razor wayans damon blades
10-21-2014, 12:45 AM
heY.
Tetris demon. One step? You're gone from thee allegiance.
Fuck your feelings. Leave your conscious closed, one body blow from me would crumble Jesus. I love when I do this.
And those crumbs would be bread served at your monthly communion
& with that comes a leg prosthesis made up of polymers and substance pieces
Polyhedron process, any squadron fleeting to a conscientious effort to try and flawless/weaken this monster cretin, will lead to wanted posters plopped on ceilings, cropped on orange/yellow yielding signs, across the fields, and leaning on all the city's office screenings
I pity the fool who want's to see this, and crucify your red army on Laurence Tureaud's dead body so he could really partake in a Mister T gig
Polly, wanna' cracker? Well, Polly's eating
He ain't racist, I'm just weird. and it's an odd appealing, I got a 20 foot condor bio-engineered to gobble people.
A bunch of white folks, from his jolly beak-end.
Some call me the Gandhi genius -- concentrate on your plexus then yoga-flame your-terrain doing Pilates' stretches.
The arduous architect, built in a marvelous shaman head, with a niche for uncommon sense.
Drop you with such a puzzling blow, the blood gushed from your throat could solve a jigsaw in jest.
Juggle your jugular gland, with Jungle Jane. Juggernaut with jumbo Tim's jammed under your peanut sized butter brain.
Nothing fucking phases me- not even jumbo laser jets tapered with phazers streams.
That's just ticklish, damnit- just giggling. Giggle fanatic. Giggling. Tehe. Tiny pinches of faggot. catching the giggles while you literally unleash your single most, physical - deadliest ninja assassin strapped to a missile contraption. In a multi-mixed meth-lab with pincers dipped into acid for the ultimate close-quarters (ultra-rigged) death-match
Both eyes closed. Dodge your hits by inches & fractions. You could hear the crisp swift cuts of thin air pressure sift in the axis. While I pivot & backtrack into a rat-pit. Dodging cobra king snappings, all while both of my fists are clipped to my back.
Deploy the other pugilist champions, any and all fugitive captives to fight for their freedom "just kill that stupid ass faggot!" It's useless, I'm fast. I'm ruthless. Cadavers. Falling every second, counter dips, counter with precisional math, I predicted you would miss & slash your ally when I pivoted backwards. Too bad guy. Guts spilling. You've had it. Audience clinging to action. Blindfold full of blood. Ridiculously fast. How the fuck are your teammates holding up? Getting desperate, pulling out immensely, just massive, ballistics. I'm fast. See. Lightning seems to underestimate how slow I make your jabs seem. Just evading and flipping combatants into their last beckons. Visciously handicapped. Vivid. Imagine, the Grim reaper getting overloaded with deaths by the second. When he looks over to the other realm to see who's giving him such a potent task, he looks at razors silhouette like "oh. my. gad" If he isn't dead he's comatose or legless/beheaded. A grin from this creep rips open as I'm just dodging every arrow and shaft sent, barrels and madness, in my centrifugal mass. I'm daredevil with twice the senses. I could hear your heart-beat from in between the concrete. It's as simple as that. Razors slightly tensioned from your tries to end this tussle, between you and me. Bruce Lee would've rode in on a dragon, and left in stitches. Then kidnap his dragon and make im my personal lizard companion.
Its visible that you're just a simple attraction. I'm the big buck banger for this arty endeavor.
You're hardly remembered, except for a very good morbid time. with a warning sign for audience members reading in bold print "stand behind this line to not get wet from steam-ridden hemoglobin"
Gotta wear gas-masks in HAZMAT when I indicate this predator construct with lava drool to blur your existence that disintegrates your molecular conduct to noxious fumes with thermal precision
Godfather of crippling tactics, with a moss-berg that's singed to my abdomen. The only mobster linked to a hell-hound. every-time my heart beats, the parts squeeze and empty a shells-round that could level your swell house.
It's sorta unreal when I'm ordering veal. Despite that I'm anti-human I fantasize the structure & just think silence of the lambs, & cannibalize the butler. Might I add, with mustard, wore his corny outfit. It's just something in the wording of clusters. Like I couldn't "muster up" the "courage" to eat his "heart" without it
Tetris demon. One step? You're gone from thee allegiance.
