G.O.R. (Gods of Rap) - Natti, Deacon The Villain, Sheisty Khrist

Wolves, nigga

That’s right

Yeah

For you!

Rappers ain’t rapping ‘bout life, they got a movie feel

Fuck a rap contract give ‘em a movie deal

See I just look ‘em up and down like «will you be real?»

I’m here to shine a little light on ‘em like a movie reel

I’m sick of seeing people stuck on the same shit

This life is a bitch yo, we suck on the same tit

These rappers ain’t legit I can’t fuck with this lame shit

The truth is me and you we fucking the same chick, nigga

This ain’t rap, it’s the Shrine of the Black Madonna

In fact it’s the attack of nine black piranha

A single line separates the mind from Dhammapada

I just focus on the breath and my spine, that’s Pranayama

You keep your eye out for those who seem deranged

‘Cause some are out for blood you just can’t see the fangs

I pop in the Glock clip and let freedom ring

Even Jesus had a gang (bang!) — auf wiedersehen

Before the gods

Only one who stands before the gods

Yo, you fucking with a great deal of anger, beyond entertainment

I had my share of shootouts, holding the stainless

Couldn’t sleep, kept my ear to the streets, but I was faceless

Snake niggas put the cops onto me, just out of hatred

Had to mold my grind, expose the nod, never froze aside

The one moment will rise where altercations

Staying drunk most the time was a sign of aggravation

What was a light always a lie they started faking

So I immortalize my shine, and went for the take and the drop

Was so extreme I thought I’d die, but I made it

I was on something, blood pumping felt it all in my stomach

Flooded with hundreds, dice games, I was scrapin'

Life’s kind of dangerous it takes it turns, but it has it’s angles

Nine in the clip, one in the chamber

The God Vegas fought call to nature, broke the arms of Satan

You’d rather die for a reputation

I’m killing time in the House of David

Building the shrine from the mouse and paper

Counting dimes is my flock of ravens

All aligned in they proper places

Gabbana frames, six Glocks in they name with the diamond bracelet

I hear y’all rapping at me, I hear y’all trapping happy

Offer me tides of candy rides and booty clapping

Offer my altar your sickest Js and Gucci shades

I leave you nothing but residue and razor blades

Now take your fiction bricks and break them down to zones

This is a game of thrones played to the skull and bones

Rulers with no subjects rapping about fly shit

In the scale of my creations what’s smaller than fly shit

But y’all don’t seem to get it, or want to understand

Until a Titan is smiting with an open hand

A hair away from igniting you where you fucking stand

If my mind was an ocean you’d be a grain of sand

You the choice of the block, you the voice of the hood

But when you choose to use your voice good

You’re an abomination, I make a proclamation

You live for whips and chains then be a dominatrix