BUILDING BLUEPRINT
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Lyrical Analysis of...
Womb to the Tomb
- (Kalligraphy)
- Through the book of revelations I set end goals
- To bomb like Jihad on any segments of the show
- When I’m gone, and my body turns to a figment of rot
- The cops and corruption will try to cease what I thought
- Pick my brain out, study the way I have been thinking
- What is this place we live in, blood money or religion
- Obama and Osama are terrorist like each president
- Bullets into innocents for shock value messages
- It’s like they have a cycle, one attacked, the other goes in
- Instead this time the world caught up to the origin
- From the gun to their gums, presume they have lied
- And don’t refuse the panhandlers they might be angels on the inside
- (Kunta)
- speakin' esperanto pronto
- cant find me, i blind em, wheres waldo
- shoot in the arms, tryna escape, cant crawl though
- this that mandela effect, so, playin' kwela
- under an umbrella of ambrella devs and shell em
- the bark of the bark of dogs in canella
- godmother, godfather share with grizelda wit gizelda
- im hungry up in hungary like gisela of hungary
- repel em from me, utterly go in secrecy undersea
- under the seas sees the C's form waves, staring wet n grave
- pave my way, gave my case, talk about God? bet its faith
- it is faced with grace in graceland im just walkin' round pacin'
- this a basin of my graces of halos, lay low, aint no wastin'
- this seashells, mess up, see shells, and watch you break up
- between cells break ya spleen cells, but still after that listen to what
- the priest tells or else he dwells in a cellar dweller
- whether or not forgiven or sought, im just driven to be fought
- (DamontheLyricist)
- Yo, King Damon, back to break face, in eight ways,
- Now lay straight, my take on the rap game is shame,
- Waiting, gangbanging, on 4th block, now say face,
- Saw a snitch down in the corner just talking, the
- Shooters down the street just blow him to pieces,
- Blood flooding, reflective of the gold teeth he was keeping,
- Money ain’t nothing, when the wounds leave you bleeding,
- Overdose in fentanyl, when the doors are closed,
- Hoping for a coldest flows come out of my chromosome,
- Told you, I can hold my own, to every rapping moment,
- Whoah, show a bro a quick spit, they land themselves on
- Comatose, every glitter in the coast, we live in a conspiracy,
- God’s coming back, it’s all part of the history,
- Different hits, from the big machine, that writes rhymes, precision’s key,
- Fitting for a spitter, that is wicked as he’s ever been,
- Flying by a private eye, that saw me as a militant,
- Cuz I’m killing it, the spirit in the heart, beating furious,
- 2000s rap, I’m bringing it back, furious,
- The pen is the sword, and I’m the surgeon,
- Cutting through the bullshit, leaving verses pure again,
- From the West Side streets, where the concrete breathes,
- Selling dime bags to fiends, chasing fast cash dreams,
- Young and reckless, thought the chrome was my protection,
- Till I saw the truth reflected in a mother’s tears at the funeral,
- Now I spit scriptures with the same grit that I gripped the burner,
- But the ink don’t jam, and the wisdom burns deeper,
- Survival’s a sacrament out here in Satan’s playground,
- Where the devil dances daily to sirens’ sound,
- Got the Holy Ghost loaded in my lyrical clip now,
- Every bar a baptism, every rhyme a righteous vow,
- Southwest soldier, but my flow’s East Coast vintage,
- Bronx in my cadence, Alamo in my image,
- From trap house corners to booth confinement,
- Same hunger, different weapon, aiming at the assignment,
- The streets raised me ruthless, the mic refined me raw,
- Pen game elevated, now I write the law.
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