Fuck your feelings. Leave your conscious closed, one body blow from me would crumble Jesus. I love when I do this.
And those crumbs would be bread served at your monthly communion
& with that comes a leg prosthesis made up of polymers and substance pieces
Polyhedron process, any squadron fleeting to a conscientious effort to try and flawless/weaken this monster cretin, will lead to wanted posters plopped on ceilings, cropped on orange/yellow yielding signs, across the fields, and leaning on all the city's office screenings
I pity the fool who want's to see this, and crucify your red army on Laurence Tureaud's dead body so he could really partake in a Mister T gig
Polly, wanna' cracker? Well, Polly's eating
He ain't racist, I'm just weird. and it's an odd appealing, I got a 20 foot condor bio-engineered to gobble people.
A bunch of white folks, from his jolly beak-end.
Some call me the Gandhi genius -- concentrate on your plexus then yoga-flame your-terrain doing Pilates' stretches.
The arduous architect, built in a marvelous shaman head, with a niche for uncommon sense.
Drop you with such a puzzling blow, the blood gushed from your throat could solve a jigsaw in jest.
Juggle your jugular gland, with Jungle Jane. Juggernaut with jumbo Tim's jammed under your peanut sized butter brain.
Nothing fucking phases me- not even jumbo laser jets tapered with phazers streams.
That's just ticklish, damnit- just giggling. Giggle fanatic. Giggling. Tehe. Tiny pinches of faggot. catching the giggles while you literally unleash your single most, physical - deadliest ninja assassin strapped to a missile contraption. In a multi-mixed meth-lab with pincers dipped into acid for the ultimate close-quarters (ultra-rigged) death-match
Both eyes closed. Dodge your hits by inches & fractions. You could hear the crisp swift cuts of thin air pressure sift in the axis. While I pivot & backtrack into a rat-pit. Dodging cobra king snappings, all while both of my fists are clipped to my back.
Deploy the other pugilist champions, any and all fugitive captives to fight for their freedom "just kill that stupid ass faggot!" It's useless, I'm fast. I'm ruthless. Cadavers. Falling every second, counter dips, counter with precisional math, I predicted you would miss & slash your ally when I pivoted backwards. Too bad guy. Guts spilling. You've had it. Audience clinging to action. Blindfold full of blood. Ridiculously fast. How the fuck are your teammates holding up? Getting desperate, pulling out immensely, just massive, ballistics. I'm fast. See. Lightning seems to underestimate how slow I make your jabs seem. Just evading and flipping combatants into their last beckons. Visciously handicapped. Vivid. Imagine, the Grim reaper getting overloaded with deaths by the second. When he looks over to the other realm to see who's giving him such a potent task, he looks at razors silhouette like "oh. my. gad" If he isn't dead he's comatose or legless/beheaded. A grin from this creep rips open as I'm just dodging every arrow and shaft sent, barrels and madness, in my centrifugal mass. I'm daredevil with twice the senses. I could hear your heart-beat from in between the concrete. It's as simple as that. Razors slightly tensioned from your tries to end this tussle, between you and me. Bruce Lee would've rode in on a dragon, and left in stitches. Then kidnap his dragon and make im my personal lizard companion.
Its visible that you're just a simple attraction. I'm the big buck banger for this arty endeavor.
You're hardly remembered, except for a very good morbid time. with a warning sign for audience members reading in bold print "stand behind this line to not get wet from steam-ridden hemoglobin"
Gotta wear gas-masks in HAZMAT when I indicate this predator construct with lava drool to blur your existence that disintegrates your molecular conduct to noxious fumes with thermal precision
Godfather of crippling tactics, with a moss-berg that's singed to my abdomen. The only mobster linked to a hell-hound. every-time my heart beats, the parts squeeze and empty a shells-round that could level your swell house.
It's sorta unreal when I'm ordering veal. Despite that I'm anti-human I fantasize the structure & just think silence of the lambs, & cannibalize the butler. Might I add, with mustard, wore his corny outfit. It's just something in the wording of clusters. Like I couldn't "muster up" the "courage" to eat his "heart" without it