| All nightin, all dayin, crusadin
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| Invadin, tryin to find out who’s Satan
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| Hieroglyphics on the conquest, move makin
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| For the holy mic you takin
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| A man dies once, but a coward dies a thousand deaths
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| Man you must know how to step with no power left
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| Those words are words of the prophetess of the powerless
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| As she professed, we became incensed, set up on a quest
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| Totally entrenched in every flow that we dispensed
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| Any foe’ll be a cinch, cause we know that we been sent
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| By the divine, universal mother and father to rhyme
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| You pre-millenium MC’s are far behind
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| So we off to find, the holy mic it’s only right
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| Hieroglyphics mics of the round table can hold it tight
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| Keep it stable, collectin, scriptures and secrets
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| Projectin the cohesive, beam like graviton
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| With the avalon, Hiero is dope ask God
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| And evil-doers on the mic you have done your last fraud
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| This ain’t no practical joke, or anti-factual hoax
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| But something each breath in my avioli sacs’ll promote
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| Opposing MC’s will be stomped in the process or taken hostage
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| Until it is accomplished and you can’t stop us
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| Draw down the drawbridge, cross the moat, let’s go
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| Hieroglyphics adventures in the Twilight Zone
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| Rumor has it, in a far away land
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| The enemy’s partly a devil and he’s partly a man
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| Now we, on a crusade, and I, got a new blade
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| From the blacksmith, plus some chainmail that fits my frame well
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| Three Knights walking, Knights stalkin for the Holy Mic y’all
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| Sun up to night fall
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| Despite all efforts from the sacreligious interlopers
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| Mountains, snows, swamps, even bridges we will venture over
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| We were amazed it took
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| Only a mere, three hundred sixty days on foot
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| Now we, better be brave 'fore we enter the cave
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| If we don’t our people will either be dead or be slaves
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| I’ve got a, vague, feeling he’s here somewhere
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| Feeding off rage, villiany, tears and fears
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| Hob nobbin with Hobgoblins, drinkin blood out of golden goblets
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| Waitin for us to throw the gauntlet
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| And start some conscience, so it can locate then squash us
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| Lest we stay cautious, remembered our spells
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| Only kept the strongest on parchment
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| Excellent swordsman and marksmen
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| Who’s souls have been tarnished, but still escaped the demon’s harness
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| Treading intrepantly upon a course
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| So many mornings, noons and nights no snoozing
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| Following the Northern Lights
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| Does this Holy Mic, really exist?
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| Or is it I’m risking my life, following visions?
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| The Knights got my back, original is black
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| I keep thinking that, it strengthens my attack
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| We blaze the final sack, tribuning, then start up the stone stairs
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| To the inner sanctum, to do our duty
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| We’re prepared to shed blood and die as mortals for the Round Table
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| If we just happen to get slaughtered, depart our coil deep in soil
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| Her royal highness was boiled alive in turpentine
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| Right in line with the serpentine skirt, she died cursed
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| The whole Oligarch was torn apart before the Dark Ages eclipsed the planet
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| So the Holy Septum known as the microphone would be in sole control
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| We’d unfolded the scroll that told us where to go
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| Through the mongols, the concrete jungles
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| Slipped in The Man From UNKLE, was swashbuckling
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| Beat shuffling, acrobatic attack with titanic force
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| Back and forth, trading slashes and gashes
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| The torch dwindled, then rekindled with flashes
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| Right again, then I put my scimitar right up in em
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| Venom is like a scorpion sting, retrieve the age old relic
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| Now, I’m back to the Round Table…
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| Hieroglyphics crew, ya don’t stop!
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| Hieroglyphics crew, ya don’t stop!
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| Yeah, we shall continue! |