The Plague Lyrics - Mad Child

In it's absent minded state 

The unconscious starts to... 

Yeah, yo 

An Illuminatic product 

Consuming klonopins 

Pass the point of vomiting 

So please pass me the Crown again 

I'm an anomaly, classification; oddity 

These paranormal lyrics summon spirits 

Like the conjuring 

Style is ominous 

High velocity esophagus 

Rap Nostradamus, the prophet of all apocalypse 

Emerging from the dirt 

Still underground but surfacing 

I'm verbally disturbing 

Leaving you nervous like a murder scene 

In fear and lonely 

Somebody pass me the Thorazine 

Before I get to cutting you open 

Like Michael- Halloween 

I'm kinda psycho with a knife 

Slice you to smithereens 

Waking up in bloody clothes 

Just hoping it was all a dream 

Perhaps insanity 

Orphan to the Manson family 

Born to cause calamity 

For the form of vocabulary 

Decapitation of my enemies and adversaries 

Lyrically, injecting Black Ink into their capillaries 

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*scratching* 

K-K-Killers a-a-and m-masochists 

T-T-The Hitchcock of Hip Hop 

Ill as Strange Musi-Music 

U-B-I, suicide-cide-cide 

Aye 

Every time I snap it's invigorating 

Cause every line I spit is as cold as a refrigerator 

These new kids, little babies in defibrillators 

Vigorous deliverance without a picture pixelated 

Passionately accurate 

And I don't rap for pacifists 

I make music for psychos, killers and masochists 

Every time I let out a verse, it's like a smashing fist 

Kids losing their mind, like it's a crashing disk 

Define challengers, mind's a nine caliber 

Future going back in time 

Like Mayan calendars 

Madchild's a lycan, terrible fang bearer 

White boy, spitting heavy metal like I'm Pantera 

My mind's smoking, blown to main fuses 

Misguided angels, down with Strange Music 

These new kids, not actually solid 

just to smash and demolish 

Photos 

Yeah 

This is that drama the lab built 

Prozak, B. Axe clan collabing now that's real 

U-B-I, celebrated I'm on but sad still 

Cause I have yet to find my Tom Murillo and Brad Wilek 

Pumping black milk like this fucking track will 

Shut em- Shut em down, Onyx, Jazzy Jeff, mad skills 

Ya'll blind and I'm reading braille 

But never seeing , see when they try to succeed they fail 

Boy I'm serving well 

Despite me, being a white geek 

Your raw shady and half sheisty I'm double hyphy 

You cry babies, I grind daily 

You struggle nightly 

I'm loving life so ladies love me I cuddle wifey 

Yo, that's tough to watch 

Until they lost one 

They never know what they got 

Not a Rob Schneider I just fuck a lot 

Bumping and grinding like the grown-ups do 

Oh you don't love this shit 

Then suppose that I don't love you, you bitch