Night Of The Creeps Pt. 2 by That’s Nice

I am mold, I am rot, I am plaguehead culture,
Leg fed vultures in a bent fanged sculpture,
Your bedpan bars couldn’t tempt my mulcher.
They click, then flee when the tape starts screechin’,
Faceplate leakin’ from a hate march sequence,
I raise sharp demons from the graveyard precinct.
Who’s next up? I don’t battle these parodies,
Spat out allergies, flat route fallacies,
Mad cow calorie bars lack anatomy.
This ain’t cyphers, this is lifeblood scripture,
Cryblood mixture in a knife cut fissure,
Try luck, end up as a tight rug fixture.
Who want war? I carve that neck,
Starved arm stretch with a charred arm hex,
You bark, I bet, but your heart won’t flex.
Gritjaw switch to a sawblade ballet,
Crossface ballet with a raw flayed ashtray,
Coughblade handshake from the soft brained crabface.
Back from death, now I breathe in fungus,
Sleep with drumkits and eat your pundits,
Speak like monsters that dream in dungeons.
Slug eggs bust from the back of your neck,
Rats in a nest where your bitches slept,
Snatched that breath with a hatchet’s edge.
Who needs names? Let the subtext choke ‘em,
Cut vest omen and a mud flesh totem,
Crush flesh open with a blood wet slogan.
This that night of the creeps, I ain’t come for peace,
Fangs sunk deep in a dumb drumbeat,
They scream then bleed in a blood crust hung street.
Spit from the slugs that the brain can’t hold,
Crave that cold when the faceplate folds,
Bathe in mold while the fate chant rolls.
Tempo tilt to a redline pulse,
Flatline cult in a dead time jolt,
I end lives dull with a trenchknife waltz.
Y’all dressed up cosplay cryptids,
Softbrain bitches in a lost lake picnic,
I toss fake spitters through a frost caked district.
Lungblood coughin’, I’m the post death hunter,
Cut flesh under with a fuck left thunder,
You punk pressed bums couldn’t duct tape hunger.
I don’t need views when I bleed this raw,
Feed off flaws like a three fanged maw,
Y’all flee, I saw then I redraw law.
I spit like axe blades hacked through the basement door,
Your whole clique look like they never seen a war,
All pledgin’ allegiance to a sound that’s fake,
Like y’all rush weak raps into a corpse’s face.
Cryo sleep in your bloodstream, fuck a thaw,
I spit parasites that burrow in jawbones raw,
You droolin’ on mic stands, barely breathin’,
I write verses that twist in your gut like leeches.
You ain’t scary, you’re Larry in a tux gettin’ axed,
I’m Ray Cameron with a flask and a twelve gauge blast,
Flippin’ nightsticks into nightclubs, split your mask,
While your verses got more mold than a sealed toe tag.
You been bit possessed by the spirit of suck,
Dress like you cosplayed a hockey puck just to get slapped around and feel tough,
Your boy’s breathin’ heavy in your comments again,
But his views get skipped like intros from transgender friends.
I see y’all movin’ all fearful with a goth phase ego,
Screamin’ “I’m deep” while your rhyme book’s placebo,
Lookin’ like dorks from a Z grade sequel,
That got rejected by trauma fans for bein’ too feeble.
You the house bitch in a brain dead frat,
Tryna pledge with a flow that’s allergic to rap, 
I’m the alien virus, crept in your set to infect,
Y’all the scene before the death just heavy breath and regret.
Go ‘head and rock your old man robe and pipe,
I’ll be swingin’ crowbars at your nose till your brain gets bone spiked
With your elbows, droolin’ out clickbait stutters,
You the type of lame to watch hentai anime and beat off with butter.
Pauly look like he bleaches his ass for auditions,
Suckin’ up in everyone’s comment section beggin’ for listens,
Whole vibe irrelevant with a gelatin spine,
Who talks shit in the comments but forgets he can’t rhyme.
You been creepin’ like them slugs since your birth,
Talk tough in the mirror, but still dodge the work,
I hear you hummin’ my flows when the lights get low,
Tryna shadowbox with gods, you a half baked ghost.
Now your ego’s on shuffle jumps from wizard to frog,
One minute it’s Yoda, next a vape pen with a blog,
Keep changin’ your mask like slugs takin’ hosts,
But every version of you still smells like broke.
Final scene watch the sorority house explode,
I’m the match in your mouth and the ticks in your clothes,
This is Night of the Creeps bitch, parasitic leech leavin’ you dead and drained
You’ll rot on wax, looped in your weakest refrain 
screamin’ ‘Remember my name!’ while I shit on your grave

