1 train collab

let the syllable kid from singapore spit in a cynical fit

till your ligaments' stiff when rigarmortis get you little men sittin'

pants shitting, scared, barely even shifting, I'm as sick as fourty children

after a night of barcadi, booze, a party ruse with gentlemen pretends

We a hearty group of demanding demented pedantic dim manics

with a stifling penchant for rapper ravaging, you're gaffling this game in vain

and getting your pad invaded, bout to be levitated off the scaffolding placement

Got you heaven embracin' after your neck vein's lacerated, got you plankin' above before, you even understand it

this is my, best in ages, masquerading as, ganondorf's manifest

with a pentaforce in hand, in fact my damn index possessed the damage

of a penance stare to a decadent to grant him death by recompense

when I'm penning raps, now repent your arrogance, or I'll, bloodier your barrier

bury ya, render you nary a living thing when I'm bending ya to gats

Cause I'm back again, rappad's freddy Kruger, begetting lasting death to users

Your vest is useless, so face up cause you're up, against my ruthless bevy of rugers

I'm coming back to shock and awe, keep running, squawkin' with your clotted scars,

my gats are cocked for more, lock the door and I'll just knock it off

Fuck knocking it off I'll mop the floor, with you till you drop your jaws and hit the pantry too, I scoff at ya'll, roflol, spit's so plentiful

render you washed ashore target tuned, in, red dotted point of view Ending you,

cause the singapore kid is gonna rend a few sllyable spits

in a cynical fit till you little men sit, don't fidget, just shit I'm a visceral heathen as sick, as the common flu

spitting' missiles, even rocket fuel, so when I cough, achoo I'm dislodging you from the air, put you in the coffin too

last nail, robbing you of your cuticles, and your music flow

Your fuse has blown, short circuit, temper got you using poles to abuse your hoes, try to reach the podium,

but a pole position you couldn't hold, not even your own wooden bone

be it spoken sugarcoated or zero coca coke, you're still just livin', dreaded fodder

I'm giving you dead daughters when I split your groin in two It's a late harvest I'm the reaper's picture joined and fused

with a boy enthus-iastic for a boiling fuse in plastic in a foil that's used in wrappings, you're a toy that's spewing wack shit

and you're Poised for fueling tragic, happenings if you dare rap against

the antonym of heaven sent or happiness, My mental rants' the assonance of the devil's plan, I'm destined for reverence

You're a vestige that's meant to end, so full stop, you're sentenced and

to all you desparate degenerates, this is my message..sent