RapVerse.com Community - GHOST (redux... final version)

(carry through from intro, evil laughter in the background, MUWAHAHAHAHAHA)

Chorus:

Who grills snitches like a roast? …GHOOOOOST!
Who’s the dopest lyrical host? …GHOOOOOST!
What emcee’s too true to boast? …GHOOOOOST!
Who does this wack game hate the most? …GHOOOOOST!

Verse 1:

It’s time for meet and great with your miracle host, the empirical ghost
Stackin bodies not toast, deal shotties and stamps like the royal post
Course this cat don’t mean to boast but poetically I’m the most
Dopest thing since the invention of mud wrestling and rapping coast to coast
My forced nation to nation vexation is flamin up in ya grill like pot-roast
Though mostly I lay low, dominate like Shaq’s rump guarding low-post
I battle foes, rows and rows of those wannabe rapper clones
Strike my victory pose every time I dance on another one’s nose
Ready to jump and flow, I bump and go, always keep it pumped
I boss around like blond secretary’s on a manager’s stump
Dump crap rappers in the breaking of the endless sea of mainstream
Strike critical like the A-team, I expose more flesh than a gay dream
Kill unseen if need be, feed the needy with a killer’s keen
Emperor reaches into your ream, snatch ya soul with a beam, evil gleam
Mystical: Nothing’s what it seems when I lyrically rip spleens
Place heads on guillotines with an inbred, kin fed murder gene
I expose drama queens cos I’m rightly nightly deemed hip-hops dean
I’m plasticine: I plant bombs, bursting temples and veins like creatine
Norateen rock-hard, don’t start, meanin only on those tryin to intervene
Ghost’s a lean, mean killing machine, always ready to blow shit to smithereens

(HAHAHAHAHA)

Chorus x 1

Verse 2:

Darkness carries my secret ploy like the ancient victory of Troy
I’m deploying this wooden horse on ya front porch with wicked hidden joy
Like Castor Troy, a fated fresh face been slated to infiltrate ya hood G
Got playa’s and don’s sweatin on “could he really” and “what would be?”
With prudery, my factory’s about to stich more ‘G’s than Gucci
When the emperor loses his temper I’ll wrap ya dome like a hoody
Opened the chalice of malice with poetic perfection that strikes plain boldly
M.E. in breaking atoms, shattering matter and I carry that title proudly
Quite simply it should be, can’t see me, I leave nothing in the rough hands of fate
I had a date with death but a job to finish so I came late and made ma boy wait
Great power is great responsibility so I’ve been sent to cleanse all 2nd rate
With elated skills that are so abstract they showcase with Picasso in the Tate
Just nice will never suffice to bereave rhymer’s demise so writer’s think twice
The state of linguistics vies the Emperor’s rise, ready to conceive gory lies
Wise as Confucius I spell my prized rhymes and despise of myriad petty jives
Spell-binding and enticing, tussle with my tag only to pay a ghost’s price
Sparring with my flames will leaver your carcass dusty, burnt in stacks of ashes
Arrays of crusty old rhymes busted at me, a scar of the past like broken glasses
Open the cache and spillt my facets, under your skin like body rashes, zest lashes
I always complete my passes when my style heat ya like the greenhouse gases

(HAHAHAHAHA)

Chorus x 1

Verse 3:

The common haters have a fraction of my skill like a denominator
And though I’m moody I try to be a smooth G not a newbie terminator
Doubtless, my acceleration is incredible, the mic always in full vibration
For again and again Ghost’s iteration puts the whole game in gyration
Patience, the occasion will be spoilt if you toil with this full body sensation
So get your notation on rotation for the inevitable loss of information
It’s a probation, pure rap adulteration but vital like fuse-box ventilation
Breaking of convention, an elation, I filter society like light titration
Scrub out the real rappers from all those ridiculous tall-taled liars
Dire, many-faced like Mike Myers, the innocent by-standers and criers
In this game they couldn’t come close to godly if they all became friars
I don’t admire rippers and biters, so please do me a favour and retire
You ain’t having a “good year” hoes, I heard it through the wire
Rips cut worse than a rose briar, I’m above that, way higher, flyer
The Emp’s insane but I rock mind grain like I was every brain’s bane
I must be Citizen Kane the way I rock the show, my flow brings pain
My mic and me? Inexorably inseparable like Tarzan and Jane
McClane antics, fools diss me and die hard, get pierced like cold rain
Reign of the Emperor and his minions has only just started,
And all those who still don’t get it just must be musty and retarded

(HAHAHAHAHA)

Let me hear it!

G…..
H…..
O…..
S…..
T…..

Chorus x 2

(explosion, fade to track 2)