Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song End of Days , by - Vakill. Song from the album The Darkest Cloud Instrumentals, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 21.11.2011
Record label: Molemen
Song language: English
End of Days |
| My rap defy injury |
| I set the standard of nice so high |
| Once I’m in heaven, 143,000 gettin denied entry |
| Canopy candidly, Vakill single handedly amputated hip hop from humanity |
| Til every emcees a stan fan of me |
| Let the world catch sleep and it’s curtains for the canopy |
| Everytime light bulbs pop over my head |
| The roaches running across the dark walls of my sanity so |
| You stuck with two options |
| You can swallow your pride and hand me dap or watch your family clap |
| Competitions like parking spots, good one’s hard to find |
| Everything else is handicapped homey |
| He vice versa, I’m a nice verser |
| They only good for one nice line in every verse they invent |
| Lava ran through my saliva glands |
| With the sole purpose of turning every hood to ash like the first day of lent |
| The earth comatose last time the king viewed it |
| Bring units when mandible sling fluid |
| Y’all can’t be serious |
| Vakill’s like columbians sittin in a circle |
| My name has a dope ring to it |
| My range one step toward tomorrow |
| A new world order model of flowers |
| Spit harder than a boxer with piss in his water bottle |
| The second coming with a sperm count so high |
| Girls gotta chew before they swallow |
| Hook 2x |
| The end of the beginning is kill |
| Dominion is mine, the world don’t stop spinning until |
| Who should oppose, I’m bendin' his will |
| Put ten in his grill, it’s not a game, the ending is real |
| Tell emcees I should have been blazed by now |
| Talkin' that front page murder |
| You couldn’t make headlines with raised eyebrows |
| 'Traditional hip hop is beatin' a dead horse' |
| One mark posted on the internet |
| Check your bed for his head when I send a threat |
| Cause hell hath no fury strict as mine |
| Got disillusioned statements a hypocrisy of the sickest kind |
| It’s like, sign makers on strike |
| While holdin' them shits up in picket lines |
| Not everything that’s abstract is comin' from out the woodwork of skill |
| Or the circus skill |
| The underground circuits a circus field with bodies I’mma leave hangin from |
| trees |
| Like blair witch stick figures in Burkettsville |
| I’m above niggas with divinity, I spit the trinity |
| So you up against trio odds and losin' ain’t in god or Miss Cleo cards |
| The sickest emcees is beneath me |
| Snappin' under my nuts like leotards |
| I’m vy hyphen violentist, pantomime and a violinist |
| With straight razors at your trachea |
| Half postal worker, half terrorist anthrax biochemist |
| I’m the sickest pushin the envelope please |
| Born nice, I’m Dionysus, dyin' nicest like |
| I keep a hand full of ass and a wine cooler |
| Most quotable line ruler in a class by myself |
| Like a bitched up tutor hidin from Columbine shooters |
| Hook 4x |