The 11th song from The Style. There will be no gray areas upon my glorious appearance White wizard of lyrics, the Dark Knight of hip hop More like Tarantino than your Hitchcock Striking down with furious vengeance until your heart stops My heart throbbing with desire for purification Trial by fire; judge jury and executioner Sentence passed by my hand, pounding down like the gavel drops Celestial illumination! A rumination on extermination Of all who deny You may feel your words and lines are better than every rapper's combined And that would be true, son; except minus mine For the earthly cannot mingle with the divine Except by blood- and it's your sacrifice! Raise the knife! I found the picture by searching "mona lisa troolface" with Google image search, don't own it.
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