Alchemisland

Back in the day, thick black leather jacket

All black outfit smoking drinking cursing, Father Jack Hackett

Every girl I shift ratchet at the start

Blessing them with my art

Forward march of the combat sausage

Assault train, no hostages, no trade.

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Holding my position

Nah, I’m holding Hitler by his lederhosen straps

Bruising his nose apple coloured with happy slaps

Roll in to the Fuhrer manse while he’s chilling in his wolf pants

Fat guy on the floor in panties panting, don’t ask

Here’s where he keeps all the shit paintings

Rejection breaks him, can’t face or dump them

Ballast where he’s empty, who smeared shit between the frames

How was this ever your chosen trade? Seen lice better at physics

Look how thick the paint is slicked on, ready to lick off

Raining shit after the plumber visits, calling the civic service

Making complaints and safety reports, ain’t your calling, baller

Did you paint these before or after getting hit with a grenade?

Adverts teach you to apply more colgate than you need

They want your teeth clean, but they also want to sate greed

Offer one they’ll take three, meant to be a routine cleaning

Telling me I need a crown, yawn don’t I know, sceptre too

They don’t accept gifts in lieu of payment, old pistol Predator 2 shit

Hoped to pull the beanstalk grift, trade magic beans for a cattle surfeit

Only surface when the hurt stops

Hurtling towards the unplugged sink, who pulled the stopper

Big Bopper in the rudimentary chopper, melting down to hot chocolate powder

I know a bitch with psychic powers, she’s calling me all hours in a panic

Enemies trying to vanquish me, same shit different denomination

Heavy the diadem low hangs the head, that’s not my nation

I’m leaning out the window to buy fags at the Statoil station

Aulfella fingerwagging, bird him from the shaggin’ wagon

Empty flagon filled with sodden brown fag ends

Smells worse than the bottom of the Dodder

Sedge full of piss-filled Dutch Gold cans, ratpiss plants weil’s disease

Invasive Japanese knotweed species 

I’m fucking a girl like the sylph from Species

Send out more goons than O’Ren Ishi

Getting there’s hard, Killing Bill is easy

That’s all better, lift the sweater, actually the whole get up; thanks, Petal

I’m sweating, left ball impressions on the leather

Grunt at the little death, unleavened host hoisted up to heaven

Woodpecker, goes at my wood like a leadbetter

Ophidian at feeding time, the jaw stretch like stretch armstrong’s arms

Cumshot on the face’s median

Stretch her out like a yellow livestrong ringband

Runes band my ring when it falls in the fire, language of Angband

Airbender how I blend it with plumes that I send up

Smoke the stems like stubby cigarettes, feeling like the penguin

She the peng one but I’m seated like a model before a maven, overconfident

Must be my fucking payday at last

Holy god mayday, someone ring my safety bell

This woman about to suck my eyes out their cells.

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Sellsword, slave only to glory and money

Frosty disposition, fiery in the right position

I let no imposition stay me, keep my original position

I had the vision to build my fortress on a hill

Now all you bitches can live downhill of my shit, unfortunate

I am the fat controller, calling in birds of all hues, fully crayola

On my flip phone Motorola, got the feds overshoulder

Smell a cop an oxgang away, Gaul in a toga

In my head taller than Alexander Volkov wearing platforms

Few seconds left, Black Beast lobs a nuclear missile

Shooting chin abusing, didn’t miss either

My spells increase posting frequency on fortean forums

I ride horse Bellerophon, swoop low call man bellend then take off again

Open vorpal portals, demons scorning pour forth Stillorgan’s Merville

Local Merlin, myrmidon in all but skill, potential, strength and courage

I am more like a midden where one sickly wolf lives

Gathering mange, eating the weakest things inhabiting the range.

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Life gets a whole lot stranger, who is the black robed stranger

A man says he’s gonna strangle me but I’ve had practice

I spent ten years wearing batwings sleeping backwards, hanging upside down by ankles

Above a cactus as a test of resolve, I solved the riddle of steel after only eight years

I am also a dangerous grappler, herd a head of cattle with just my front choke

Submit Nate Diaz right after

Like a mason how many triangles I throw on, try this on for size

Nick Diaz being high, Gomi can’t rely on a knockout strike

Pride goeth from Gomi, that fireball was gomey it barely glowed, don’t be scared homie

I’m at home eating pizza with April O’Neal when the news comes in that the fiend is revealed

The Laws are repealed like the licensing laws, Good Friday pints fucking get on the sauce

Do without for one day, I would in me balls, put a pint in me paws and I’ll say ya thanks boss

Tossing them back, racking out lines

Snorting them up and once its inside

Boom, all doubt sizzles up like a cosmonaut reentering the atmosphere

No radio interference, crystal clear eight minutes of screaming as his skin peeled

These reels can never be released.

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Bitches either shrift submissively or dismiss me outright

If you throw fist at me, you know you’re going out right?

Boa constrictor, bonebreaking Mister Charles Oliveira

Land a nifty knee, fight fifty five but best at seventy

Thousand little deaths, arise like Lazarus at Bethany

Sopping bedsheets, greased with human streaks, great release

Bestial need increases steeply at your entries

Never nothing below the knees, I’m near eggs like Easter

Eat you out like a dog eats a pizza, facedown in the toppings

Not afraid to get it sloppy before I pop it, what profits a soul lost in process

Fuck that I’m processing toward becoming a prophet, words change age like comet

I am a light of shade uncommon, a motley palette from another galaxy’s surrealist planet

I’m in Isengard with the Uruk Hai, cutting down Fangorn for Saruman

You’re in Babel post-flood, baking bitumen bricks for Nimrod’s tower

I got more horns than Sara triceratops mesozoic era, looking geared up for Valhalla

In boiled leathers figure-fetching, fingering my fletchlings, let them sing to the wind kissed

I’m rolling in half-cyborg with the newest Android

They’re trying link a touchpad to an Amstrad 

I’m at one of the royal palaces singing rebel ballads and seditious trad songs

Bobby Sands of time running out fast, hungry when was it that I ate last

Fasting for freedom but it won’t break Thatcher

Don’t act unphased, we almost got ya.