Chris Goodwin. Boogeyman.
C. Goody a.k.a. The Boogeyman...wanna know more? ask me
wanna buy a beat? Or get a package deal?
Lyrics
I smile for the blade, wear the face of the devil
Watch you sport that fake smile and it's gonna be a long while
So relax and take notes of the ritual I'm going to purpose
While your out of sanity experience is leaving your body froze
And ready to be devoured, your skill is soured by the frail
State of your morale and the fables it exhales
And the costume you assume is soon to be your doom
Living in the killing room, you've designed your own tomb
That I'm crushing you in, glass box, Saw V
Torment is my mind's mission, no concern if you're alive
If you aren't, you couldn't handle the Devil's Right Hand Man
With the plans and the blueprints to bury you in the sand
...The alcohol abuse of lyrical torment
And torture, I'm a barn burner, a real scorcher
You're just a burned piece of hay, as they say
If Chris Goodwin doesn't like you, he'll make you go away
Normally, I'm not this cold or condesending
Cold is the essence that my aura is renting
Calculated and psychotic, depressed and obnoxious
Lyrics are automatic kill streaks and I'm never stoppin' it
Or am I?, Maybe I'm just so cold and conceited
That my words are a W.M.D. leaving you defeated
That my mental has you trapped and you've already retreated
That I see you as scum and I am an Elitist
I'm just the heartless target of the fury
And the passion of my music leaving rivals hung by jury
Blurry, I'm making visions Come Clean, Puddle Of Mudd
Angels and ugly demons, new rivers of blood
...Somethin' repetive that has a demonic overtone
That's asinine to common minds with common rhymes with common tones
Just doing and saying what my bloodline told me to say
"Words hurt", so I kill 'em with lyrics every day
Walking through hellfire with booze and propane in the lungs
And fire in my veins, instant suicide from my tongue
Possessed souls in the heart, disposition of the abyss
I only slaughter because I can, in love with Satan's kiss
Get a glimpse, of when I separate anatomies of wimps
Underwhelming journeymen to backmasked tracks by The Sneaker Pimps
A bloody scream in the dark, is the only evidence they'll have of you
At your last whereabouts before I did what I did to you
Dear every part of my heart, you still don't get it
And each opposing rapper, I'm still that sadistic
Masochistic Mind Flayer with Death Eater morals
That prepares pools of blood to some harmonizing chorals
Slowly tormenting the ligaments and the thought muscle
And ambulance can't save you, they can't even hustle
Killed by my bag of tricks, magic all up in the mix
Competition better hide before they're done in by the Triple six
