But there are no palm trees on the street
No palm trees on the street and dishwater gives back no images
According to some stories I am asleep in an underground tomb waiting to resume
The scientists is still unsure exactly how I will bring about doom They know that all it takes is a microphone
Torn like the poor old bones of MCs I scattered throughout the centuries
There is no Life Alert to save you and your Hip Hop fall injury
You'd have to be crazy to mess with the tarantula
Try to get me nope, I turn into smoke and go under the door like Dracula
The werewolf coyote, raining forest, roaming in his mouth is half a dove
Hate on display like burning an eleven feet cross in the day
You wanna rhyme, but that's enough in this powerful action packed struggle
It hurts, I burst your large floating bubble
At night, throw dirt in your face with a shovel
A native blast an aggro crag, bombard and bury your crew
In a shocking deluge of rocks and rubble
Watch soon, late night, the Holocaust cartoon
Plot leave you shocked after a loud noise
They don't want you to know my dark void
See, I escaped the mic like the explosion at the end of Predator
And we sleep upside down in the cave, the Lost Boys
But there are no palm trees on the street
No palm trees on the street and dishwater gives back no images
Some people are morbidly afraid of being buried alive
A rap Babe Ruth terrorize pitchers in his time
I carry you wide through the river, get the picture?
I'm the pain giver, Hitler with a scripture
I leave you lost like back in the middle ages, dark Paris diet winner
The flu virus can live on a substance for up to two days
Your sudden death with my tomb blades, my sound crash on rocks like blue waves
You're trapped in a large wooden house on the hill
In a total world of vampires, until the end still
You've been fighting in one, for months
With from in the inside, to windows bordered up
In the day, they go away, but at night, they're all over
One you know, yelling out your name at night colder
They want you to come out, so they can haunt you with a bout
You try to fight them with constructive weapons and bless them
Though at night, they're finding new ways epic
To send you soon a death message, the house is encrypted
They wanna teach you a lesson, a bloodthirsty unrested method
And when you creep out of the boarded up windows
They are vampire women who show leg with their dresses
But there are no palm trees on the street
No palm trees on the street and dishwater gives back no images
Strike anywhere it matches, in hip hop, the God of War, you better practice
Like the apache indian on the ridge, you fought for a hundred years with axes
And hatchets, bionic six, lyrical acrobatics, it's tragic
You hide away like a kid behind the cactus
I fell in love, with a woman who dance at night with black magic
When a crocodile attacks, it's almost never predictable
My lyrics, are the spirts of mythical serial killers turned physical