No Image

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