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Lyrical Analysis of...
King of hell
- Placed in this place I've heard so much about
- landed with grace, undoubtedly doubting my own doubt
- granted i got a base, but basically my location's unknown to me
- so i'm starting to race all over this place, i must dethrone
- the leader lyrically or maybe physically, listen to him groan
- the skirmish's over, he's thrown in the furnace, asking for immunity
- so i summon all of my magnanimity, spawning demons
- for infinity, inclined to call myself the master of this fort
- this isn't the north pole, do you see a elf, or a banner?
- i'm the MC with a hammer so you can't touch this, play ball
- sitting in my new throne, it's my own zone
- thinking, waiting for the deserved remuneration
- arriving with the upcoming regeneration
- this place looks ancient, but has potential could be decent
- in hindsight i thought of something when i fell
- during my decent, i'ma name my newly acquired kingdom HELL
- //hook
- good people go to heaven
- they get carried there by a raven
- but if you practice the deadly sins of seven
- and you're a felon, you're going straight to hell
- where you'll be begging to soul sell
- fiery pits spewing venomous souls, hell hounds gluing stuff to the walls
- playing games trying to hit the goals, with rectangular cat skulls
- horrific sounds and screams echoing, dead bodies never to be found
- fireworks of blood splashing all around
- water floding causing a flood i'm gashing, gasping for my breath
- this is where the soul goes after death
- my soul's not whole anymore, its split in half
- feels like i'm a Haitian mental patient or one of the staff
- at a mental institution, recurring problem, can't produce a solution
- part of human evolution gone wrong, or is it air polution
- //hook
- good people go to heaven
- they get carried there by a raven
- but if you practice the deadly sins of seven
- and you're a felon, you're going straight to hell
- where you'll be begging to soul sell
- i'm so fucking volatile, for some time, for a while
- derived from lattin volatilis, i'm the king of the underground
- perhaps i'm in denial, have no Achilles heel,
- see you better get on your knee, kneel, kneeling
- feeling some cracking and snapping its just my achilles tendon
- that just recently bled on the highway to hell on which
- i saw Adele, that's a story to tell, oh well
- got a soul for you to sell, there's a stove
- with the sole goal of clerk swap, right next to the devil's workshop
- purgatory needs a mop to mop all of satan's shit up
- look above,a flip flop thrown by the wrath of god
- owned by the soothsayer, found in hell's deepest layer
- he's more efficient than a church prayer
- though it doesn't work if you're a nay sayer
- i'm about to blow, my lyrical content's
- darker than Edgar Alan Poe's
- dark residue drain's from my mind like a leaky nose
- raining cats and French bulldogs
- going through withdrawal need my next dose, scared i might overdose
- pulling it together, gotta compose myself no matter the weather
- holding these demons on a short tether
- for eons guarding the gates of this dominion, defending the doors to oblivion
- if an angels feather enters, an relentless war of epic proportions erupts
- everlasting one that never stops
- //hook
- good people go to heaven
- they get carried there by a raven
- but if you practice the deadly sins of seven
- and you're a felon, you're going straight to hell
- where you'll be begging to soul sell
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