4367/7500

I am mold, I am rot, I am plaguehead culture, Leg fed vultures in a bent fanged sculpture, Your bedpan bars couldn’t tempt my mulcher. They click, then flee when the tape starts screechin’, Faceplate leakin’ from a hate march sequence, I raise sharp demons from the graveyard precinct. Who’s next up? I don’t battle these parodies, Spat out allergies, flat route fallacies, Mad cow calorie bars lack anatomy. This ain’t cyphers, this is lifeblood scripture, Cryblood mixture in a knife cut fissure, Try luck, end up as a tight rug fixture. Who want war? I carve that neck, Starved arm stretch with a charred arm hex, You bark, I bet, but your heart won’t flex. Gritjaw switch to a sawblade ballet, Crossface ballet with a raw flayed ashtray, Coughblade handshake from the soft brained crabface. Back from death, now I breathe in fungus, Sleep with drumkits and eat your pundits, Speak like monsters that dream in dungeons. Slug eggs bust from the back of your neck, Rats in a nest where your bitches slept, Snatched that breath with a hatchet’s edge. Who needs names? Let the subtext choke ‘em, Cut vest omen and a mud flesh totem, Crush flesh open with a blood wet slogan. This that night of the creeps, I ain’t come for peace, Fangs sunk deep in a dumb drumbeat, They scream then bleed in a blood crust hung street. Spit from the slugs that the brain can’t hold, Crave that cold when the faceplate folds, Bathe in mold while the fate chant rolls. Tempo tilt to a redline pulse, Flatline cult in a dead time jolt, I end lives dull with a trenchknife waltz. Y’all dressed up cosplay cryptids, Softbrain bitches in a lost lake picnic, I toss fake spitters through a frost caked district. Lungblood coughin’, I’m the post death hunter, Cut flesh under with a fuck left thunder, You punk pressed bums couldn’t duct tape hunger. I don’t need views when I bleed this raw, Feed off flaws like a three fanged maw, Y’all flee, I saw then I redraw law. I spit like axe blades hacked through the basement door, Your whole clique look like they never seen a war, All pledgin’ allegiance to a sound that’s fake, Like y’all rush weak raps into a corpse’s face. Cryo sleep in your bloodstream, fuck a thaw, I spit parasites that burrow in jawbones raw, You droolin’ on mic stands, barely breathin’, I write verses that twist in your gut like leeches. You ain’t scary, you’re Larry in a tux gettin’ axed, I’m Ray Cameron with a flask and a twelve gauge blast, Flippin’ nightsticks into nightclubs, split your mask, While your verses got more mold than a sealed toe tag. You been bit possessed by the spirit of suck, Dress like you cosplayed a hockey puck just to get slapped around and feel tough, Your boy’s breathin’ heavy in your comments again, But his views get skipped like intros from transgender friends. I see y’all movin’ all fearful with a goth phase ego, Screamin’ “I’m deep” while your rhyme book’s placebo, Lookin’ like dorks from a Z grade sequel, That got rejected by trauma fans for bein’ too feeble. You the house bitch in a brain dead frat, Tryna pledge with a flow that’s allergic to rap, I’m the alien virus, crept in your set to infect, Y’all the scene before the death just heavy breath and regret. Go ‘head and rock your old man robe and pipe, I’ll be swingin’ crowbars at your nose till your brain gets bone spiked With your elbows, droolin’ out clickbait stutters, You the type of lame to watch hentai anime and beat off with butter. Pauly look like he bleaches his ass for auditions, Suckin’ up in everyone’s comment section beggin’ for listens, Whole vibe irrelevant with a gelatin spine, Who talks shit in the comments but forgets he can’t rhyme. You been creepin’ like them slugs since your birth, Talk tough in the mirror, but still dodge the work, I hear you hummin’ my flows when the lights get low, Tryna shadowbox with gods, you a half baked ghost. Now your ego’s on shuffle jumps from wizard to frog, One minute it’s Yoda, next a vape pen with a blog, Keep changin’ your mask like slugs takin’ hosts, But every version of you still smells like broke. Final scene watch the sorority house explode, I’m the match in your mouth and the ticks in your clothes, This is Night of the Creeps bitch, parasitic leech leavin’ you dead and drained You’ll rot on wax, looped in your weakest refrain screamin’ ‘Remember my name!’ while I shit on your grave

0/500