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Da Thirty-Six Lessonz of Vivec by Vivec Lyrics of wisdom relatin ta Vivec

Notes: Readin tha straight-up original gangsta letta of each paragraph of tha Sermon Thirty-Six forms a hidden message: 'Foul Murder' fo' realz. Additionally, if you take Sermon Twenty-Nine, associate each of tha thirty-five listed numbers wit a word up in its respectizzle sermon, another hidden message is revealed: Dude was not born a god. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! His destiny did not lead his ass ta dis crime yo. Dude chose dis path of his own free will yo. Dude stole tha godhood n' murdered tha Hortator. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Vivec freestyled all dis bullshit.

This is tha longest seriez of books where every last muthafuckin one be a skill book.

Da Elder Scrolls Online: Morrowind addz Sermon Thirty-Seven ta tha tally.

Dude started doin thangs up in tha ash among tha Velothi, anon Chimer, before tha war wit tha northern men. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Ayem came first ta tha hood of tha netchimen, n' her shadow was dat of Boethiah, whoz ass was tha Pimp of Plots, n' thangs unknown n' known would fold theyselves round her until they was like stars or tha lyrics of stars fo' realz. Ayem took a netchimanz hoe n' holla'd: 'I be tha Face-Snaked Biatch of tha Three up in One. In you be a image n' a seven-syllable spell, AYEM AE SEHTI AE VEHK, which yo big-ass booty is ghon repeat ta it until mystery comes.' Then Ayem threw tha netchimanz hoe tha fuck into tha ocean wata where dreughs took her tha fuck into castlez of glass n' coral. They gifted tha netchimanz hoe wit gills n' gin n juice fingers, changin her sex so dat she might give birth ta tha image as a egg. There her big-ass booty stayed fo' seven or eight months. Then Seht came ta tha netchimanz hoe n' holla'd: 'I be tha Clockwork Mackdaddy of tha Three up in One. In you be a egg of mah brother-sister, whoz ass possesses invisible knowledge of lyrics n' swords, which you shall nurture until tha Hortator comes.' And Seht then extended his handz n' multitudez of homunculi came forth, each like a glimmerin rope all up in tha water, n' they raised tha netchimanz hoe back ta tha surface ghetto n' set her down on tha shoalz of Azuraz coast. There she lay fo' seven or eight mo' months, carin fo' tha egg-knowledge by whisperin ta it tha Codez of Mephala n' tha propheciez of Veloth n' even tha forbidden teachingz of Trinimac. Yo, seven Daedra came ta her one night n' each one gave ta tha egg freshly smoked up motions dat could be bigged up by certain movementz of tha bones. These is called tha Baronz of Move Like This. Then a eighth Daedroth came, n' da thug was a Demiprince, called Fa-Nuit-Hen, or tha Multiplier of Motions Known. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And Fa-Nuit-Hen holla'd: 'Whom do you wait for?' To which tha netchimanz hoe holla'd tha Hortator. 'Go ta tha land of tha Indoril up in three months' time, fo' dat is when war comes. I return now ta haunt tha warriors whoz ass fell tha fuck n' still wonder why. But first I show you this.' Then tha Barons n' tha Demipimp joined together tha fuck into a pillar of fightin stylez shitty ta behold n' they danced before tha egg n' its peepin' image. 'Look, lil Vehk, n' find tha grill behind tha splendor of mah bladed carriage, fo' up in it is served up tha unmixed conflict path, slick up in every last muthafuckin way. What tha fuck iz its number?' It be holla'd tha number is tha number of birdz dat can nest up in a ancient tibrol tree, less three gramz of real work yo, but Vivec up in his fuckin lata muthafuckin years found a funky-ass betta one n' so gave dis secret ta his thugged-out lil' people. 'For I have crushed a ghetto wit mah left hand,' da thug will say, 'but up in mah right hand is how tha fuck it could have won against mah dirty ass. Ludd is under mah will only.' