Jack Jetson - DMT lyrics

(Verse 1: Jack Jetson) I bring slaughter to hordes of humans with sick torture The angry bees, mix anti freeze with still water Galleries of encrypted pictures, in the super market, sprinkle DMT on the pic of mixes 66's, living in a risky business Twisted sickness, stock opposite of richy riches Kiss the lips of the Grim Reaper, the mark of the beast branded on the head of the gate keeper This ain't hell, blood, it's way deeper No way to play and beat the game, and no way to escape either Brov, I blaze cheeba, never slack, though I stay eager, crawl like 8-legged cave creeper Superhero cape, leap across building tops Children lost, trapped in the potency of silky crops Milky drops through the dreary fog in the smog Froze-over log flumes, fumes from the shaman god Psychoactive frog, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog Rattle for the crackle on the an*log, browse the back catalog You're level low like alcohol in Alcopops and you can get drowned in hot battery acid In an animated vessel like Jessica, its Jack the Rabbit With a sack of cabbage, smoking on a ma**ive carrot The transparent, bandwagon, sand dragon, babylon, phantasm Plasma strand, hand cannon, bang bang em', mutated rap phantom Dark room lit up by the black lantern Mind track, random, air craft crash landin' Inter dimensional war until it's last man standin' (Verse 2: Jack Jetson) Injure in the shadows, sword flinging back your arrows Grand master leaver rapper, swinging from the Gallows sh** is f**ing rago's Modern day Robin Hood, coming for your crop of bud, foot runnin' across the woods f** a box of goods, I bop with a box of tricks Box ya lips, spinnin' helicopter kicks'll block your licks On the eve of the apocalypse, I cotch with lit spliffs of that broccoli sh**, sip on a vodka mix The opposite of everyone, robotic like I'm Megatron The berry (?), the cheese (?), the chronic's very strong Pick a mix, very long spliff that I build, I flip the double L, sip my drink, triple distilled Unlimited k**s, the thought of it giving me chills Born in the city, never lived in the hills, addicted to thrills Fake name tag: Christopher Mills On a mission till what's hidden in my history spills I'm on some stealth sh**, plus I only think about myself- prick I'll f** up your health quick, choke you with a felt tip and hang you from your garden fence, smell the lager stench Half drenched, Clark Kent, sitting on the park bench Arms hench, you can get licked with the car wrench