Alchemisland

Enemy troops dream of shooting me

Leaving me bleeding on the street

If it must be

Then die in your boots

I repeat that I don’t concede

Rules won’t bind me

Blind man taking point at the head of the line

I’ve been anointed by appointment

This head crowns fine

Headcount hardly higher

Few less, sans, don’t stand no hitting sandbags when I fire

Dank bags and they’re fire

Got a whole glade; Santa two-touring a legal pad of misbehavers

Earlier became later, two of us havering in the mist

We both know the other has a blade and is capable

Looking back to older days, regular raids in the man cave

They hearkened when I spoke, no joke

I can hold them to oaths

Since becoming Ipsissimus.