El Sangre - Grime Reaper [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

I'm a sterling word king
I'm in Berlin merking vermin
Go to your church to burn your sermon
I don't need a cult to get people learning
I have much more persuasive means
My lyrical theme is like a mystical dream
I bet you get wet just listening to it
You're in a dream state like you've hit some ket
I think you've met your match and met your maker
I'm like the rap version of an undertaker
Your body emerging six feet deeper
Harvesting your rhyme book's soul like a rap grim reaper
The words are just wheat to the scythe
I'm farming with strife, I'm alarming with a knife
My machete is loyal to retrieve them out of the earth
I get sweaty in your soil and conceive lyrics through birth

Moving up in your wet patch, you get that
Good feeling of healing, giving birth to lyrics to attack
As I tear off your pages, you wrap your lips around
Sucking on the power to which the rhyme book is bound
Every pound, every cent, every thrust it's evident
The evil intent with the souls I've consumed and bent
On the microphone I've got mastery
Drugged up drones say "too fast for me"
Cause they're coked up from the throat up
Weeded up from the knees up, keep up

Don't get vexed, Victor, I will wreck your jaw
Not physically, I'm not into violence
When you pick up the mic all I hear is silence
I could convince you that I am a Chinaman
Because I am so good with things like barter, speech
My lyrics are phat like the fans of master chief
Don't diss this wordsmith, on your christmas wishlist
You have marked down "Arithmeticness"
I sit down, do business, I bear witness to my hitlist
The yellowbelly cunt marked down as "the dickless"
Always deviate, don't have tattoos
Cause I set my own ground rules and astound fools

Narcissism, anarchism, don't want no prison
Freedom is the rhythm when you collaborate composition
I'm like a wyvern, I'll make your eyes burn
What I concern my urn in is my master plan
I'll tell you stern what is in my hands
Your eyes are on fire when you read the vernacular
You have lies, I'm not a buyer, I'm the rap count Dracula
We'll play cards cause the graveyard is lacking ya
And when you lash out, go on the dole and burn your rhyme paper
I take the ash out, absorb the soul and turn to bats like vapour
If you have doubt, it'll take a toll like a border with an invader
I take cash out from the bank I control when I do hard labour

Chess with death, play cards at the graveyard's gate
Stress for less and accept your fate
Connect the hate when I bless
My late cleric darkness on your death
Play cards at the graveyard's gate or play chess with death
If you just accept your fate you will stress for less
When I bless and connect hate
Drown in my words as your Wernicke cells saturate

I'm on the pinnacle of a cynical miracle
I've conquered all individuals with my lyrical and physical strength
I'm mostly satirical but this is a critical exception with a short length
I used to let them do what they want before I met them, I shouldn't menti-
-on back when I had less strength then
A miniscule error in my ways, pitiful are these victims in many ways
I grin and I win, I'm a grim thing and ripping off limbs everyday

Limbs from bookshelves reserved with knowledge
I collect the words that now pay homage to the Grime Reaper's college
Tearing out the spines from these tomes and codexes
Burning skin off their opuses and bite through mics like locusts
Who the fuck wrote this shit? Ascending to some higher dimension shit
I'm brutal, I keep no quarter, you're futile, I flow like gallons of water
With my talon I caught ya, now I oughta torture and slaughter your daughter

The offspring I refer to is the pen for your rhyme book
Oh, as the time took when I'm hooked on her sly look
In as short as a minute, I write new rhymes within it
The time you take is hours, I devour the power
In a burning, ash-filled shower within my evil tower
And now it is clean as I wash and I scour
This artform is beautiful like I birthed a flower
I am the Grime Reaper, the rhyme keeper
Not a sly cheater, but rather a fly teacher
I seek ya, I can feature that I wanna meet ya
Any who wish to learn the ways of rap's old glory days
Wise like Corey Graves escaping a gory maze
My story conveys a grey, dark place and state of mind
It's true that I'm cruel all the fuckin time
No one's gonna miss you, your rhymes or your punchlines
With punches so weak they can't break a glass
And lines so bent that they take it up the ass