Locksmith - Block Island Sound lyrics

[Intro: Sample] The forecast for block island sound Small craft advisory in effect from 2AM Tuesday through Wednesday afternoon For tonight, south winds, 10-15 knots with gusts up to 20 knots Seas 3-5 feet [?] A chance of showers and thunderstorms, visibility 1 nautical mile or less, increasing to 1-3 nautical miles after midnight [Verse 1: Apathy] Rock over the beat, rock over the drum Better look out God, here the Devil come Spit 'til your cerebellum is numb Blow speakers with the force of an elephant gun I'm Attila the Hun, I'm as ill as they come 9mm filler still a k**er that stun Like electrical voltage, grip deadly as Vulcans From the depths of the dungeon the dragon's awoken Run for water while your village is smoking Bring any competitor and I bet they get broken Laying on the ground with their head split open A notion to plasma get blasted approaching The master of roasting, you rappers are joking You better have a cheat code, a magical potion Tracks I'm composing get acid erosion You acts like you're frozen And fractured and broken And cracked and corroding You're wack, you're a rodent Ap is like Odin, in fact I'm the omen Motor-boating b**bs while the booze overflowing s**ers overdosing your soul is left floating [Verse 2: Locksmith] With a handsome price I'm the hands of Christ I'm the smell of deceit that is Sampson's wife I'm the serpent in the bush With the sermon that was pushed Bare-footed Jericho trying to dance the pipe On the bright side of genocide And gin aside, every sin side See you with your henna side I don't sympathize To one of you sin aside Put a synth in the sinner essentially in his pride Pin clinching intention is intention Incision any rapper you then mention Innocent victims they been lynching f** it, we all muppets this system is Jim Henson A real ha**le sh** that they will ask you Women that still bashful Hit you and then pa** you Stay clear I catch you in cape fear Max Cady under your jeep gripping under your wheel axle Still maxing three b**hes-Bill Paxton Bill Capson put his a** in a steel capsule Black suit but I'm still casual Play trumpets over your grave b**h I'm the real Satchmo Is that so? I've sort of been living my life as DiMaggio or Castro I'd rather be dead than be put in a black hole You lack flow, you ingest what's sold There's more gas in your lungs than your chest can hold [Verse 3: Wild Card] I'm here to vocalize and open wide, invoking my emotion like a poet type Your throat is sliced and closing like a cobra strike Immobilizin' poser types who lie and say they're dope, they're not Put metal in they mouth like I'm trying to fix they overbite I know I'm nice, the flows I write are so divine and no one's quite as dope as I am Throwin' knives, I'm ghostly white and glow at night and cold as ice With hoes are like your trophy wife who choke on pipe And swallow all my children like the TV up in Poltergeist I'm dope as spider foes that bite, you know the types that no one likes I roll with types with motorbikes that dump your body oceanside And overnight I soak my knife you know I'm not just flowing I'm the plague motherf**er when I rap you see the locust fly I pulverize 'em, trap ‘em in the witch's craft And plus the mystic black handles that are drippin' wax My ex-girl got married, I ain't pissed or mad Wonder if she told her new man she licked my a** Anyway, I got problems and my issues are frightening Spit vicious for a living and rhythm's enticing Do I want a bl**job? These b**hes are psychic And they keep giving head like they're victims of ISIS Wild Card