Jacob Tilley - 1190 lyrics

1190 1) Pope Urban warfare has begun upon the land of the sultans A call to mics as crusades are commencing Halt sermons, metal ware put on the hand of the Cold One First roll of the dice, draw blades, no fencing Catch the currents, I traverse in icy Baltics Black cross on flag and banners as I unfold it The dark march to claim the realm of Outremer; No half-hearts so tell us your tales then crusader I the scribe Jay Teutonic, slash the Hochmeister Will have followers of this like the pied piper Or Peter the Hermit, only an anarchist; Legendary as the Griffins and Basilisks 1095 is where these German curtains open Knights to fight from Europe, Urban had called them Where other orders at their holy temples sleep I keep my flow on target like concentric central keeps 2) A lionhearted leader, upstanding as a bastion I strike from the skies like an overhand falchion I drop gauntlets like strumpets drop their coursets As headstrong as the ram at the door of a fortress From getting glares from Barons, why just ask the Baroness To a**aulting Ayyubid ramparts, breaking down parapets When he grabs a mic, he's less man and more a monster Just don't slip like Freud or Frederick Barbarossa Verbal a**a**in like the Old Man of the Mountain; Strikes windpipes: blood leaks like urinary fountains Patron Saint of Hip-Hop, got some ghastly parables Continues to rock the manor like a siege mangonel Medieval sub-genre, it couldn't get darker If swarms arrived from the Tower of Flies in the skies of Acre Other acts' acts are hopeless, swing an axe at the hopeful I convert non-believers like Constantinople Head on a pike, they will not impale me Or I'll surround them like a moat at a motte and bailey Rap engineer, Hip-Hop's foundations I'll improve on them And act as a sapper to bring down the walls of Jerusalem Switching stances between Mamlukes and Templars Alternating Moon and Cross on top of the Holy Sepulchre Gritty and eye-gouging, it's not pretty and gorgeous Verbal version of the Sistine Chapel ceilings: I'm flawless Atop the destrier, commander of men-at-arms Disarms those bearing arms, and cleaves skulls with their own Scimitars 3) Stainless steel gathers heat in the scorching sun Master crafted that is graced by the sweat of the Blacksmith Outrageous feel of quality, ready once war is begun Only to be obliterated by Jay Teutonic's wrath. Swift As he wields words as weapons leads to worlds of weeping Swords and statements he uses both as sweeping Singlehanded sailing of man o' wars of legendary stature Rule of One, damn them all, no students surpa** this master Leaves all opponents stuttering and ‘buh'-babbling Kings to him are nothing, prowess of Saladin Dark voids lie in the slits of his eyes Father of this style but raise the ante and you die Warmonger of the mind, you ain't heard his ballads yet But in all truth, he's a rhymer and a simple man o' Gwent Teutonic Disclaimer, shouldn't take heaven lightly This is my order, and the year is 1190