Iron Scripture

Intro (spoken) Yeah… this that rust-covered scripture. Ink smell like b***d and gunpowder. Read carefully. Verse 1 – Murdoc West I carve scrolls in the smoke from a broke lighter, ghost-writer for the ghost inside the old fighter. Cold cipher—mind sharper than a bone splinter, snow in the stove, I cook winter till the tone thinner. Every bar a hidden hand seal, lethal when planned ill, slam steel doors on egos that can’t stand still. I chant real—alphabets built from ash. Breath form the math, resurrectin’ every craft. I’m the last monk breathin’ through a gas mask, last laugh echo in the trap like brass clasps. Nine-ring saber swing, halo clip the moon, pen drippin’ ink like venom in a typhoon. Hook Steel talks when the words too soft. Blade hums when the nerve cut off. Iron scripture—bleed till the page exhaust. Count the cost, then wash in the frost. Verse 2 – The Archivist Born in the cracks of a vinyl hiss, disciple of dust, recitin’ the final list. Time twist—every rhyme a spinal disc slipped, I still stand crooked, truth never missed it. Code of the cobra, hood over reason, teach math in a cipher that shift with the season. Thirty-six bars, each scar is a beacon, speak in smoke signals demons ain’t readin’. Coins in the cauldron, thunder on the altar, lines cross borders like sons without fathers. Mind like water—no pattern, just s*******r, ink on the blade, each stroke make it darker. Hook Steel talks when the words too soft. Blade hums when the nerve cut off. Iron scripture—bleed till the page exhaust. Count the cost, then wash in the frost. Verse 3 – Master Null I meditate in crossfire, lungs full of brimstone, heart pump bass through a cracked rib metronome. Every step set like a booby-trap poem, monks in the street chant code through payphones. Truth get taxed, lies get sponsored, so I write raps in the margins of monsters. Gold fang grin, mind like a bronze spear, I pierce fear, draw b***d from the wrong year. I don’t chase crowns—I smelt ’em, melt ’em, weld ’em into lessons I tell ’em. Spirit in the cellar still yells for the brethren: “Peace to the gods—but keep your weapon.” Final Hook / Outro Steel talks when the words too soft. Blade hums when the nerve cut off. Iron scripture—bleed till the page exhaust. Count the cost… then wash in the frost.