Caravaggio

Intro:

I don't have to tell you how I feel about your methadology, by contemporary standards, your methods are quiet, unsound

My field take to the bicycle on this war, I will do anything it takes, to win! Even if it means live, or physically hurtin' someone, burnin' myself with a coat hanger, in a shape of a V for Victory!
Alright...

Verse:

Yeah, yo, I called the form Gods up
Higher than Arnie at the board Gaga
With a whore in torn Pradas
Burn odd, olive skin formin' a mosh conquered
Spores pop, I'm wavin' heads on swords propped up (What?)
I'm never taboo
Each o' these words is little did my skin like letter tattoos
Forever wack proof, no features like weathered statues
My first fans I was sellin' tabs to
I slice the track with shank out glass, clear cut
I'm Jesus behind the wheel with the beard, lemme steer us
Crumble drizzle over hot cradle and sizzle slime
We shovelin' sickle, so much flesh, so little time
Liberty cappin', relaxin', watchin' Jesús rise
I hate blue skies, the world on a K-2 high
I had EPs move in like cane batch manically
K batch rappers leavin' Earth but not actually (Right)
The pistol or fork, stick housings for blood
Lookin' forward to the end (yeah), I'm countin' the months
Last of us drowning in mud
My disposition look like a portrait of Saturn devourin' his son

Interlude:

- And what do we know about him, who knows what his motives are?
- We suppose he's vengeful or, paranoid or something, I-I don't wanna provoke, I mean he could come back to burn the next night, I-I don't wanna provoke...

Verse 2:

Yo, the acid in '06 had me stabbin' some holes
In a motel wall, holdin' a Magnum, the opus
No paper trails but I was trappin' them doses
The system is designed same as traps for a road in
C4 detonation rig in a vest and zip
Sorry for the outburst, I'm just a pedestrian (Huh)
I was born on a hot June
Scorned by the god Zeus since I was 14 on a Mongoose
Adult brain deformed from the blot use
I promise a lotta gore on a chop blew
There's a totem somewhere of me that's an omen
Climb down off the tree, can it be out the mist, stoned chimp
I'm Scorpio Davis on the roof with the tactical view
Aimin' at strap hangers on live news
I'm Jean Baptiste with the perfume
The technicolor dream parker down goose
A non drippin' surfboard grip
Four click, spores hit, New York lookin' like Saigon, four tours in
These are memoirs of the jaded dead, drained and bled
Still alive slitherin' along a straight razor's edge