Fresh To Death

Swoope

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    How fresh is he?
    Open your ears

    How fresh is he?
    He's fresh to death
    (Call me Lucifer)
    How fresh is he?
    He's fresh to death
    (Call me Lucifer, yea
    My friends call me fresh, flesh)

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    Young, fly, and fresh to death is what they call him
    They say he's hot
    They say he's scalding
    Cream of the crop, at the top of the pot
    Or the cauldron
    Which crafts him into the spotlight of all men
    Been balling, since a young spalding
    First came on the scene, crawling in the garden
    Spittin' all types of real slick jargon
    He was just a lad then, speaking to Aladdin
    Eve was just a Jasmine, he was like Jafar man
    Well, similar the staff in hand, cobra
    Fast forward, now he's older
    Cream of the crop, at the top of the pot
    Or the cauldron
    Witchcraft now is in the spotlight of all men
    His swag pistach, nuts go all men
    His path got 'em following like a cult man
    Yea, the influence-a, is influenza
    And his flu is what the masses request
    Cause they think he's fresh

    The culture he's influenced
    Got 'em speaking his language
    And them fluent, them fluid
    Them flew with the fly one
    Like a maggot out his youth they say he's fly son
    And in his mind it's ensuing
    How stupid I dupe them
    Scoop them, school them
    And now they're producing new students
    Pursuing, death where their tomb is
    How foolish of humans
    That they don't recognize that I do this by fusing death in their music
    Now they're using, gest where their doom is
    For doing, this I have fueled them with coolness
    And now they are cool kids
    I use them as mutants
    Hex them, label them generation X-Men
    Freshmen, I profess them through seducing
    'Till death is, their profession through their two lips
    The enemy's imagery has mentored these
    Entering into the flickering flames
    So when the freshness fades, the death will stay

    I resist, the wants of the flesh
    Was making me sick, like bumps on the flesh
    They make me resist, my flesh's spirit
    Butt heads like Beavis they can't co-exist
    Co-exist, it ain't enough space
    Only one can stick around, it ain't enough paste
    It ain't enough ailments bruh, so I tell ya bruh
    There's an exit door for beelzebub, yea
    The Word says he'll flee man
    I follow James like a plague for a Cleveland
    4 and 7 got me playing good defense
    Similar the 6 and 11 of Ephesians
    My eyes all on it like God of the deep end
    I dive off in my diaper on Him I depend
    Like I peed pants, or my sheets wet
    I stand firm in the faith, got my feet set

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