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.