Dorm doors creak, the gore pours, floorboards weak, Warped swords speak while the corpse horde reeks, Of formaldehyde, scalp slide, with war torn freaks. I stomp dorm heads with a torn limb rhythm, Y’all swarm with gimmicks, I spawn grim visions, Throat rip stanzas, Adams’s Apple missin’. Vomit in vats where the pledges pledge fear, Fetchin’ dead freshmen wizards, stretchin’ flesh weird, I dissect sets with a wrench near your left ear. Brains on my boots, little creepers hissin’, Sleepin’ in meat juice, fetal demons twistin’, I beat three bitches with diseased precision. They ain’t killers, just couch bound pretenders, Outfit filters, cloud clout-centered, Shoutin’ but cowardly, pouch-mouth benders. I grip the blade, then flip six heads, Kick through frames with a sick, slick tread, I spit thick threads like Radaghost kids bled. Slug slipped in with a grin and a drillbit, Skin lit crimson, the limbs twist like film script, Ripped through sins on a whim and a kill list. Laughin’ at the exterminator that was gaspin’ loud, Trashbag crown and a mask made of ash clouds, I bash backs down till the dash lights blackout. Reduced to pulp then fry ‘em up into hash browns. This that creeper crawl, seizure brawl, preacher fall, Feast on the weak with a cleaver haul, I beat ‘til they leak in the theater hall. Swing at the geeks with a gut bound sickle, Spit round riddles in a bloodhound temple, Every dumb loud pixel gets plucked down simple. No name lords in they cosplay lanes, Hot take fangs but they lost eight games, Talk brave things while they rot mid frame. Creeps try to mimic but they miss the pitch, Scripts all timid, still piss they britches, I spin barbs wicked like wrist snap switches. Midnight blendin’ with the graveyard crawl, I play card brawls, no safe guard walls, The chainsaw talks when your brave heart stalls. Hands all twitchin’ from the slugborne sermon, Love lost vermin, blood-soaked curtains, I club soft Paulsys with a cut throat version. I spit tombs and, doom-brand too manic, Shoe-stamp panic in a true vamp planet, With a rude hand tactic with a few damned addicts. Click clack bang on your stitched back pride, Lips cracked dry from the pitch-black ride, I twist that cry with a six-pack slide. Horror in my aura, I’m a dorm floor menace, Four score sentence, make a corpse born apprentice, Turn torch-wieldin’ wannabe rappers into morgue core dentists. Scrubs in my threads tryna cosplay villain, But the jaw stay spillin’, and the crossfade’s chillin’, They lost weight quick when my crawlspace fillin’. Your bones too brittle, your lungs too mild, I run through your weak ass styles and leave you in dust by millions of miles, With a gun fume smile leave your bones in a pile. Gas can sermons in the night school chapel, Write through shackles, tight ruled battles, Bite two apples then ignite fool’s shackles. This ain’t rap, it’s a post mortem phantom, Ghost formed anthem with a scorpion swarm tantrum, Coast swarms catchin’ that goat-horned ransom. Bitch I’m lurkin’ in the sleepwalk zone, Meat talk tones over beatbox bones, Weak rap clones get their kneecaps blown. You ain’t eerie, you suburban with a selfie lens, Curvy pen, nervy men, pervy trends, Talkin’ ‘bout fear but ain’t heard of the serpent den. I burn through stage lights, purge youth pay types, Turn two gay guys into curb soup date night, Then burst through grapevines in a dirtshoe brake line. Basement bred, I’m the plague writ painter, Shave ribs clean with a chain dripped saber, Snakeskin face with a gravepit nature. Eight limb thrasher with a brainstem bonfire, Pauly Pocket strangler, spike his brain and watch it drain like a slashed tire. I aim bent wires at these name tag liars. Twitchin’ on the floor when the nighttalk starts, White chalk art in the bite mark arc, I spike heart parts with a bright spark in the dark. Knives in the back of a failed rap bastard, Mailed back laughter from a rail track slasher, I flail raps faster than a 900 year old Jedi master. Glass in your feet from the dorm room crawl, Sword wound brawl in a torch tomb hall, I morph goon squads into pork swooned dolls. Your whole crew’s built from a thrift rack template, Liptrack desperate with a wrist slap sentence, Missed that death trip, your gift wraps helpless. Back from the morgue with a tone noxious, Phone box prophets all clone box cautious, Get dome locked, vomit from a bone saw’s promise. They all look shocked when the slugheads chirp, Blood red dirt on they drugbed shirts, I rub dread first where the dumb heads bursts. Y’all not heavy, just prop fed tourists, Talk fed purists in a mothfed chorus, I stomp dead florists with a crossbred furnace. Hiss in the vents while the girls scream “Jesus!” Pearl spleen pieces in a curled fiendish thesis, I hurl mutant leeches with Mob Psycho telekinesis. This is deathpunk rap, not a cosplay page, You were bottlefed bars in a hallway cage, Now I lob dread psalms at your Allstate stage.
