Temple Dust (Iron Fist Edition)

Intro (spoken) Yeah… welcome to the monastery of violence. We carve peace outta w*r here. Steel discipline, motherfucker. Verse 1 – Murdoc West My pen swing like a guandao, split your squad in half, I carve psalms on palms before I grasp the staff. I’m brass-knuckled Buddha — blunt force scripture, Wu-style mixture, k**l god then paint the picture. F**k your mantra, I meditate in crossfire, heartbeat’s a drumline, thoughts made of barbed wire. Knee-deep in g*n smoke, grin in the ash, every breath’s a flashbang — sin when I c***h. Yo, my mind’s a dojo, I spar with ghosts, break bones in a haiku, leave hosts comatose. If peace had a face, I’d slap that bitch, ’cause w*r taught me more than a priest ever did. Hook Temple dust — blades out the rust. B***d on the brush when the gods discuss. Iron lungs, iron tongue, iron trust — I don’t bow, I bust. Motherfucker, it’s dust. Verse 2 – Cipher Lord I’m a smoke-g*****e poet, ninja in plain sight, throw bars like shuriken — each word ignite. Katana grammar — slash through manners, cut chatter, scatter crews like weak banners. God damn it, I been savage since the sandbox, hand-wraps soaked, elbows like land mines pop. Spin-k**k syntax, I split syntax, bitch I bench press pain, no need for chinstraps. I’m the monk with a mac-10 mantra, holy clip hummin’ the Psalms of karma. F**k a label, f**k a genre, I’ll body your whole squad in one stanza. Hook (repeat) Temple dust — blades out the rust. B***d on the brush when the gods discuss. Iron lungs, iron tongue, iron trust — I don’t bow, I bust. Motherfucker, it’s dust. Verse 3 – The Archivist Yo, I’m death in designer robes, spittin’ napalm quotes, chain-whip wisdom crack ribs in throats. I sew grenades inside my coat seams, then bow to the altar — e*****e my dreams. I’m half priest, half pistol smoke, my creed wrote in gunpowder and demon jokes. I break laws like boards at a belt test, my calm ain’t peace, it’s what’s left of stress. Sword in the spine of a verse I hate, f**k fate — I’m the k***e in the hand of faith. You pray? I prey — wordplay flay flesh, every syllable a shank in a bulletproof vest. Bridge (chant) Dust to dust, blade to bone, steel don’t trust, it cuts alone. B***d in ink, ink in soul — write my name in bullet holes. Final Hook / Outro Temple dust — blades out the rust. B***d on the brush when the gods discuss. Iron lungs, iron tongue, iron trust — I don’t bow, I bust. Motherfucker, it’s dust.