style’s unchanged, still known by one name

To all the unsane, throwing dick to any dumb dame

My shit is banging, I should spit this in a gun range

Fallen angel sluts addicted to my cum stains

Smart people say it’s dangerous to hang with me

But my people’s just scandalous and angry

You’re staring at the enemy, my face is trouble

The public frowns on me like I’m an interracial couple

I’m a sick fuck renegade in front of you

You make me laugh, I never been afraid of one of you

Your eyes are crossed, you ain’t a boss, you’re just full of Henny

Try and stop me, you would have to put a bullet in me