Blood Propaganda

Blood Propaganda
Producer: Apoc

Verse 1:

The Architect conducts supreme massacre

Perfected the craft as I swing my Excalibur

So why the fuck focus?

When brain tries to comprehend my words, it decomposes.

You posers rap? Now that's unacceptable

'Cause most of ya'll grab the mic for the fucking spectacle

And if you think your bling makes you respectable

I'ma slice off and burn your fucking testacles

Yeah! Don't you talk about war, kid

And don't you rap about the streets if you're born rich

Love rap, club rap, thug rap, FUCK THAT!

You dropped a whole album without saying shit bitch

I spit sick while ya'll lyrically incompetent

Call me an asshole, I'll take it as a complement

I'll hook you up with an IV of my semen

Internally kill you with microscopic demons


Chorus (2x):

Hip-hop! Will I live to tell?

How can I be an angel if I live in hell?

Brutality is the proper answer

Let the world hear my blood propaganda


Verse 2:

I don't need to be subliminal

To be lyrical or to speak facts through my rituals

I never keep my revelations to a minimal

So when I speak it's indeed critical

Don't you think it's hypocritical?

The way balladeers and bands think they original

What the fuck makes ya'll so special?

You plagiarize songs for career credentials

You ain't even got potential 'cause honestly

Revivals ain't synonymous to artistry

So next time you brainwash the Philippines

You wake up the next day strapped to guillotines

Yeah! Apoc is sick of lies

So I'ma decorate your bodies with kitchen knives

And if none of ya'll can stomach my wicked rhymes

I don't give a fuck so all you bitches die!


Repeat chorus


Verse 3:

I be independent permanently

Transform Hip-hop is the purpose for me

So ya'll better listen up every commercial emcee

'cause I got every demon in hell worshiping me

I firmly believe I could never be struck with applause

Unless I make music about the thugs and the thongs

I could never be like that, never stuck with the wrong

I would rather write something 'bout fucking your mom

Plus most of ya'll don't know the methodology

You just got connections and the technology

All I need is paper and a pack of cigarettes

So fuck ya'll overnight rappers in the internet

And if ya'll sleep to this, you're dead meat

I'll place a dozen beartraps under your bed sheets

Now you know why I'm not mainstream compatible

'cause I spit bloody than a bulimic cannibal


Repeat chorus



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