Hip-Hop Black Ops

The Nephilium Pharaoh, the three thousand year old scarecrow

Hang you from your nose on a square pole

The squid faced rock beast with swamp croc teeth

And a two headed parrot with a desert fatigue beak

Step out the depths of Hell, exhale sceptic smells

Decorate my bitch breasts with bells

The arthropod tentacles controlled by mental vegetables

Calculated correctitude down to the decimal

Spectacles of doom and gloom and sonic booms

Republicans ride brooms around nuclear mushrooms

You are safe from the nuclear fallout

Now you will crawl out into the hands of a monster now

The best emcee turned his launch codes over to me

On my command you will turn the key and we'll see

You know nothing of discipline, you can never go where the Ripper's been

The maze in those caves are infinite

Can't stop, won't stop, Hip Hop Black Ops

The aftermath aftershock is a disaster in a box

With a blue and red ribbon, your writtens were uploaded to the system

The satellite showed me your position

The text is a sick rep for Rippers

The leaders have discovered we the sickest and they wanna sit with us

Through the computer viewer cube like peritubular

Project: Blueberry Fuscia, one of the two possible futures

Revolution Ripper movement you can't stop it

You can't change the outcome, stop resisting stupid

I write what some would call marathon songs

The music industry tried to banish long bars

Your story is weak, your inventory's shorter than your feet

Every week I slaughter seven beats

I'm the 'Beast from the East'

My title can't be touched nowhere on the street

I hear a lot of emcees speak

They fail to recognise that it ain't about beef

I took it to the streets, I took it to the stage

If I believe I am not the illest I'm insane

The vocal spitter serial killer

Heads up display with a ticker and a pitcher and picture of the Ripper

Neurotransmitters hooked up to his central nervous system

It feeds him the purpose and the vision

Jailbreak but not out of prison

Internal hard drive spinning eighty-eight lyrics per minute

For global transmission, the funky technician on a mission

Strapped to a suicide written

Inside my own mind scripting altruistic composition

Musician, wisdom is God-given

Anoint him with oil, anoint him with wine

Anoint them both with Tesla coils if they quoin my rhymes

I make things real, I make things that ain't, sound I'll

A very good screen writing skill

My higher self is outside the realm where time is felt

Inside Orion's Belt, get them