Wizards of Gore

[Jak Tripper]

About to go in, goat chin
Black cone, low brim
A thousand yard stare, no grin
Cult shit, hooded culprit, occultist
Hold the beam to your dome, boat it
Retract hair, astral dome it
I dumb out like Polish
Yo my block covered in more snow then Poland
What's a goon to a goblin
When I be getting oagrish
My bars heavy juicing like Canseco '84 Oakland
I make art from your whole skin
More bars than Folsom, wicked
Holding that barrel kicking
Heavy black steel, looking like a witches cauldron
I welcome all rappers that rep sickness and got death wishes
I'll cut your skin off and hang it outside like wet linen
I work with lines like electrician
I body rounds, take anybody out 10 minutes
His body found, head's missing

[Branestorm]

"ahh your mother's guts"
Litiratures doors lead to forbidden halls were walls bleed hittin records like leak and morfen Horrorgore creaky floor beam. Golums scorn, In solitude spray membranes threw dollar tubes and send vains motivation to follow threw on the latest head game. Better luck on the next take Trample thought , I rep wit ampige more advanced then thor's, Pale face fork tounge, I wale bass and scorch drums on a racid corse, tighter then orch hugs, on more drugs then Whitney the night that she saw light, at the end of the tub

[Jak Tripper]

Fuck the coin flipping, I'm flipping out
More firearms than a burning octopus, gripping pounds
You a body bag, no matter what rap shit you spitting out
To me you look like a walking casket with legs sticking out

[Branestorm]

Jump guns on one lung, the budgets none, Got hard dick and bubble gum, you twiddle thumbs, Wraps a shuttle to the middle of the sun, You're catching jitterbugs, wouldn't wish you a bit of luck, Hope your bitter with a grudge, I'll drain every bit of blood

[Jak Tripper]

I write, I trip hard, eat peyote cactus and feel it
Spit toad poison back, and use a sense of muscle reacts you can hear it
You'll get bashed into sheil skin
The shotgun may knock me back when I peel it
But it'll but his fucking back thru the ceiling
Jak, this is real shit
If I'm trashed this kids is real shit, no actual real shit

[Branestorm]

Call you out like " yeah nigga what " Fuck you, it's all the same, I want to destroy your sweater, so I'll hold the string as you walk away, I'm over beats, under rain , Out my mind, Side-by-side with The devil in his hey day, With a blood red Suit and a gray cape Ejecting a platinum tape from the cassette deck in his chest plate , its arson !

(Oscar: What does it look like I'm doing Bob? - Bob: Well it looks like you're, well making a mess. - Oscar: I'm getting ready to sing my song, so I'm throwing out all my trash on to the sidewalk. Isn't it beautiful? - Bob: Well I wouldn't say it's exactly beautiful.) [an excerpt from I Love Trash by Oscar The Grouch]