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DJ Phylactery doin a drive by on this glitterati fang fag. Word up:
DJ P is sick to death of these buck tooth newbies lookin for respect. I reject your project to become undead elect, and I suspect you'd best reflect on how best to genuflect before my fireballs start to connect. You think you're all hot, paradin' around, sleeping in coffins deep in the ground; your minds unsound, your priorities skewed, but you've messed with the best, friend, and now you bitches be screwed. Nibblin' on necks, seducin' fat chicks, you're real hot to the goths but liches get the REAL fine bitches. Because we got knowledge, books tomes and power, and we don't got no curfew, we're workin' all hours. Don't be lookin so sour, your power's a joke. Mist form, dominate, super strength, and speed, I got those spells and more but I don't even need, them to drop your pasty ass down to powder. I just mess with your alarm clock, and you're up at the wrong hour. So you cower before the light of the sun, burned to dust in the wind while I'm havin my fun. Or maybe you don't burn, maybe you glitter? If that's so then you know I'll be crafting you into a diamond shitter. Cos I'm ballin', while you're just appallin'. Face it home slice, there's no way you can win, DJ Phylactery is gonna make bling out of your sparkly skin.
DJ Phylactery out.