SA-ROC: “Marduk” Produced by: Sol Messiah

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Lyrics: Not many men have left my circle and survived. sliced em up with a few bars and left their ego circumsized. Don’t act like you surprised, close your mouth. Yeah I said it. Ask maya, ask nikki, ask Sonia where I get it. I’m your literary nemesis, follow you in your sleep, annihilate your subconscious before your thoughts become speech. Before your voice becomes leaked, and I am forced to devour you, digest u and excrete. I’m a regular person, extraordinary mc, who’s deified when she rhymes and immortalized on these beats. I know that’s why I intimidate, I know that’s why you cower, acting like you oblivious to my terrible power. Ill save you an hour. I’m dope and you can’t capture my flow by repeating my album. I’m reheating yall microwave rappers pushing ya buttons every time I do a takeover and make matter out your nothing. I’m the rapping iyatollah, title holder of the highest order. Full disclosure im gon reupholster your entire sofa, every time u chill u gon see my grill and get back to focused. i inspire competition. Spark ambition in the hopeless. You can call me vanzant I’ll fix your life in 40 verses.

Now let me introduce you to the proof that hip hop still exists. Listen closely to the words that I produce from out my lips. This outer limits, out of order, automatic album hit. out the mind of self proclaimed enigmatic alchemist. How come its so easy for me? 6 years and 9 albums, somebody call yeezy for me. I’m the G.O.D. sun, somebody call jesus for me. Miracles and holy water. Lyrically cold, your honor. I’m pleading guilty to all counts of murders, the career killer, rhyme slayer, character assassinator, dare you test me now and find out what I’m capable of later? Aren’t you glad I warned you, informed you of my destructive nature? Yall jokers ac slater, saved by the bizell. Saturday mornings, 1990s, raised mamma well. In case y’all cant tell this rap thing is a fetish I obsess with every letter til each word is prophetic, til each phrase is displayed in the east wing of the MET. Its complete shame via text. a deep stain on your record. Ill keep saying my piece til I reach fame for my effort. All I really want is credit for improving your mental reservoir. Then I’ll take a bow and allow you to reach my level floor.

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