I'm seein' shadows, and the darkness surrounds me
My final breath, my death, a starless reality
All alone, in the unknown, my death awaits me
I grip my tone, m y microphone, the shit that made me
Now I'm gone and they be bringing' out the white sheet
Shot, and killed, and bleedin' out on the concrete
The curtain's drawn. It won't be long 'fore the wannabes
To say they knew me, but the bitches were no friends to me
I see the light, I hear the tone of the fuckin' bell
But it's alright, it's the night I return to Hell
I lay my tone at the throne of the eternal lord
This shit is sown, on my own I join the infernal horde
You can't constrain my evil reign in the hereafter
The Devil's rain, I bring the pain, and serve the master
For all my crimes I do the time, they are my captors
I see the signs, I hear the Devil's laughter
Now you see me on a mural or a tacky fuckin' shirt
With "Rest In Peace, Queen" written in out in fuckin' cursive
Some of y'all stupid bitches saying I deserved this
While lying' snitches cry, screamin' "WHY?" at the service
All you hoes don't even know.Y'all should be fuckin' nervous
The casket's closed, and put below, but my soul will resurface
Now as a ghost I continue to haunt you
A formless shape in a cape, you do not want to
See me dead, at your bed, I'm here to taunt you
Your mouth agape, you can't escape the fate that daunts you
I got ana that transcends the fuckin' tomb
Breaks through the veil, beyond the pale to seal your fuckin' doom
Possess your soul, you can't control, I do you up like Amityvill, I will
I make you kill your stupid fuckin' family.
Now I'm a memory. How will I be remembered?
For the rhymes and crimes, the haters I dismembered
What will the record say about the Lady Ehepr?
That bitch, she didn't play, a gangsta pecker-wrecker
A down-ass player from the clique
Who lived, and laughed, and chopped off dicks
And all the same, she killed the game
The Hall of Fame won't list her name
Even though the bitch is done, she's in the hearts of little ones
Who still believe in packin' guns, and sellin' cocaine by the tons
This is my death, my final scene
My final breath, my guillotine
Vanish into history.
No more drinkin' fuckin' lean
No more makin' haters wet
No more fuckin' up your set
Ballers pouring' out Möet
Though I'm dead, there's no regret
Ain't no need to fuckin' cry
I was born to fuckin' die
All the haters satisfied
Now it's time to say goodbye
Close the lid and walk away
So you live another day
There is nothing else to say
'Cept you bitches gonna pay.
supported by 18 fans who also own “Da End (Call from the Grave Megamix)”
De l'importance du titre ou Comment une juxtaposition de mots savamment choisis permettra à l'auditeur attentif de repérer chez Old Nick une transition vers un cadre spatio-temporel plus proche de l'ère victorienne gothique, confirmée par les clavecins et cuivres au synthé, mais aussi de parodier le contexte susmentionné, parodie amplifiée par un raw black metal chaotique : un essai au sujet de T.N.O.T.A.A.T.P.B.T.Q.A.S.F.A.B.O.O.T.D.O.S.S.T.T.E.V.H.S mené par Sir Jordan Vauvert en l'an 2024. Jordan Vauvert
Having shacked up with Del and MF Doom, production powerhouse Parallel Thought now collabs with streetwise MC Bentley. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 5, 2016
supported by 16 fans who also own “Da End (Call from the Grave Megamix)”
Je ne sais pas exactement comment traduire le titre Flying Ointment. Ma première hypothèse, c'est "Pommade qui donne la faculté de voler" et elle fait sens parce que le synthé a un rôle plus important ici et, malgré quelques phases cauchemardesques, les ambiances sont mystiques et libératrices. Mais, sachant que Old Nick prend un malin plaisir à rendre ce remède inaccessible, caché derrière un raw black metal technique (practitioner arrache tout !), il s'agit peut-être d'une "Pommade volante"... Jordan Vauvert