歌词
[Verse 1]
Before the beats roll, before my story’s told,
Gotta bow down to the king, his realm, pure gold.
Not above, not beyond, but walking the path he paved,
Respecting every rhyme, grateful for the way he swayed.
He’s the sovereign of the sample, the boom-bap’s crown,
I’m just a successor, in his shadow I’m found.
Not claiming a throne, just picking up the mic he laid down,
Carving my own kingdom, in the beats, I’m bound.
His legacy a beacon, my verses a tribute, we connect,
Through the rhythm and the rhyme, a mutual respect.
[Verse 2]
Fresh on the scene, a new chapter begins,
The torch is passed, from shadows I emerge, the journey spins.
Infusing the essence of boom-bap with my youthful zest,
Resurrecting the rhythm, in my veins the beats rest.
A new contender, but with respect, I harness the craft,
Building bridges from the legacy, with every draft.
A disciple of the rhythm, a student of the script,
Claiming my space in the saga, my rhymes tightly equipped.
Ready to reign, to take the mantle, and artistically expand,
From the foundation laid by giants, in this lyrical land.
[Instrumental]
[Verse 3]
So mask on, persona non grata, the phantom flits on the track,
Stealth in the shadows, metaphors in a sack, knapsack packed with artifacts.
Villainous vernacular, spit spectacular, caper like a specter,
Verse vandal, beat brigand, the rhyme rector.
Wizardry with words, a curse cast in cadence,
Scripting sagas in the booth, legends through the ages.
Black book of rhymes, each page a dark passage,
Master of the craft, a rap sage, savage.
Alchemy of the old school, mixing magic, molten gold,
Transmute the mundane, spin it bold,
Underground overlord, tales untold,
In the echo of Doom's steps, cold yet behold.
[Verse 4]
Cryptic like runes, my rhymes, ancient scripts in hidden tombs,
Decipher the vibe, in the storm's eye, a sonic monsoon blooms.
With every spittin' phrase, I'm resurrectin' rap's golden days,
A labyrinth of lines, my mind's maze, in the haze, my prowess plays.
Enter the cipher, verbal arms we wield,
MCs quakin', in this lyrical minefield, Armageddon revealed.
Masked in mystery, an enigma, beyond your ken,
In hip-hop's realm, I reign supreme, again and again.
Flow's arctic, a mental freeze, call it cerebral frost,
Sharp like an icicle's point, lines thrown, no cost.
reign supreme, again and again.
Flow's arctic, a mental freeze, call it cerebral frost,
Sharp like an icicle's point, lines thrown, no cost.
[Verse 4]
Subterranean monarch, throne beneath the city's veins,
A realm of echoes, where the beat remains.
Scripter of scripts, conjurer of the cryptic, chronicler of the sonic,
Riddles in the rhythm, a prophet, phonetic, hooked on phonics.
The mask hides more than a face, it's a gate to a mind maze,
Each bar a brushstroke, painting phrases that blaze.
Silver-tongued shaman, shaking the pillars of the past,
Verses heavy as lead, yet they fly fast.
Clockwork of cosmos in a verbal form, celestial mechanic,
Stars align in the rhyme, cosmic, titanic.
Words weave worlds, warp and weft, the fabric of fate,
In the studio's sanctum, the sovereign creates.
[Instrumental]
weave worlds, warp and weft, the fabric of fate,
In the studio's sanctum, the sovereign creates.
Curtains draw close, encore in the echo, a legacy’s breath,
Veiled in the verses, where words meet their death.
Conductor of chaos, in the quiet, whispers stir,
A gallery of ghosts in the groove, listeners concur.
Mastermind of metaphors, a maestro in the mask,
Crafting catacombs of cadence, in the twilight he basks.
Final bow in the backlight, silhouette in the mist,
Ink fades on the paper, but the myth, it persists.
Hero of the hidden, herald of the hush,
The beat retreats, the voice is still, the final brush.
[Instrumental Outro]
