(Hook) No ties to the outside—most links unlaced, Loyalty trimmed down tight, clean case. Water the soil, let the ground vibrate, Watch metal bloom when the snakes migrate. Listen, I been gun-minded since the bassline’s womb, Don’t act brave now—the cradle still guards the tune, The cradle still guards the tune. (Verse 1 – 32 Bars) I make storm puddles outta brass rain, Catch shells mid-air like I’m past pain. Body alloyed through a monk’s refrain, Click-track spine built to chamber flame. Soul survivor forged in oath and tone, Use lions as guards for the crown I own. Most two-face—see the mirror jam, Two triggers, one silence, that’s who I am. Lost star driftin’ off Jupiter’s map, Orbit collapse, I re-route gaps. Talk slick on wax, the recoil laugh, Every measure exact—blue-print math. This a holy weapon, verse and art, Botticelli brushstroke, chrome in heart. Soil of the loyal, steel that hums, Thread adapters on words, that’s drums. Polish the creed till reflections gleam, Scope my dreams through a laser beam. Craft this faith from dust and grind, Engrave the gospel in a firing line. Balance of monk and mechanical art, Meditation cocked in a poet’s heart. Saint with a mag that discharge peace, Halo of smoke when the thoughts release. Trigger on truth, not body or bone, Recoil a rhythm I built alone. Safety off, but the aim’s within, Every line chambered under skin. (Hook) No ties to the outside—most links unlaced, Loyalty trimmed down tight, clean case. Water the soil, let the ground vibrate, Watch metal bloom when the snakes migrate. Listen, I been gun-minded since the bassline’s womb, Don’t act brave now—the cradle still guards the tune, The cradle still guards the tune. (Verse 2 – 32 Bars) Gun addict in a soundproof loft, Blueprints stack where the verse gets tossed. Mechanical hands lift bars in sync, Stock made of wood from the poet’s ink. Cross-armed calm with the clouds on spin, Every motion sighted from deep within. I’m Eli with the last page coded, Flash so bright that the lens corroded. Feel the shells of syllables graze, Every casing drops in praise. Beat-smith who defeated twin minds blindfolded, Gripz that twist legends reloaded. Studied the west of the wheel’s return, Revolver thoughts forever churn. Lines twirl ’round my finger like scripts from sin, Foreign language, metallic grin. Sip Nordic breeze in a frozen inn, While the war of words prepare to begin. Krueger in dreams on a caffeine high, Spark near fumes—watch sparks reply. Let the automatic rhythm ring, Lifetime issues to the magazine. Still spin metal with an artist’s touch, Every groove designed too much. Safety clicks to a metronome, I compose in a copper dome. Rounds of rhyme in a vault of tone, This the Botticelli that the saints condone. (Hook) No ties to the outside—most links unlaced, Loyalty trimmed down tight, clean case. Water the soil, let the ground vibrate, Watch metal bloom when the snakes migrate. Listen, I been gun-minded since the bassline’s womb, Don’t act brave now—the cradle still guards the tune, The cradle still guards the tune. (Verse 3 – 32 Bars) Now I frame my scars like medals hung, Gallery echoes every barrel rung. Chromed-out quills spin calligraph lines, Ink ejects in ballistic rhymes. DNA etched on the trigger guard, Ancestry coded in the way I spar. I move with safeties off on grace, Every motion divine in space. Soul reload in a chambered prayer, Smoke halos float in air. Gripz the tactician—calm and clear, Architect language that engineers fear. My pen recoil but my poise don’t flinch, Precision tight to the millimetre inch. I carve my legends in a carbon tone, Firing range set through a microphone. Barrel of light, muzzle of art, Illuminate dark like a Renaissance spark. Fuse faith with the forge, I mold, Every shell a parable told. Click-clack cadence, holy drum, Beat of the heart where the lyrics come. Gripz in the booth like a saint in steel, Each verse baptised by the way I feel. Final shot’s silence, peace reload, Empty clip soul but the chamber glows. No fly, no ties, just code and chrome, This the Botticelli that found its home. (Hook – Outro) No ties to the outside—most links unlaced, Loyalty trimmed down tight, clean case. Water the soil, let the ground vibrate, Watch metal bloom when the snakes migrate. Listen, I been gun-minded since the bassline’s womb, Don’t act brave now—the cradle still guards the tune, The cradle still guards the tune.
