Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Son of the Morning , by - SA-ROC. Song from the album Babylon, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 11.11.2013
Record label: Sol Messiah
Song language: English
Son of the Morning |
| The First Mother’s in the building |
| Got the Moorish Warlords behind me |
| Katana swords on deck |
| Iron sharpen iron |
| Ladies and gentlemen, now for my darkest hour |
| Devour the dopest rappers and roast their remains in the fire |
| Cannibalizing rhymes with sharpened canines and talons |
| Yeah I’m supposed to be vegan but catching prey is too easy |
| When every MC’s exposed like a flesh wound with some fresh bleeding and |
| I’m after souls like exorcist versus demon |
| I am only god body trying to civilize the heathen |
| Busting quadratic formulas when words do not appease me |
| I’m resuscitating suffocating verbage from your species |
| Take this beating then retreat back to the booth and try and redeem |
| Your entire catalog in twenty bars so far I’m leading |
| I’m your whole world your old Earth y’all are just my seedling |
| My verse is from your universe and personal religion |
| So bow down with five rounds of «Our Father"s, «Hail Mary"s |
| Then confess your sins or spit holy water, heal lyrics |
| Like weak lines, cliches, bad puns, and spell errors |
| I’m the rap heiress and all my shit got clearance |
| Supreme math, the Twelve Jewels, and all my shit from Clarence |
| Toe-to-toe I do-si-do you weak MCs |
| Like I’m the seed of storyboard p and we gon' see |
| Who be with no ID inside the VIP after these |
| I massacre beats with African heat 120 degrees |
| Quiet on the set, I’m in beast mode, which one of you breathed? |
| I’m starseed, half human, all amazing |
| Atomic bomb and watch the fall out of faulty campaigning |
| The price of your soul is marketed, bought for the highest payment |
| I do it 'cause im ordained to, you do it so you’ll be famous |
| Came in and f’ed the game up, now wiki me, look my name up |
| Just picture me without victory, hit me after epiphany |
| I’ll wait, like Elijah without the nation, Toussaint without the haitians |
| Sa-Roc without the win is like pyramid without the apex |
| Dopest vocalist with fallopians, ovaries |
| Held you sons in my uterus, I’m the reason you doing this |
| Strengthened your lyrical chords with my umbilical cord |
| Created you and now you don’t hail the lyrical god? |
| I’ll enter your heart and sever your ventricle cords |
| Watch you bleed as I proceed to destroy your integral parts |
| And then you’ll fall to your knees and plead for reprieve |
| But I cannot leave until the mic is redeemed an extension of me |
| Like spinal columns holding up nerve endings |
| The brain of the game like mensa you mentally sleeping |
| I’ll take you so deep in the black hole where light bend |
| I’ll open your pineal gland so black spews like ink pen |
| Guide you out of triple stage on the staples stage in a state of rage |
| How you claiming best when I ain’t ripped the page yet? |
| Studied under masters, you ain’t hardly came of age yet |
| Call you top dog li’l buddy I’m Anubis |
| I’ll look after your afterlife after I murder your music |
| You hard but I’m harder like crystal to diamond, like puss to a lion |
| You wish you had never spoke now they sicked me behind you |
| Now tell me who really ruling and pass me the f’ing title |
| You should’ve kept an ally, get used to your toughest rival |
| I’m Kali and chopping heads off your metaphorical bodies |
| String 'em around my neck like reminders of how I bodied these |
| One little, two little, three little gentlemen |
| Now lay down and pray now, the crown goes to the feminine |