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Rally Round The Crucifix
par
Killah Priest
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Letra
Passing by the average Joe Rocking in a fetus pose Fashion and Adidas toes Bleeding like a Judas rose Fear up in the side, it’s Fear of [?] Breathing through his sinus Saint’s robe like Aquinas You can smell the virus, it’s leaking through his iris Black plague or typhus The black veins of Cyprus My, it’s getting quite late Don’t you up and vacate Instead of weaving staircase, lead you to the air raids Rally ‘round the crucifix Rocking in a Jesus pose Alleys drown in putridness Sticky like a mucus nose Only friends of Lucifer’s And demons call him lunatics Petrified and lurid stones Tarot cards and crystal sticks Kettles seeped on trash can Metal teeth and cracked hands Let ‘em sleep on crashed bands Let ‘em keep the mashed plans Kneeling by the temple stoops Feel alive by mental loops Evil eye at rental troupes Laughing at the passersby Stick a needle in your eye Voodoo dolls and battle cries Lift a beetle, watch him fly People pick a poison then slashing swords, smashing stems Evil lurks around the bend Fashion orbs capture them Peering through his mind, it’s Nearing to his time and You can see the light if You listen for the sirens Ready for the last stand Heavy with the brass pan Many fear the masked man Every year they pass him Rally ‘round the crucifix Rocking in a lotus pose Stirring in a liquid mix Popping like an open stove Only friends invisible Some people call him pacifist Never on the physical Out of body, astro tip Black souls, pearly gates Rat holes invaded by snakes Tadpoles in the murky lakes In the scrolls, [?] Witches on stakes Whispers in the holy place Scriptures in the broken vase Virgins disturbing Here comes the sermon in the whirlwind Vagabonds, the dragon’s arm, the church steeple Don’t hurt the people Curse to the evil The suffering man with cuts in his hands Found luck in the trash can An old lotto ticket Follow mystics to the gypsy district Palm readers, psalm believers Stay calm to the Easter After that, the beast’ll reach up Throw a [?] jail The crucifix Cold cruel males impale the lamb, the son of man John Wilkes Booth with a gun in his hand Abraham Lincoln, what was he thinking? Start blinking Put his brains in the evening Six ways of the demons
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