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

 

 

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

 

 

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

 

 

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