Jotted down reality
Filtered through my eyes and speech
Novels on preons but one word surmising galaxies: entropy
Sloppy as Hassan Chop be at salons in Benghazi trying take some off the top
I trot now where knowledge sleeps
Hidden in the vals and peaks
Where silence is as loud as a thousands shrieks
So mouthing a peep can turn balance into chaos 
Then chaos into peace
And palaces of sheiks into piles of debris laid at their feet

This monks vows been breached
Cut his tongue out, silence reached

Silent [Prod. By Blu] (incomplete)

D-L Site: http://www.divshare.com/download/24461820-76f

[1st verse]
Rise and shine sleepy head
A scalp tied to the top of your teepee, your chief is dead
Good grief, he won't cease, guillotine the head
Ya'll want peace?
See pieces spread till the last Mohican stops breathing
"A heathen", the deacon said
Till they found the deacon indecent
Squeezing up on a leg that wasn't far from recently teething
I prayed to God, I wished I was the Anti-Christ
Up the ante, double the price
Kill your soul, not just your life
Cornbread fed thick bitch
Devil in a blue dress knew just how to get it
Let the whole tribe hit it, became another statistic
Her father just went ballistic
While scalping niggas he whispered... 

[2nd verse]
The chickens come to roost
The wiccan slit the dead chicken's head that's gripped up on a noose
And you bet on it's twitching legs, predictions turning to truth
But there's no fetching a Kreskin for the vision concerning you
Some folks call it a sling blade
I call it a razor-sharp thin aid when the god is enraged
Deadly like all seven sins in a steel cage
No severance for severed limbs, get the message, check it again
And you'll see that in retrospect that the wiccan was at your neck
And he bears the wickedest grin as the sickle hack at your flesh
Some folks call it a sickle, he rather call the best
Method and metaphor of the wretched meeting their death

[3rd verse]
Crack of dawn
Rebirth, wrath of Spawn
Murk the nigga that drove the hearse and dash to Saskatchewan
Capcom blast to the dad that killed them off like mastodons
Pick the wiccan's brain, ask the brass knuckles it's plastered on
Fuck even the darkest of the darkest nights
Its never as gruesome as the spark of light
That shines bright from the heights of the Cypress Hills
Stained red, lingering dread and the slightest of chills
Sinister rays administered to the sinner that still craves
The sunrise of the last days
So wake your ass up, start the stretching and yawning 
If you have bad luck then you probably stuck with a good...

Good Morning [Prod. by Blu] (additional downloads in description)

My Only Mission Is To Be My Own Favorite Musician.

Ty. S. Eliot

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