THE ARRIVAL (INTRO)
The Prophet (Nedla)
The Gods of Rap, angered, have had enough of all the so called rappers, talking only about fake bullshit such as swag, stacks and their dicks. They couldn't stand this: Rap, Their Creation, has been desecrated. Disgusted and enraged by what it's become, what they've made of it, these ignorant, illiterate, fake motherfuckers, They had to take action. By combining lightning, fire, ice and Hennessy, They've created the Holy Emissary, a soul so great it needed two vessels, two flows, that strikes twice as hard, in order to restore Rap, to its former glory...
Verse 1 (Turbulence)
The Gods of Rap kind of hate this situation,
You see they kind of lost their patience
Cause wackness sweeping the nation
So the game needs maintenance
Send forth their ancient agents
Able to kick in some changes
Lightning strikes as the sky gets split
Heads tilt, a dirk fire is lit
Out of it they come and they cloaked in flames
Untamed and they ready to straight choke the game
Be very wary cause here comes the emissary
Kinda scary how we paint the earth the color of dark cherries
The arbiters, no bargains sir, we're death's own harbinger
Our speed a blur, and verbally massacre any poser curs
And curse the sorry state of hip hop's current fate
No debate we're here to penetrate and regulate,
Shut down the youth's candidates, then celebrate and as we elevate
You try to contemplate, if we came from hell's fiery gates
More like forged in the, Gerila smithy
Words cut sharper than broadswords we about to get-get-get gritty
Our backlash, equivalent to backslash, take your back and I back slam
This is something that no rapper on this earth can parry
Bar your fortress gates and scream your prayers like "Hail Marry!"
Careers cut short fear The Arrival of Emissaries, what?
And as the Holy Emissary walks out of the fire, the thundering sky shows the divine approval of the Gods. Rap is about to be shaken. This world isn't ready for The Arrival of The Emissary...
Verse 2 (Skinny Ace)
Yeah bitch, fear The Arrival
Cause the Rap Gods sent me, I don't need a rifle
I don't need a bible, with you as my rival
All I need's my right arm for shit to get spinal
To get your neck twisted, in a fucking spiral,
I write my own shit, fuck a ghost writer
I ride my own cars, fuck a private driver
I'm fuckin' productive, you're just being idle
I don't have a hero, thunder is my idol
I fight for the holy, my quest is vital
To take you bitches out, and send you to the primal
Nine circles of hell, you mothafuckin' liar!
You about as made up, as Halloween and Michael
So I came with the spirits, to bring back the title,
Battle commences, the music gets tribal,
My voice is the final, thing in your recital;
Here starts the great quest. The journey to the Holy Temple of Rap. The mission to kill the fakeness, and rid this divine music of the bullshit. Godspeed to you noble man, and may the spirits be with you.
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