Ill Bill, Q-Unique and Sick Jacken - Black Metal

I spit on behalf of my death cult
Made of millions of morbid angels
Standing in a burning church in
Norway lost in hatred
Of course Satan smiles through the
Face of a child
Who's born with the number of the
Devil scraped into his scalp
We don’t like none of y’all at all
My 'Fuck your mother in the mouth' type
Of dawgs might write this song
Triple X bitches call me and invite me home
They run up on me on the
Street in then invite me dome
I spit the truth for the youth movement
It’s goon music
Engineered to make you bang your
Motherfucking head to it
Earn chips, live fast lives and spit flames
Then burn bitches with crackpipes
Like Rick James ill Bill
I’m from Brooklyn where the stars are born
I make drug music plus I be involved in porn
I be the chosen like
Robby Benson beyond comprehension
Holding a toaster like Bronson in Death Wish

Black metal, I cock back react thorough
En la botánica con el santero
Black mask, white robe, shrouded in peril
Trapped me in the war between
God and the Devil

I know a babalawo who cuts chicken heads
I fuck chicken heads man that
Santeria shit is fucking wild
I’m feeling like my time running out
I’m the middle of the block guns
Drawn when they gun it down
I break speed limit's on the highway to Hell
They got the Devil chasing me trying
To give me life without bail
I drink spirit's and smoke form for medicine
And inhale elements of sickle cell
You can catch me in the hood like VD
That Sixth Side Street shit homes and
We ain’t deal with the PD
The most hated on the block with no greatest
Crash through the storm and
Attack the storm raiders
I shoot the shit with Shaman
My spirit is still starving
Imagine all the shit that my
Soul famine is causing
Knife-carving nine on the psychos
At night swarming
I fight to be righteous but
The murder is more calm

I been forced to fulfill a
Dark and hateful agarro
And was born the son of a Satan santero
Burn black candles for a black Sabbath
After the fact the priest converted
Her to a crack addict
It’s flat madness with black
Gats and black magic
Sit and watch the death of
Faces and laugh at it
With two white pale goth bitches
Lost in an orgy
And you too could subscribe for
The cost of a forty
I got the blood of the faceless pagans on me
A sacred place praying to
Raise a Haitians army
The Babalawo wolf from Brooklyn in all white
White fitted, white Nikes
Moving that pure white all night
Make a bruha scream chango and
Fuck their brains out
Your ice crucifix won’t save you
Tuck your chains now
Between heaven and hell
Pa’ arriba y pa’ abajo
Knowing the devil it'self vamos pa’l carajo

Written by:
Anthony Quilles, Jack Gonzalez, Jason Connoy, William Braunstein

Publisher:
Lyrics © TUNECORE INC, BMG Rights Management

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