Broadsword Style....

Automatically cause tragedy and severe brutality
Incompatible with average flows so rabid blows'll damage thee
Insanity, demanding me to avidly storm your homeland
Born a Nomad, created and devestated, the way I'm programmed
Slave to no man, I survive off of multiple resources
Mortals' weak forces, of life, provide the meat courses
Style's malicious, wild and vicious, more than a fist is
Anti-Christian, stalk Earth during Solar Eclipses
Forty clips is, insufficient, can't the murder the militiant
Verbal Imprisonment, form savage lines from words of innocence
No heathen'll leave without reason to scream, breathin' with ease
Eased into dreams, of heavily bleedin' from demons with heat
Savages, ravagin' villages with mechanics we're brandishin'
Massacre, mass murder severin' heads with several air passages
A masochist, chew through ya with the chains of an executioner
Lucifer, spawned from eternal hellfire that moves with words

Change of Weapon: Longsword Style...

Displayin rawness, every verse that I spray is flawless
You're harmless, any motherfucker that ain't worship me is Godless
You're causeless, don't fuck with an oxen that'll slay 'n gore you
Metaphors mutilate your body, your enemies will be prayin' for you
This war explores the genre of a horror story
Created my rhymes in an underground secret laboratory
To travel back to my roots, discover how I remain this raw
The truth was revealed, I contain the genes of Genghis Khan
And the list chases on and on, in fact, I'm the only male
To have my soul resemble that of who drank from the Holy Grail
Determine fates...you wack crabs I exterminate
Murder fakes, War Machine: You gotta earn that rank
Nobody's fuckin' with me in my primal final form
Shatter your vital spinal cord, with my homicidal tidal storm
I'm immaculate, levitate the mic with a magic spit
Tragic shit, tyrant sperm exists in my ejaculate
Fuck what you know, it's really your preference to see
But the term "Holy Smokes" is actually a reference to me

Change of Weapon: Bo style...

Style's drunken, met Satan face-to-face and punched him
I should stop sayin' I'm God, I just realized that I'm above him
Use black magic concoctions, and voodoo potions of sorts
Shove your tombstone down six feet deep, behead your motionless corpse
I could strike the Apollo and succeed, and be holdin' out
Kidnapped Loki and Thor, then I called Odin out
I'm tired of humans, stealing the souls of immortals is my forte
Resurrect every last Anglo-Saxon warrior and invade Norway
Emcees attempt to pierce my armor, but I have immunity
I gather whole communities to battle me just to humor me
Most battle events to me are like Jerry Springer, staged lady fights
I'm turnin' Christian crews into Jewish cartoons like eight crazy nights
Sheep are gettin' smarter, told 'em God was dead and they claimed my fault
My strikes are unbelievable so take your wounds with a grain of salt
I got a crew of street brawlers that clench fists and clash
Take your brain a few years back like the ghost of Christmas Past.



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