Let me take the mic like it’s sacrament, Veins full of brimstone, mouth full of testament. Ain’t no choir, just echoes and a trembling pew This ain’t Heaven, baby. It’s a rendezvous. See, He made us animals, then shamed the claws. Gave us desire, then dropped a book of laws. Told us: LOOK, but don’t touch. TOUCH, but don’t taste. TASTE, but don’t swallow. Ha! What kinda God hollow? He up in the sky, got jokes, Laughin' while the faithful choke. A sadist landlord, never showed, Put the rent in flesh, then hit the road. LOOK but don’t touch. TOUCH but don’t taste. TASTE but don’t swallow. I see the trick. I dodge the follow. Me? I feast. I don’t repent, I release. I breathe in the sin like it’s holy incense, Savor every vice He fenced. You want faith? I got flame. I burn the scroll, I flip the frame. I’m not man-made in Eden’s name, I’m self-forged, baptized in blame. Better to reign in heat than kneel in shine, I ain't your cherub, ain't your sign. I toast to man—our flawed design. And when the curtain fall, I say it fine: He gave the game. I made it mine. LOOK TOUCH TASTE Swallow the truth. It ain’t divine.
