El Sangre - Grime Reaper lyrics

I'm a sterling word king I'm in Berlin merking vermin Go to your church to burn your sermon I don't need a cult to get people learning I have much more persuasive means My lyrical theme is like a mystical dream I bet you get wet just listening to it You're in a dream state like you've hit some ket I think you've met your match and met your maker I'm like the rap version of an undertaker Your body emerging six feet deeper Harvesting your rhyme book's soul like a rap grim reaper The words are just wheat to the scythe I'm farming with strife, I'm alarming with a knife My machete is loyal to retrieve them out of the earth I get sweaty in your soil and conceive lyrics through birth Moving up in your wet patch, you get that Good feeling of healing, giving birth to lyrics to attack As I tear off your pages, you wrap your lips around s**ing on the power to which the rhyme book is bound Every pound, every cent, every thrust it's evident The evil intent with the souls I've consumed and bent On the microphone I've got mastery Drugged up drones say "too fast for me" Cause they're coked up from the throat up Weeded up from the knees up, keep up Don't get vexed, Victor, I will wreck your jaw Not physically, I'm not into violence When you pick up the mic all I hear is silence I could convince you that I am a Chinaman Because I am so good with things like barter, speech My lyrics are phat like the fans of master chief Don't diss this wordsmith, on your christmas wishlist You have marked down "Arithmeticness" I sit down, do business, I bear witness to my hitlist The yellowbelly c*nt marked down as "the dickless" Always deviate, don't have tattoos Cause I set my own ground rules and astound fools Narcissism, anarchism, don't want no prison Freedom is the rhythm when you collaborate composition I'm like a wyvern, I'll make your eyes burn What I concern my urn in is my master plan I'll tell you stern what is in my hands Your eyes are on fire when you read the vernacular You have lies, I'm not a buyer, I'm the rap count Dracula We'll play cards cause the graveyard is lacking ya And when you lash out, go on the dole and burn your rhyme paper I take the ash out, absorb the soul and turn to bats like vapour If you have doubt, it'll take a toll like a border with an invader I take cash out from the bank I control when I do hard labour Chess with d**h, play cards at the graveyard's gate Stress for less and accept your fate Connect the hate when I bless My late cleric darkness on your d**h Play cards at the graveyard's gate or play chess with d**h If you just accept your fate you will stress for less When I bless and connect hate Drown in my words as your Wernicke cells saturate I'm on the pinnacle of a cynical miracle I've conquered all individuals with my lyrical and physical strength I'm mostly satirical but this is a critical exception with a short length I used to let them do what they want before I met them, I shouldn't menti- -on back when I had less strength then A miniscule error in my ways, pitiful are these victims in many ways I grin and I win, I'm a grim thing and ripping off limbs everyday Limbs from bookshelves reserved with knowledge I collect the words that now pay homage to the Grime Reaper's college Tearing out the spines from these tomes and codexes Burning skin off their opuses and bite through mics like locusts Who the f** wrote this sh**? Ascending to some higher dimension sh** I'm brutal, I keep no quarter, you're futile, I flow like gallons of water With my talon I caught ya, now I oughta torture and slaughter your daughter The offspring I refer to is the pen for your rhyme book Oh, as the time took when I'm hooked on her sly look In as short as a minute, I write new rhymes within it The time you take is hours, I devour the power In a burning, ash-filled shower within my evil tower And now it is clean as I wash and I scour This artform is beautiful like I birthed a flower I am the Grime Reaper, the rhyme keeper Not a sly cheater, but rather a fly teacher I seek ya, I can feature that I wanna meet ya Any who wish to learn the ways of rap's old glory days Wise like Corey Graves escaping a gory maze My story conveys a grey, dark place and state of mind It's true that I'm cruel all the f**in time No one's gonna miss you, your rhymes or your punchlines With punches so weak they can't break a gla** And lines so bent that they take it up the a**