Block Island Sound - Locksmith, WILDCARD, Apathy

The forecast for block island sound

Small craft advisory in effect from 2AM Tuesday through Wednesday afternoon

For tonight, south winds, 10−15 knots with gusts up to 20 knots

Seas 3−5 feet

A chance of showers and thunderstorms, visibility 1 nautical mile or less,

increasing to 1−3 nautical miles after midnight

Rock over the beat, rock over the drum

Better look out God, here the Devil come

Spit 'til your cerebellum is numb

Blow speakers with the force of an elephant gun

I’m Attila the Hun, I’m as ill as they come

9 mm filler, still a killer that stun

Like electrical voltage, grip deadly as Vulcans

From the depths of the dungeon the dragon’s awoken

Run for water while your village is smoking

Bring any competitor and I bet they get broken

Laying on the ground with their head split open

A notion to plasma get blasted approaching

The master of roasting, you rappers are joking

You better have a cheat code, a magical potion

Tracks I’m composing get acid erosion

You acts like you’re frozen

And fractured and broken and cracked and corroding

You’re wack, you’re a rodent

Ap is like Odin, in fact I’m the omen

Motor-boating boobs while the booze overflowing

Suckers overdosing your soul is left floating

With a handsome price

I’m the hands of Christ

I’m the smell of deceit that is Samson’s wife

I’m the serpent in the bush

With the sermon that was pushed

Barefooted Jericho tryna dance the pipe

I’m the bright side of genocide

And gin aside, every sinner side

See you with your henna side

I don’t sympathize

To one of you sin aside

Put a synth in the sinner essentially in his pride

Pin clinching intention is in tention

Incision any rapper you then mention

Innocent victims they been lynching

Fuck it, we all muppets this system is Jim Henson

A real hassle shit that they will ask you

Women are still bashful

Hit you and then pass you

Stay clear, I catch you in cape fear

Max Cady under your jeep gripping under your wheel axle

Still maxing three bitches, Bill Paxton

Peel caps and put his ass in a steel capsule

Black suit but I’m still casual

Play trumpets over your grave bitch

I’m the real Satchmo

Is that so?

I’ve sort of been living my life as DiMaggio or Castro

I’d rather be dead than be put in a black hole

You lack flow, you ingest what’s sold

There’s more gas in your lungs than your chest can hold

I’m here to vocalize and open wide

Invoking my emotion like a poet type

Your throat is sliced and closing like a cobra strike

Immobilizin' poser types who lie and say they’re dope, they’re not

Put metal in they mouth like I’m tryna fix their overbite

I know I’m nice, the flows I write

Are so divine and no one’s quite as dope as I am

Throwin' knives, I’m ghostly white

And glow at night and cold as ice

With hoes are like your trophy wife who choke on pipe

And swallow all my children like the TV up in Poltergeist

I’m dope as spider foes that bite

You know the types that no one likes

I roll with types with motorbikes that dump your body oceanside

And overnight I soak my knife, you know I’m not just flowing

I’m the plague motherfucker, when I rap you see the locust fly

I pulverize 'em, trap ‘em in the witch’s craft

And plus the mystic black candles that are drippin' wax

My ex-girl got married, I ain’t pissed or mad

Wonder if she told her new man she licked my ass

Anyway, I got problems and my issues are frightening

Spit vicious for a living and rhythm’s enticing

Do I want a blowjob?

These bitches are psychic

And they keep giving head like they’re victims of ISIS

Wild Card