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Christopher Walken as Gabriel from The Prophecy:
“I’m an angel, I kill firstborns while their mamas
watch. I turn cities into salt. I even, when I feel
like it…rip the souls from little girls. And from now
’til kingdom come, the only thing you can count on in
your existence is never understanding why.”

[Possessed]
Thief in the night, fangs in your jugular bleeding you
dry
I live in a glass house throwing meteorites
Appeased the gods in a previous life
And I’ll slice the throat of Sweeney Todd for my piece
of the pie
I’m the angel of death
Outpacing Olympic swimmers with the Titanic’s anchors
chained to my legs
All without breakin’ a sweat
From the underground and I’m cravin’ the taste of your
flesh like the Day of the Dead
Here for gainin’ respect, enforce the laws of gravity
And draw the sword of Damocles to the nape of your neck
Communist Marxist, sharpshooter locked on my target
I was breastfed cancer and bottles of arsenic
Blind swordsman, wander in darkness
f*ck cash, I’ll drop the Queen’s severed head in the
offering basket
I’m eating out of coffins and caskets
And everyone in my field of vision’s just crops for the
harvest
I’m a hell-born seraphim, four faces with torn
feathered wings
Spawning four deformed Nephilim
Burying piece pipes, diggin’ up the hatchet
Deepthroat my dick ’til it singes in your stomach acid
We’re unattractive, ferocious creatures
I’ve got master-degree burns after a heatstroke of
genius
Rush the doors from dusk ’til dawn
My entourage plot on top of Scotland Yard ’cause we
above the law
Withstand the force of a juggernaut
We’re the recipe for disaster and this beat’s cookin’
up a storm
All powerful being, during hours of sleeping
I levitate between the ground and the ceiling
Advanced life forms found in my semen
Haven’t started to rap yet, this is just the sound of
my breathing
A mental plane like Enola Gay
I’m slashing open throats of backstabbers with my
shoulder blade
Step off the planet, it would float away
Tormented by growing pains of my ever-evolving brain
I sever ties with Heaven’s skies
And wage war that makes Armageddon resemble a training
exercise
Third eye blessed with second sight, a Cenobite
I survived the New Mexico desert testing sites
If I do start to smoke weed, I’ll take two tokes and
won’t breathe
After a whole week and OD
Battling me, you won’t get cold feet
The mere thought of facing Possessed’ll freeze the
fluid in both knees
Product of a warlock and a witch, knock you for six
Piledrive you down a bottomless pit
Push my luck over the top of a cliff
I don’t bite the hand that feeds me, I chew it off at
the wrist
I’ll forge a sword from a thunderbolt
And I’m rubbing salt into bullet wounds just to make
the slug dissolve

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