Monsturr Flame

-Monsturr Flame- ($till Dope)

Yeah, uh, monsturr flame, with the shimmering skin of a twilight villain, nine life living, fang, sharpening, guy who’s mile-high like a crane (x2)

In the cavern my cauldron is filled with the battered remains of the rapper’s I’ve slain
Mixin up the fix, six six six six that’s too many wait why am I sinning, I summon up seizure inducing bone chilling, dope really, no silly, go billy goat
Yes I’m the god of war, un-collared gore ridden collar bone snapping, solid force, on your block... at your door spitting core systemic, silhoutted dim missives, ten chest hits & my hands done disappeared, & my man’s got a 6er of beer, so we sip listening to Eminem freestyling like him, mile collecting as we burn the Marlboro’s down to embers then, ...just when my chin started-drooping cuz I’m loopy on a few-little blue-pills, I began to see the fantasies of making a stand in this industry, feel? coming to me like a rush of sanity, suddenly, supple psyche sublime suckered into sucking up to sunshine, when in darkness is where I son rhymers, sometimes I get some lines, shuffled up, deal double diamonds, real fucking violence, I’m healed like a Rottweiler mother fucka...

Yeah, monsturr flame, with the shimmering skin of a twilight villain, nine life living, fang, sharpening, guy who’s mile-high like a crane (x2)

Bitch!

Python when the mics on, gripped in my palm, stripping icons, of their dia-monds, try em right on, I don’t like that
Not that high-ranking, or someone like that, I’m a simple cat, giving little rats, something to relax, clawed up your jaw slut, tall cup of raw slush from my maw, within the gut is some shit that’ll bust through, cut you free from your dumb foolish uppity attitude, lucky you I don’t beat outta you, what I seek, souls, heat bowls, til I see surreal poems, reach & feel motion in my real emotions...
Oh no I own it now, my poetic synthetic soul is out, overloaded down-downloaded Trojan on your mobile, when my music flows in it
Oh no I don’t let out, my poetic synthetic soul or foul, out unless the motor goes & I’m overthrown by the home grown that my homie loaned
...Device is the mic & surprise I’m the white kid, with a nice grit when he rhymes shit, in his voice gravel when the noise rattles in his joyous embattlements, set up inside his grey matter, it don’t make matters better when you take chatter & bake it like batter til it makes bastards full of hate, when they ate it...

Ain’t shit but a game bitch, what you wanna play with
Not the mayne which will put up with lame shit, so get away, shit (x2) uh yeah..

Yeah, monsturr flame, with the shimmering skin of a twilight villain, nine life living, fang, sharpening, guy who’s mile-high like a crane (x2)

Bitch!

Monsturr Flame! (x3)