lyrical y-dasher, the bible passer, quick to blasher, with my load of tech-
rhyme sprayin' bullets from the top of the mime cause I'm the lyrical,
miracal, spiritual teacher, Nicaragua street preacher, who's out to reach you.
Group of thugs who some call the X-Generation, through penetration of lyrical
bullets of salvation, so bring the roughest and toughest demons be screamin'
wanna start dumpin' and jumpin' demons like a gang initiation.  Huh, who wanna
mess with the craziest of em' all demons bringin' all and bang your head like
a teatherball, ain't none a y'all finned to stop me, watch me gospel hip-hop
till' the day the casket drop, wa-la.  That's right, 1997, the Demon Executor
up in this peace, I'm gonna kill all y'all demons!

Chorus-
Throw yo' hands way up in the air, that's the sound of the electric chair,
that's the sound of demons screamin' fo their life and I'm the demon executor
hittin' the switch tonight.


I told you once I be the demon head choppa, the casket droppa, the glak-cocka,
the Mr. Ready to hit em' up like 2-Paca.  The demon body bag zipper-upper, the
demon bucker, the one who got demons and beans on his plate for supper.  I be
the nuttiest one in the whole clan with Mac Town, switchblades and bibles held
in both hands.  Yes, I am- deciphorus, ludious, craziest, demon killer within'
the California mile radius.  Chick, Chick, glak-cock, ready to drop, drop
demons anywhere I don't care pistols in the air, ready to flare.  I ain't in
to set trippin, blood crippin, instead I'm in to mormanistic-satanic bible
rippin' lyrically flippin' lyrics like a quarter in the air call it heads or
tails, from the hood up to no good. It's the demon body chocka, the mike-
stocka, the Mr. Put you in cement to throw you off a bridge droppa.  I be the
man never puffin' on the booda, I'm the Texas chainsaw havin' demon executor.
Hey, bone, these bustas told me you couldn't rap.  Man, let me show em' what's
up dawg!



Like Boyz 2 Men, I got demons on bended knee, beg n' plea.  'Cause I kill more
demons than Carmen got a whole bunch of them dumb- dodell peas. I'm the demon
executor comin' straight out of Frisco with Giants and Niner Gear head to toe,
oh, you didn't know? I be the demon neck choker, the devil smoker, the Mr.
Demon Columbian Neck Tie get provoka.  Repepermmeniti I'm ready to jack these
demons, they ain't got no hope, gettin' up out my sythoscope.  So blam, blam,
comin on, blam to dem 4, me comin' up out the West like Mr. 2-Pac Shikur.  Who
wanna be sweatin' it, wettin it' cause O.R.C.  comin' out with the lyrical
mafeeoso style you can't believe.  Till the day I die, I'm throwin' up Jesus
Christ, demon executor fo life!  That right!  No, for real though, how you
gonna stuff the bone?  I got your back partner!

 then dialogue
Lyrics by T-Bone
Submitted by Nick Woodrum (nickshaq@aol.com