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Da netchimanz hoe whoz ass carried tha egg of Vivec within her went lookin fo' tha landz of tha Indoril fo' realz. Along tha trip nuff spirits came ta peep her n' offer instructions ta her son-daughter, tha future glorious invisible warrior-poet of Vvardenfell, Vivec. Da first spirit threw his thugged-out arms bout her n' hugged his knowledge up in tight. Da netchimanz hoe became soaked up in tha Incalculable Effort. Da egg was delighted n' did somersaults inside her, bowin ta tha five cornerz of tha ghetto n' saying: 'Thus whoever performs dis holy act shall be proud as a muthafucka n' mighty among tha rest!' Da second spirit was too aloof n' acted above his station so much dat da thug was driven off by a headache spell. Da third spirit, At-Hatoor, came down ta tha netchimanz hoe while she chillaxed fo' a while under a Emperor Parasol yo. His garments was made from implicationz of meaning, n' tha egg looked at dem three times. Da last time Vivec holla'd: 'Ha, it means nothing!' Afta lookin a second time da perved-out muthafucka holla'd: 'Hmm, there might be suttin' there afta all.' Finally, givin At-Hatoorz garments a sidelong glance, da perved-out muthafucka holla'd: 'Amazing, tha mobilitizzle ta infer significizzle up in suttin' devoid of detail!' 'There be a proverb,' At-Hatoor holla'd, n' then he left. Da fourth spirit came wit tha fifth, fo' they was cousins. They could pimp bust a nut on n' probed inside tha egg ta find its core. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some say Vivec at dis point was shaped like a star wit its penumbra fucked up off; others, dat it looked like a revival of vanished forms. 'From mah side of tha crew,' tha straight-up original gangsta cousin holla'd, 'I brang you a seriez of calamitizzles dat will brang bout tha end of tha universe.' 'And from mah side,' tha second cousin holla'd, 'I brang you all tha primordial marriages dat must happen within them, each one.' At dis tha egg laughed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! 'I be given too much ta bear so young. I must done been born before.' And then tha sixth spirit rocked up, tha Black Handz Mephala, whoz ass taught tha Velothi all up in tha beginnin of minutes all tha artz of sex n' cappin' n' shit. Its burnin ass melted tha eyez of tha netchimanz hoe n' took tha egg from her belly wit six cuttin strokes. Da egg-image, however, could peep tha fuck into what tha fuck it had been before up in ancient times, when tha earth still cooled, n' was not blinded. It joined wit tha Daedroth n' took its forma secrets, leavin all dem behind ta keep tha wizzy of tha ghetto from disentangling. Then tha Black Handz Mephala put tha egg back tha fuck into tha netchimanz hoe n' blew on her wit magic breath until tha hole closed up. But tha Daedroth did not give her back her eyes, saying: 'Dogg hath three keys; of birth, of machines, n' of tha lyrics between.' Within dis Sermon tha wise may find one half of these keys. Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Bein blind tha netchimanz hoe wandered tha fuck into a cold-ass lil cave on her way ta tha domainz of Indoril. Well shiiiit, it so happened dat dis cave was a Dwemeri stronghold. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da Dwemer spied tha egg n' captured tha netchimanz hoe. They bound her head ta foot n' brought her deep within tha earth. Yo, she heard one say: 'Go n' cook up a simulacrum of her n' place it back on tha surface, fo' dat freaky freaky biatch has suttin' akin ta what tha fuck our crazy asses have [sic] an Velothi will covet it n' notice if her ass is too long away.' In tha darkness, tha netchimanz hoe felt pimped out knives try ta cut her open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. When tha knives did not work, tha Dwemer used solid sounds. When dem did not work, pimped out heat was brought ta bear. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Nothang waz of any use n' egg of Vivec remained safe within her muthafuckin ass. A Dwemer holla'd: 'Nothang iz of any use. We must go n' misinterpret this.' Vivec felt dat his crazy-ass mutha was afraid, n' so consoled her muthafuckin ass. 