End of Days

Lyrics

[Verse 1] My rap Defy injury, I set the standard of nice so high Once I'm in Heaven, one hundred and forty-three thousand Getting denied entry. Can it be, candidly Vakill single-handedly amputated hip hop from humanity? 'Til every emcee's a Stan fan of me Let the world keep sleeping, it's curtains for the canopy Every time light bulbs pop over my head, the roaches Running across the dark walls of my sanity, so You stuck with two options (What?): you can swallow your pride And hand me dap or watch your family clap Competitions like parking spots, good ones Hard to find, everything else is handicapped, homie He vice versa, I'm a nice verser. They only good For one nice line in every verse they invent Lava ran through my saliva glands with the sole purpose Of turning every hood to ash like the first day of Lent The earth comatose last time the king feuded Bring units when mandible sling fluid. Y'all can't Be serious. Vakill's like Columbians sitting in A circle, my name has a dope ring to it My range one step toward tomorrow, a New World Order Model of flowers spitting harder than a boxer with piss In his water bottle. The second coming With a sperm count so high, girls gotta chew before they swallow [Hook] (x2) The end of the beginning is 'Kill, dominion Is mine, the world don't stop spinning until Who should oppose? I'm bending his will, put ten in His grill. It's not a game, the ending is real [Verse 2] Some emcees I should have Been blazed by now, talking that front page murder You couldn't make headlines with raised eyebrows "Traditional hip hop is beating a dead horse" One mark posted on the internet. Check your bed for his head When I send a threat 'cause Hell hath no fury strict As mine 'cause disillusioned statements of hypocrisy Are the sickest kind, it's like sign-makers On strike while holding them shits up in picket lines Not everything that's abstract is coming from out The woodwork of skill or the circus skill, the underground Circuits a circus field with bodies I'ma leave hanging From trees Like Blair Witch stick figures in Burkettsville I'm above niggas with divinity, I spit the trinity So you up against trio odds and losing ain't in God Or Miss Cleo cards, the sickest emcees Is beneath me, snapping under my nuts like leotards I'm Va' hyphen violentist, pantomime And a violinist with straight razors at your trachea Half postal worker, half terrorist anthrax Biochemist, I'm the sickest pushing the envelope, please Born nice, I'm Dionysus, dying nicest like I keep a hand full of ass and a wine cooler Most quotable line ruler in a class by myself Like a bitched-up tutor hiding from Columbine shooters [Hook] (x4) The end of the beginning is 'Kill, dominion Is mine, the world don't stop spinning until Who should oppose? I'm bending his will, put ten in His grill. It's not a game, the ending is real