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letra de the cookout cypher - ǝʇɐɔoʌpɐ s,†ıʌǝǝp ǝɥʇ

[verse 1: carnifexs]
monster, conquer the strongest
empires, ‘em pyres on fire
like michael myers, halloween ii
shoot his eyes too, bleed but no death
greed until the last breath
but there isn’t one, dying is nonexistent
consistently missing the point of existing
is the doing of mortals, mortality is immoral
being immortal isn’t cryptic, you misfit
conclusions are unrealistic, the end is the start
tearing apart hearts of unbelievers of this art
building is pointless, destroying from a point blank range
has more point to it, pointed plots do not change
pinpoint and demolish, demonic beings are strange!
creatures invade, the making of the shade is dark
so that no one can light the spark, no burn marks
you want glory, but gory thoughts are seizing your mind
no one cares for the good of mankind, neither do i
you’ll have the end of life, but never a goodbye

[verse 2: t-racks]
i been grinding like a pitbull
been ghetto from the get go
this hustle made me chase the money, makin sure the cheques flow
ain’t nothing warm up in here, it’s do or die and disappear
cold k!llers cut through , gunshots instill fear
the wise man would still fear, and try to be more careful
but i’m still young and reckless, and cowering is not what i’m here for
i got ill will and bills to pay, protection is the heater
if anyone got the beef, i’ll whip out the stove and make it sizzle
not a means to scare the rivals, its just the art of survival
can’t escape the bullshit, everyday could be your final
that your -ss could breathe so you need to make sure you ready
i contemplate these thoughts in my whip b-mping spitta andretti
spliff puffin, thinkin when will the next pig and buster come through
and prolly tryna rattle me up for they juice
well i got mine’s to keep, i ain’t got time to waste
when your surrounding’s this fucked up you gotta make haste

[verse 3: leadingtttv]
i’m a motherfucking owner of the west coast warlords
thy rock forge swords sure you been fore warned
king author
open up that large war just to get the oil source
street locker
me i got cars parked all more than four doors
cheap vodka
i’ll load 44’s then come for yours
street choppers
4 yards in your yard where your car parks
street doctor
i’ll hit your hearts source so sure i’m forsure
clips inside the (subaru) you tying to (dodge) this trauma
this street drama we squeeze lamas street fighter like e(honda)
sick bull dogs to your waist find a core vet(corvet) indeed mama
its k!ll or let live baby i am pro choice no choice
biscuit to a 5’9 nigga i will (roll royce)
low noise ol boy kick doors where your mommy at
no detroit but she’ll wind up inside of a (pontiac)
streets singing like a m-ss choir banging till im past tired
yall hot garbage like a trash fire thats me with the fat tires
clap wires you can spot that cat ain’t that a (jaguar)?
cool b-tch could be on incenirator,intimidater
blowing shit up like an instigator
yeaaah

i had an addiction this admission my soundless edition
i love parties and b-tches shorties with thickness
but above blood is love and commitment

[verse 4: pseudomonarchia daemonum]
i drove my car off a bridge where the river ends
surfaced too fast now i’ve got mercedes bends
the bible burns, seems no one learns
till i put their family in urns
black is my favorite absence of light
like my soul, iron man with a heart of bronze
might throw you in the iron maiden or the bull
it’s 50/50 like catching batons
my demons told me the ends justify the means
i then asked “does that mean you still need to haunt my dreams?”
every one of my twisted tales is conceived from thin air
an airborne virus shutting you down in a paralytic stare
coughing up these infectious perfections without a care
to me is something, to which you’ll never compare
the wages of perpetual sin is perpetual death
the pages of this wicked hymn is a conceptual mess
explicit mysticism mixed in with wickedness
toss a b-tch in the oven at witch’s coven, you’ think i’d be sick of this
hierograms, incantations and esoteric constellations
keep it calm and keep about you, your patience
i’ll probably p-ss a preacher a pack of pills
packing a plastic casket cause claustrophobia k!lls
penitence in a penitentiary is nev-uary
black magic is a second nature habit
and i ain’t talking about that parlor trick with a hat and a rabbit
i have lycanthropy, waking up in a shopping cart naked, covered in blood
out front of a taiwanese brothel with a hooker face down in the mud
with a backpack full of incantation transcriptions written in 999 different tongues
climbing to atonement with a ladder and taking the deacon’s teeth to the rungs
i don’t have a single pseudoephedrine to loan em’
swear on my life hand down on the pseudomonarchia daemonum
i’m an unholy usurper, ruin the monarchy and i de-throne em’
throw a hex on a king and a curse on the queen
hooker teeth, a snake skeleton, orphan tears, you can hear her scream
my blood evaporates holy water
coitus with the holy daughter
they’re fornicating with me so i circ-mvent the rules
with an axe and half a pack of bath salts for these fools
official infamous insomniac involved in a sacrificial vigil
alpha and omega are my last initials
this is the genesis of my revelation
torturing my nemesis for extended an duration
slit my wrists, third eye on my palm like stigmata markings
the ground gives way to a raucous rumbling followed by fire laden arching’s
i can’t ice out these death watches
in the walls ticking and craving these deep notches
i’m nostradamus’s prophet
the metaphysical ravenous pythagoras
mind circulating with telegnosis
a grimoire next to a couple of potions
gulping a cup of blood out of chalice
pulsing talents emanating with malice
with a half a cap of vicodin
i’m fighting em’ like a lycan
and whether or not you liking it
i’m writing for enlightenment
i admit i’m lacking light a bit
i put my knife in it and tighten it
put these specters and my life in it
i’d be lying if i said i wasn’t trying it
tonight with a spiteful stride and trident
conjure the clearest spirits to ghost write my lyrics
i found they have quite a lenience with deviance
we’re the leading ttt-rack tyrants of deathcore like carnifex, b-tch!

- ǝʇɐɔoʌpɐ s†iʌǝǝp ǝɥʇ

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