| Slaytanic cannibal rituals, welcome to the jungle holocaust
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| Chop you to pieces beyond modern laws
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| You and your friends with the yellow hairs
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| We don’t understand the weird language you speak, but we can tell you’re scared
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| And rightfully so; |
| the nerve, how dare you spitefully roam our turf
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| Western man; |
| entitled bullies of earth
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| The world is yours? |
| There’s five of you, but hundreds of us
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| And here you stand, empty handed
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| Besides a duffel of guns, hand 'em over
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| We don’t use these in the jungle
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| They’re for false gods and wannabe conquerors
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| We seen your kind before, funny beige hats and mustaches
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| Pop said never trust a savage with a satellite and hundreds of cameras
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| I put a apple in they mouth and roast 'em
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| I like to toast 'em with a marshmallow stuffed up they asshole
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| And hopefully amongst their bitches there’s a virgin for the sacrifice
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| Cannibal voodoo leave you murdered in the afterlife
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| Dance with umfufu, dinner served lit by candlelight
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| Kill, eat, fuck, is the law; |
| no murder charge
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| You and your squad turned to burgers and kebabs
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| Cook you impaled on the sharpest of knives
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| The length of my speer’s like a machete got stuck up your arse
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| Still half alive, staring up at the stars
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| My favorite medium rare, center cut is the bomb |