Septagram

Anton LaVey, Fu-Manchu facial hair
Goons with the hateful stare
Move with palatial flare
Young Gary Busey but carry an Uzi
Young Cosby, hairy pussies and strawberry roofies
Young Ozzy, creep in the grass, spray with the milli-chrome
Ski-mask on my face like it’s really cold
Summertime but my blood like icicles
Possessed by a demon whose name is undecipherable
The tip of every hollow twirl like a football
Shocking to see that half of your head’s what it took off
I’m like murder with the MAC-11
The fire swirling from the barrel like past redemption
Spas with the chopper, savage like acid and vodka
I’m like the Grim Reaper but carry a shotgun
Met with culties that would go December close
When death approached the end is close
Yet to tote finesse to the freshest rose
Puffery from an Academy Marina
Slugs from my niner will make you dance like a ballerina
Like dust in the wind, like angels in the hellfire
Silent like a twelve-gauge in the jail riot
Opposite of Henry Hill, proper, stay quiet
Spray five, 'Catch A Predator' like Dateline
Cut from the cloth of a lost tribe of gladiators
Run the microphone or get your fucking hands amputated
«After six-thousand years the curse has ended! Who summoned my spirits from the
depths of time?»
«I do! I command your help in overthrowing my enemies!»
«Fool! What care I for such as you? Begone, growling dog! Before my destruction,
I was gathering magical powers for the conquest of the world! I shall yet
build an everlasting empire of black magic!»