Take a break from all morality and / heave ho / run around until you’re rabid taking smacks at all normality and / heave ho / fuel the blood in your anatomy and / heave ho / reveal your vanity as you remove your mask of sanity and / heave ho /

We bringing back that boom bap / so who’s that too cool cat called VITAL, move back, feel the menace / I’ve been ripping up shit ever since Brotha Lynch had a baby in his grips, dancing with the devil in the darkness / heartless like an empty coffin after grave robbers remove the carcass / leaving carnage similar to Hamburger Hill / left hands never catch when the right hand’s in the till / still, you run the risk of being out of line / out of sight and out of mind / and massacred on Valentine’s / passionately, cuz Hochii and Castor’s crimes along with mine are bordering on obsession like Calvin Klein / so bring the yellow tape, watch as the clock ticks / and seeps into your system like a toxic shower took in Auschwitz / nauseous, choke until you vomit / from flipping with this triple somersault karate chop shit /

Get ‘em with a dead leg, can’t miss at point blank / if you slip in the mix you walk the plank / homie looking cross-eyed, now your homie caught in the crossfire, separating sinners from the saints / and get ‘em with a flat line (something like a phenomenon) like a mack dime cuz your rhymes shoot blanks / and phony rappers killing it, retaliation imminent, cuz you think you know what it is when it goddamn ain’t /

Ya’ll play spin the bottle, we slipping the bottle in / flesh wounds are foreplay, flesh stew for din din / hello children, why don’t you come in / shit is helter skelter like duck down and Manson / who knows where these hands been—could be a tragic story / maybe a spoiled shit who just thinks life is boring / or a religious nut who’s sick of these kids whoring / while Uncle Chester’s having his way with young Lori / righteous murder in some cases can be rewarding / golden calf prayers, flesh tears at ceremonies / candles keep burning while screams reaching nobody / tracheotomies with mics is my hobby / a doctorate in dismemberment with a bit of perfectionist and the OCD has me cleaning up everything / no trace of visitation, victims never located / just another cold case on the hands of these pig pagans /

Chorus

Gather around the sacrifice begins / the remains of old bones still hang in the wind / where crucified men have crows picking their skin / and women are abducted and forced to grave dig / children are chopped and sold on the black market / or traded for spices and pounds of copper / where the sword of oblivion aligns with the Voldras / and the sounds of hoof patterns of the Mithrodin haunt ya / blood flows through the mountains and valleys / tainting every stream and river that it encounters / lost souls afraid of the black day / burned villages await for the black plague / pale soldiers impaled by their torsos / swept from existence by unexplained forces / God’s hands are never to be spoke of / or suffer the consequence of three headless horseman /