in Jesus Christ but not in evolution for my family and country I would go to war to serve and protect us from the evil that infects us to the core, that
corpse what lie in the ditch Is eaten by the maggots, I'm sorry for him Red eyesockets on this man Gush enzymes from core of brain Soggy insides are
Your rotten gore is still pulsating All core of body is polluted All your glands are vomiting with pus All your insides are still pulsating Stomach, rectum
Infected by invalid behavior While capturing the stench of divine putrefaction Confess to slavery for the world savior Give praise and inhale the corruption
Stand our ground stronger than ever before Hate creates destruction Greed wants to posses Virus, mass infection Force wants to oppress Who's the core
'Cause, this is the creed that brings effect That of which of mankind's besieged By our plans devised infect Kings and empires rise and fall By the Rose
Question everything you know about life Question nature's intent for reprisal Question it's plea for survival Hear the screams coming from the core of
sleep you keep your mouth closed, cause yo they might crawl up inside it Uninvited, from out the Earth's core Bugs are the only species that'll probably
Confessor Of the tragedies in man Lurking in the core of us all The last dying call for the ever lost Brief encounters, bleeding pain Lepers coiled beneath
zone my thoughts explode with rap shranel syntax; That'll wax to the past, and present the future of Ras Kass lies in the skull Like the coronal suture So I write truly fat shit for the core
Something is broken, broken to the core. Infection is growing, pulled until it's tore. Should I call the Dr.--probably ought to. What's he gonna
Eloise, you took the world from me So beautiful, the ugliness within you Last of three, baby of the family Spoiled to bits and rotten to the shining core
your jaw Dice Raw Get up on the mic My young poor I be the nigga blowin' up the spot on tour Surely real to the core, old school Like eighty-four, I
jaw Dice Raw, get up on the mic, my young poor I be the nigga blowin up the spot on tour Surely real to the core, old school like eighty-four I never
guns so heavealy I'm stacking up artillary Into your wounds no remedy This one's for those fake ass wanna be rappers tryna be hard-core Passing through
Eloise You took the world from me So beautiful the ugliness within you Last of three, baby of the family Spoiled to bits and rotten to the shining core
Confessor Of the tragedies in man Lurking in the core of us all The last dying call for the everlost Brief encounters, bleeding pain Lepers coiled