"Immaculate Son" is the 2nd single off of my debut mixtape Birth of Tragedy. This is my signature horrorcore style hope you guys can't sleep tonight because this shit is still banging in your head.
Child Voice: 1, 2 Rampage comin' for you....
3, 4 better lock your door (x2)
Rampage The Misfit:
Sick since birth I’m livin like a miscarriage.
An unfixed infant who itchin to split like a shit marriage.
Contact full on— you act passive aggressive
You in the presence of Allah
Wipe my palms after I smite ya jaw
With the same hand that write these songs.
Money talks you can’t interpret the script I translate it
I close ur casket with the captions to u it’s a foreign language.
Birth of tragedy, a calamity of my definition
I body 16’s somebody bring the mortician.
I spit at the critic that say I need more bangas
Do me a favor stab yourself wit a wire hanga
I raise hell while fans raisin they hands
Take it back to wen MC’s rocked rhymes not tight pants.
I keep dwellin in the past thinking the future look horribly morbid
Cuz these cats can't catch my verses let alone the chorus
They tryna put me in they small frame like a fuckin family portrait.
But that would be a tight fit like a fat bitch in a corset.
You don’t’ wanna suffer trauma under the suicide bomba
Leave u bleedin internally
Open u up like a nervous teen in surgery.
I’ll let the wound heal then come back the next week
Then put this in your larynx so I’m all that you speak.
And when I say you weak I mean u can’t compete wit wet cardboard
But I’ll have your wife leakin in the back of a Honda accord.
Pull out a camcorder I prefer hardcore
Bad manners, jackhammer shit slam her car door
Plaster the massive dick in her armour
Then I flip the script like we in parkour.
Cuz this game is gymnastics—
This is just trainin and practice
Came from nothing but a blank canvas
Put all I had into crafting it—
Mixed it and mastered it
Took my broken pieces and made masterpiece.
Meet the misfit bag full of tricks and riddalin
Hypochondriac so I spit sick and leave no witnesses
Deranged in the brain it’s a gift and curse
My shit bang, like the big bang cross the universe
Call me a lost kid sold my soul in a auction
Fuckin up shit and blunt hits my primary function
But i no longer hide behind a disguise
Planning my demise while puffin lye
right after I make these fuckin worlds collide.
It's the first track in and I’m blessin it
A force to be reckoned wit,
I’m the worst mothafucka to be mentionin.
A depressed teen 18 wit all these expectations
Who's mentally sick,
Neva givin a shit I’m aggravated,
I used to take the hits now I lash out all my hatred
And if u ain’t feelin that I give myself a handm—masturbation.
So ask me where my heart is,
The answer’s that I’m heartless,
I'm tired of fallin in this darkness wit no signs or options
I live lawless the product of a failed abortion
I’ll stab u wit a swordfish for spittin garbage
You not hard u claim u poppin but really makin pop hits
I leave u bleedin in the spirit of rapper season.
God never answered my prayers so I made friends wit demons.
I’m sick of loadin ammunition into these compositions
So all you nitwits who hatin my favorite game Russian roulette
I got two techs down ya neck to blow out ya last breath.
Give you the present of death and leave u past tense.
released 20 March 2013
Produced by Ahmato Beatz. Recorded by Mammyth. Mixed by Adam Berger.
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