| Born on life support, I can see my glory shining in the distance
|
| They finally rest, all my bravest and best, when I drag my immaculate flesh to
|
| the summit
|
| What more can be done? |
| Laid waste to my every rival
|
| Oh so tough when you huff the stench of survival
|
| When will all this end? |
| Just admit I am your idol
|
| Will I cease this? |
| 30 pieces? |
| Upon my revival?
|
| No fucking way
|
| Cut out our tongues and we still won’t obey
|
| Ask the betrayed
|
| If your life’s in my hand I can clench it away
|
| All will pay
|
| Course you know that routine, reputation demeaned, bought yourself some esteem
|
| Gold and green
|
| A plebeian smokescreen, as you prance and you preen, nothing’s stopping this
|
| oil-less machine
|
| Should I just fade into legend before I’m revered?
|
| I guess that’s what they want when your name invokes fear
|
| Lynch made coffin birth, I was spat into the dirt
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| Everything I’ve earned, was exactly what it’s worth
|
| My actions concur with the deafening words
|
| Expected to swallow the bullshit you serve
|
| What more can be done? |
| Laid waste to my every rival
|
| Oh so tough when you huff the stench of survival
|
| When will all this end? |
| Just admit I am your idol
|
| Will I cease this? |
| 30 pieces? |
| Upon my revival?
|
| Impending
|
| Dominance
|
| Infamous
|
| Prominence
|
| As I walk on the friends and the foes I have slain, I finally ascend to my
|
| throne
|
| Middle digit on the hand of God, the final letter in Man’s tombstone
|
| Cut out our tongues and we still won’t obey
|
| This world’s in my hand I can clench it away |