Myths Of The Occult
Many among them, shrouded in myths
Many among them, shrouded in myths
Many among them, shrouded in myths
Many among them, shrouded in myths
Many among them, shrouded in myths
Many among them, shrouded in myths
Water flows around 'em, prob'ly drownin' in the pool of
Blood from your own body, 'til your life is used up
Ankle holster with the tiny Ruger and the LCP II
Thorough was the length of my prison sentence
Pissin' on the wall, I see Sosa
From the Karakoram Mountains of Pakistan with no emotion
Golden sculpture of Almighty Japreme Magnetic
Pumped the pump, shot the gun, left you beheaded
Credit soul protectionism and righteousness
Immortal birth of the five percent
Last chip of the spliff of the cannabis is colorful, orange
The python was playin' the organ
2008 they had a warrant for my arrest
Stalkin' with Chester, I invest
Checkin' the callout sheet, callouts are mandatory
Parents lyin' to they children with Santa stories
Going back to the essence is not a bad thing
Be it them fewer thorns of a sad king
Walked into the forest, sat next to an oak
Rolled up a J, then he took a dry toke
Focused on the tip, from his brain came a flame
As he took a pull, black birds called his name
The king looked up at the branch
Then the flock of crows said peace to the god
Many among them, shrouded in myths
Many among them, shrouded in myths
Many among them, shrouded in myths
Many among them, shrouded in myths
Many among them, shrouded in myths
Water flows around 'em, prob'ly drownin' in the pool of
Blood from your own body, 'til your life is used up
Ankle holster with the tiny Ruger and the LCP II
Thorough was the length of my prison sentence
Pissin' on the wall, I see Sosa
From the Karakoram Mountains of Pakistan with no emotion
Golden sculpture of Almighty Japreme Magnetic
Pumped the pump, shot the gun, left you beheaded
Credit soul protectionism and righteousness
Immortal birth of the five percent
Last chip of the spliff of the cannabis is colorful, orange
The python was playin' the organ
2008 they had a warrant for my arrest
Stalkin' with Chester, I invest
Checkin' the callout sheet, callouts are mandatory
Parents lyin' to they children with Santa stories
Going back to the essence is not a bad thing
Be it them fewer thorns of a sad king
Walked into the forest, sat next to an oak
Rolled up a J, then he took a dry toke
Focused on the tip, from his brain came a flame
As he took a pull, black birds called his name
The king looked up at the branch
Then the flock of crows said peace to the god
Credits
Writer(s): Ishmael Butler
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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