CHALLENGER'S RAP

• Your chorus runs on borrowed lungs, so step back through epochs, or the moment I record.... you’re done
• I'll puncture fate with a forward-lunge, script fractures, the force of my pen'll torque the solar sun and have angels abandon halos
• when my aura hums, see legends step in, destinies weapon, chrome reloads in poems me sketchin’, flows that fold souls
• that goes to show who test the pen I stretch the end beyond what flesh and breath defends, insects condemned
• it'll hex your dens, I'll dissect your texts with vexed revenge so each sentence I send rends the heavens’ stems eclipsed in scripts
• there is no priest that could mend since/sense my essence bends the depths of men, I put to an end entire sets
• where death begins, which helps grow into excellence, a force to be reckoned with, U aren't raw more so, really awkward
• U the talk tough then stutter type of rhymer unaware to take on the great one is unfair, who talk slicks my dark gift carves quick
• before they can swing like spirits trapped inside an ark’s crypt, I'll show up at your wake just to shake hands
• with your brother before I bang your mother, don’t provoke a scope from the code of a rogue ascension
• my chosen weapon: flows that expose your essence and folds your whole dimension, because it leaves you hopeless
• pressed like scrolls in a moldy section, every quotes I wrote is done with a dose of dope that broke souls tension
• he, who battles me when I spoke vengeance I leave 'em wide open, even at my lowest, I seem beyond poets
• peeps reread my scripts, praising who wrote it, because my wordplay slays victims with rhythms that’ll play with their minds
• I’m dangerous with rhymes they're ageless for their time, they got me so high up I can getcha' knifed up for 5 bucks
• shooters don't talk they'll just ride up in black or white trucks... it goes.. head shot. dead op,
• smoked him like a thread pop, split him down da middle like a symptom in a med doc,
• head shot... dead op.. I heard the click then watched as he bled lots, bullet like a lawyer made 'em talk to his dread thoughts
• they put his memory on a desktop now he's just another file in the folder that the feds got
• he was zipped up with the red dots, I seen 'em sleepin' permanently because there's no holdin' back like fiends with a loaded glass
• after catchin' him slippin', cleanin' out his Rover's back, I told 'em now throw 'em like a shoulder pad
• fold him in broken halves, of how is blast heat, collapse meat, snap spleens I came to overpass your his track meet, got him smoked like a soldiers pack
• made his soul collapse and no one in his fam able to get over that, fools act strapped? but never even load the mag
• so shooters pull thru then clap three, 4 example leave 'em ghosted in their dads Jeep Half-screamed, having blood leakin' out cracked seats
• Before you’d breach my weakest rhyme, you'd need to feast with Jesus Christ
then meet the beast beneath the reef that breathes through reefs of needle ice.
I speak in steeples twice as deep as priesthood evil rites
with ink that bleeds through legal rights—a sequence keyed to demon fights.
Your thesis? Cheap. I teach in frequencies that eat through speaker types,
and preach in grief to reapers creepin’ 'neath the streets with ether pipes. Don’t speak to me of beef—I feast on fleets with heated spite.
You reach for peace? I reach beneath your dream to breach your sleeping life.
I reap what creeps through weakened minds—my speech’ll beat the speed of light
then leech the screams from fetal cries and beam 'em back through Jesus’ spine. I built a fortress forged from tortured orphans’ morphin' thoughts,
with mortar caught from wars where Norsemen scorched the Lord's distorted laws.
I morph through portals formed in solemn Psalms and molten fog—
my poems crawl through omens raw, they fold your squad like stolen gods. You’re phony. Broken-boned emoji soldiers molded wrong—
I hold your soul in folded palms, then blow it through Jehovah’s lungs.
My code is long forgotten—etched in deathless epic echoes,
where nephilim sketch lessons in hexes on Templar frescoes. Every bar’s a guillotine—swings clean with militant symmetry,
spillin’ your ministry’s infantry with infinite villainy.
I’m lyrically wizardry—mystic with sins of the trinity,
spittin' divinity’s limits to split your existence deliberately. I black out continents. My dominance born from ominous
cosmic scripts that conjure fists to drop your clique through obelisks.
I’m monstrous—mockin' prophets, talkin’ slick in gothic glyphs,
then bombin’ ships with honest writs that lock the myths in caustic pits. You couldn’t match me if you bled for seven aeons straight,
trainin’ daily in a cage with Satan’s face engraved in plated gates.
I break your fate, reshape your faith, then raze your base with rage so great,
it shakes the weight of space and makes black holes evaporate. You lack the grace to even fathom what my hand could draft—
I slam the map on shattered backs then brand your fam with dragon wrath.
I’m that advanced—my stanza lands and cracks the land like Ragnarok,
draggin’ gods through jagged locks and laughin’ as they gasp and drop