Say I Was Sline

That was just fucking me up

Come on now, you know my motherfucking name

Slaine

Yeah, nobody in this motherfucking city can touch me

Nobody in this motherfucking country can touch me

Nobody in this motherfucking earth can touch me

Yeah, lyrical murder. Come on

You pushed my buttons so here comes (slaine) the nuclear man

I’m wolf in sheep’s clothing, a shepherd with lucifer’s lambs

You’re too stupid to stand under

Understand the pieces of a mad puzzle with ice in his eyes

Heat in his hands, gears turning like clockwork

In my head counting each breath

Death’s a complex girl, how can I not flirt?

Life’s a bitch though death still hasn’t took me yet

But I’m talking with her and I think I got her pussy wet

As long as I’m alive I’ll personify a lust for life

Agony and anger, danger every time I touch the mic

I muster might to fight, swinging bats and busting pipes

Broken glass, fallen angels holding dope in open bags

This whole culture’s bad, I am just a product of it

How can you hate on me, homie? You know you gotta love it

From dorchester to mission, southie to rottendale

People listen to me and they love the oxycontin tales

Tell me, what’s my name, mommy? (slaine)

How will the game find me?

One day laying in the rain with all the pain behind me

They say you manifest the words that you speak

Then it becomes real so until I’m murdered, deceased

I’mma spit fire at you and curse from a throat

On the edge of bursting with every verse that I wrote

I tempted the fates, created the drugs

They say I’m insane so when they ask you who I was

Just say I was slaine

I’m the motherfucking rage of the renegade

The face the enemy, the temper of an alcoholic wasted on hennessy

They eyes of a barking dog, the soldier at war

I’m the white man, the devil man, I told you before

The promoter of gore, horror that’s sold in the store

Got a God-given rhythm, kid, I know what it’s for

It’s for pissing off the system while I’m holding my balls

But this is just another rhyme that I wrote on my walls

I lived the life that I depicted, that of the trife and wicked

The graphic, gruesome, and grisly, the shiesty, icy, and vicious

Drug addicted inflicted with remnants of social law

Born in my scorn spread through the phlegm in my vocal cords

My mornings are torn, visions of dawn colliding with night

My soul at odds with itself, too divided to fight

I wave a gun at the government with the flag in my face

Point a pistol at the president, the faggot’s erased