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pure hell - the etherealist lyrics

[intro: the bad seed]

[verse: the etherealist]
it’s ether and i’m the answer; my flow is a f-cking cancer
my fantasy is to see my anger flatten gangstas faster
and hammer an exotic dancer on my c-ck til i c-ck
and shatter her and splatter her over you blasted b-st-rds for banter
transform like banner, turn cars to projectiles
civilian stampede; bodies crushed and mangled in turnstiles
rappers get hurled miles when i’m battle rapping
we all be gat strapping; b-tch if you attack, we finna snap to action
violent reaction when this mic in my palm
only time i f-ck with a condom on’s after it got -rs-nic on
i’m a god, i’m a don. i’m a sp-wn of satan’s true form
i’ll never conform, just sit and jack my d-ck to snuff p-rn
this beat is f-cking sick but my mind-state is sicker; bind your sister
stick her with a shiv with syphilis and see her skin blister
then take a p-ss on her, leave her dying in her own miasma
then come back for the cadaver with a camera and a bag of v–gr-
i’m the hidden danger: i’m predator x, b-tch
oviraptor’s in this mother-f-cker; i’m taking your f-cking eggs, b-tch
neck st-tched; catch you with a quick slash to the wrist
leave you bleeding; tagged badly like datpiff
i’m like a sonic f-cking boom
rappers bleeding on the floor when i leave the f-cking room
chair legs sticking out of they -ssh0l-s; i blast hoes
sw-nging a f-cking bag a stones; i’m a crack ho with an asbo
i got a mad flow: it’s literally f-cking r-t-rded
it takes over my mental and it gets me on some dark sh-t
i am lacing bank bills nationwide with cyanide
blindside a mother-f-cker: it’ll be homicide by dynamite
spit this last four-bar at you to split your skin
sick, peeling sh-t with every lyric that i hit you wit’
mother-f-ckers try to step to ether; b-tch, there’s no equivalent
i’ll f-ck you in your sh-t just like that pig was in deliverance

[hook: jean grae, pumpkinhead & the bad seed]
yo, we spit bars of pure h-ll
broke, poor rock ice with jewels
still, don’t equal what you sell
life, we see through your crew’s tales
news flash: pay your dues; ya crew’s gas
splash, f-ck who’s live and who’s -ss
yo, we spit bars of pure h-ll
yo, we spit bars of pure h-ll

- the etherealist lyrics

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