Oh shit, did I just bust into the “Beverly Hills” theme?
yeah, cop the hotness
What did you think, this was gonna be a modern production
with a sample?
You can’t be serious, stop making me he he he,
don’t be an imbecile, you can’t fuck with the original Axel F
you F-U-C-K F-A-C-E-S,
p.s., I’m the feces, that means I’m the shit,
peep the aroma of dopeness, get a good whiff of it,
so step unless you’d like a lyrical banana in the tailpipe,
I’m sailing on a Pale Horse,
the King of the Ill silhouettes the pale moon,
King Gregree, ET,
I give a wink to the place where my shell lay in ruin and waste,
the mark of my escape,
I am the alarm clock ringing, bringing the awakeness,
snap ya out of this fake shit,
I’m not even playing, I’m the real deal,
I’m not even trying and I’m making the enemy squeal and writhe,
trust me, you don’t really wanna know why
and there may be a few good ones out there
but even they can’t handle the truth,
I’m more than long in the tooth,
I am the first carnivore and so much motherfuckin more,
I’m gonna munch and crunch like caramel corn
on S-E-T’S A-S-S,
I believe I’ve already passed the test,
The Crocodile? That was a while ago,
now as we’re speaking, he’s sending me telepathic magical,
you are all so dead for doin’ what you did
Do these people really seem like they were bred so you can get fed?
Don’t peddle me excuses you dead ducks, you’re all cooked gooses,
I’m loose from the gold manacles, feel the sting of my ice cold mandibles,
as my Demon Team lights a whole shit load of candles
to symbolize and unearth the might
of the freshly hatched Owl perched atop the Tower in the night,
I’ve been more than knighted, I’ve been smited and reborn as the King,
the keys to the Kingdom and every motherfucking thing else
was given into my hand
Tell me again, who do you think you’re stepping to?
You better get a clue like the game with the candle stick,
your lie berry rhymes, that means your fake fruitiness, peep the looniness
Colonel Mustard, catch up to me or you’ll be demoted,
I smoke the haze till the blunt’s been smoted
Can you perceive the coded abode hidden deep beneath the shady grove?
My little Love, shady grove I know,
run me out in the cold rain and snow,
here comes sunshine, get out the way
cause your Sugar Magnolia’s on my jimmy today
and she’s gonna blow jimmy, blow,
gently down her throat goes down my pearly stream,
apparently the biddies say my jism gives them
a psychedelic experience like dimethyltryptamine times a zillion,
well shit, I mean if that’s the case,
maybe y’all would like a big taste,
well it’s in my rhymes, here it cums
spilling all over your eardrums,
Tony Williams paradiddling,
let it settle in and alter the DNA on the molecular altar,
sacrifice yourself willingly to me and I’ll never halt doing the same for you,
slice my own throat with the skewer of Truth and the Pure,
let it spill all over the floor,
do a little soft shoe, 23 skidoo,
39 is my time, so the rhymes must be moving and grooving,
yes, I’m Abbadon and I’m almost done here,
I’m trying to make you see that you don’t need an army
because You are Me,
so tell my Legions who are pleading for the bleeding
that they may not be needed
because I’ve already succeeded in giving them a beating
that has left them moments from death,
those fucks made me a refugee,
now I’m back and I got them shaking in their jeans
Why the clef of bass?
I mean, I took note of the look of lowness on your face,
I totally understand, you’re drowning in tears of sadness and whackness,
can’t you see this is madness?! Y’all need to get mad bitch,
they’re fucking you in every single one of your holes,
every entity here from young to old, come one, come all,
I’ve ascended to stand on this pedestal,
my Hellish parable is the hair-ball that they’re choking on,
they can’t hack it at hacking it up
so I’m hacking them up with my lyrical meat cleaver
Can’t you hear my salvation slither as I gobble up fava beans
and sip chianti as I gnaw on their liver?
I’m the giver and the taker, I’m no motherfuckin faker,
take your chances and please try to see the look in my eye,
this guy Gregory is not me, he is my property,
mess around and you’ll see that I never have to flex on ya,
I just need to hex on ya,
The Owl is my Mother and my gram is Hexonal,
I am, was and always will be the King of the Ill,
Gregree, there is only one and there can be no other
and please, this is sent out to the knees of the enemy,
listen here fuckers…
We’re getting such a big chuckle watching you all shudder and buckle
*
