Blood Painted Image

Every vocal is a deadly weapon

Sharp blows, are hacking flesh

Emcees leave the arena sick, from post-traumatic stress

stuck between the light and darkside, like a park god

I set the bar high, it's only visible in god's eye

Got a bad habit of smacking whack rappers up

I'm like a porn cut short, I don't give half a fuck

i'm a ghost inside a porcelain cell

American under the morbid spell, and it's coorperate hell

sick aim, with a mid-range rifle

All those pulp fiction blows, will get you ring-range titles

son, you worthless, barely scratching the surface

and packing more stolen verses then a King James bible

The barkitect, the part for death, when I arm the heat

it's sparking, I'm taking out marks like a carpet steamer

no backing out now, your pact is paid

severe your arms and leave you, with a white flag to wave

clynically crazed, never critically praised

starving artist's, I ain't had a balanced dinner in days

pennyless, pen in my own testament regardless

as I walk along the reigns, slick, pressed up against the

darkness

so listen, crack, when I pen a track

if you sniff the rail in the shit I rap

you turn pale, and begin to snap

Blood pressure risen passed the limits at, envisions of impending wrath, end him with a pistol blast

Beware, I can kill em with a paragraph

Every verse is like a dose of Sarin gas

intact/In Tax/ In Fact

the impact of my mental Synapsis convince cats to quit rap

blades cut quick to catch a buck 50 wit tax

you a minor threat, your final step is to admit that...

me and jesus christ be the army of two

mothafuckas give respect where its due

or die