CHALLENGER'S RAP

• Sinister, foul thoughts
• Wicked morality, summoning sadistic spellbounded love
• As a gift from Mr. Crowley
• Heart disconnected without a pump
• Sacrificially vowed to Beelzebub an English Foxhound as blood
• It gifted me power from the Devil himself, disallowing a God from helping you out at all.
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• I piss on the Bible's rotten Scriptures denouncing wrongs
• Whispering "Thou shalt not drink from my chalice cup,
• For I will snip out thy tongue and watch it drip like a showered sponge."
• If religion endowed this law, I rebel in confounded trust by 16 ounces of tipping back alcohol
• Swigging down a mouthful of pills for a viciously rowdy buzz
• Ready to flip out, instill malignance and malice on anyone now, I'm sprung
• {HALLUCINATING – Drifting to realms like my innermost Hell of an innocent child who vividly wound up dug from attempting to self-expunge after being molested, felt and touched with Micky Mouse's Club by... Now that I think about it, someone resembling Elmer Fudd}
• I reminisce around it obsessively
• Went from sitting down crisscross to singing aloud a song for Lilith to kiss me
• "Come out my love..."
• Head spinning around like an inquisitive owl
• A single horn begins to dig out mid-scalp, possessed
• I encountered guts spread neat on my trouser trunks
• Intestinals growl peckish, a sour lunch of entrails and bile ducts
• Sniffing the outer crust trying to figure this out, disgusted
• "How did I get here?" ~ (Let's start bringing around the plot) ~
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• *~ (REWIND) ~*
• ... singing aloud Ring-Around-the-Rosie 'til I found myself dressed in a gown, visage of Jigsaw the clown sitting still in a flower bush
• Eyes squinted, binoculars, scanning the land the plan is to 'Pick your victims and round them up'
• Heard the voice say, bozhe-moi waits for the choice made to come to fruition with thousands dropped
• At a picnic
• Picked out a spot, many people at the park, mosquitoes in swarms and pigs all surrounding 'em
• Everyone chowing down getting a kick out of themselves at this event in crowds, they rumble to the violinist and progressively louder drums
• I peep ~ (don't make a peep) ~ Don't wanna make a scene, so sneakily I visit the outing snuck
• With a few balloons for the youths, blew up big and so round they'd pop
• "Sorry kids I'm all out of lungs"
• Then directed each child to the "Business of Clowning" bus
• 21 callows gone
• Vanished, kidnapped and latched in – No wiggling out of the vice-gripping seatbelts with luck
• Told the kids "Welcome, the House of Haunts"
• Out the windows they shout for Mom
• I revved up the engine it sounded, "Hahaa," ignition switching the valves to ON
• As every inch rigged up with powered bombs
• In a menacing scowl, paused, shifting myself to gawk at the kiddies in a grimacing smile "Rahh"
• Pedal to the metal to the event it was eventual, through the fence they all cowered off
• Causing carnage leaving the windshield in showered blood
• Carcasses, configuring piles up
• Singling out the women when their boyfriends getting all plowed at once
• Grabbed the duffle bag carrying an M2 Browning .50 Caliber gun
• "Kiddos calm down, I love you, Heaven's around the block"
• Then forced open their jaws and sprinkled some Valium crushed
• Tuck and roll I tumble prone and watch the bus explode into the oncoming flow of traffic
• Laughing as I load up clips in for rounds to bust
• Finger on the trigger, with precision blew out everyone's tibias they're hitting the ground in shock
• I giggle as they slither around and flop
• Whip out a megaphone shouting "Halt, I'm gonna get'chya...I'm gonna get'chya and prowl ya"
• Pinning them down with sticks and they're mounted snug
• Ripping out the skin within calloused layers, like Vlad the Impaler with stitches and towels brung
• Cleanliness is next to Godliness, washing them before I chop them up for dinner with a pal –Patricia DeCou in lust
• I begin an orison to the Lord for his contemptuous flout amongst us as we slay the laid
• I make incisions the scalpel cuts, in a swift disembowelment I sit down crisscross, a sour lunch of entrails and bile ducts
• We say one last Grace in a state of bliss, we devour 'em.