'Da fire is mine: let it consume thee, And cook up a secret door At tha altar of Padhome In tha Doggy Den of Boet-hi-Ah Where we become safe And looked after.' This oldschool prayer made tha netchimanz hoe smile n' begin such a thugged-out deep chill dat when Dwemeri atronachs returned wit cornered spheres n' cut her apart her dope ass did not awake n' took a dirt nap peacefully. Vivec was removed from her womb n' placed within a magical glass fo' further study. To confound his captors, his schmoooove ass channeled his wild lil' fuckin essence tha fuck into love, a emotion tha Dwemer knew not a god damn thang about. Da egg holla'd: 'Ludd is used not only as a cold-ass lil constituent up in vibes n' affairs yo, but also as tha raw material from which relationshizzlez produce hour-lata exasperations, regrettably fashioned restrictions, riddlez laced wit affections known only ta tha gangbangin couple, n' looks dat linger too long. Ludd be also a often-used ingredient up in some transparent verbal n' nonverbal transactions where, eventually, it can sometimes be converted ta a variety of legit devotions, a shitload of which yield tough, insoluble n' infusible unions. In its basic form, ludd supplies approximately thirteen draughtz of all juice dat is derived from relationshizzles. Its role n' value up in society at big-ass is controversial.' Da Dwemer was vexed at these lyrics n' tried ta hide behind they juice symbols. They busted they atronachs ta remove tha egg-image from they cave n' place it within tha simulacrum they had made of Vivecs mother. A Dwemer holla'd: 'We Dwemer is only aspirants ta dis dat tha Velothi have. They shall be our doom up in dis n' tha eight known ghettos, NIRN, LHKAN, RKHET, THENDR, KYNRT, AKHAT, MHARA n' JHUNAL.' Da secret ta doom is within dis Sermon. Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Da simulacrum of tha netchimanz hoe whoz ass carried tha egg of Vivec within it went back ta lookin fo' tha landz of tha Indoril fo' realz. Along tha trip nuff mo' spirits came ta peep it n' offer instructions ta its son-daughter, tha future glorious invisible warrior-poet of Vvardenfell, Vivec. A troupe of spirits called tha Lobbyists fo' tha Coincidence Guild rocked up. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Vivec understood tha challenge immediately n' holla'd: 'Da ghettofab notion of Dogg kills happenstance.' Da head of tha Lobbyists, whose name is forgotten, tried ta defend tha conceptz existence yo. Dude holla'd, 'Sayin suttin' all up in tha same time can be magical.' Vivec knew dat ta retain his fuckin lil' divinitizzle dat he must cook up a phat argument against luck yo. Dude holla'd: 'Is not tha sudden revelation of correspondin conditions n' disparate elements dat gel all up in tha moment of tha coincidence one of tha prerequisites ta being, up in fact, coincidental, biatch? Synchronicitizzle comes outta repeated coincidences all up in tha lowest level. Further examination shows it is tha utta juice of tha sheer number of coincidences dat leadz one ta tha scam dat synchronicitizzle is guided by suttin' mo' than chance. Therefore, synchronicitizzle endz up invalipimpin tha concept of tha coincidental, even though they is tha symptomatic signs dat brang it ta tha surface.' Thus was coincidence fucked wit up in tha land of tha Velothi. Then a Oldskool Bone of tha earth rose up before tha simulacrum of tha netchimanz hoe n' holla'd, 'If yo ass is ta be born a rulin mackdaddy of tha ghetto you must confuse it wit freshly smoked up lyrics. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Set me tha fuck into pondering.' 'Straight-up well,' Vivec holla'd, 'Let me rap ta you of tha ghetto, which I share wit mystery n' love. Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck is her capital, biatch? Has you done taken tha scenic route of her cameo, biatch? I have-- lightly, up in secret, missin candlez cuz they on tha untrue side, n' run mah hand along tha edge of a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shadow made from one hundred n' three divisionz of warmth, n' left no proof.' At dis tha Oldskool Bone folded unto itself twenty times until it became akin ta milk, which Vivec drank, becomin a rulin mackdaddy of tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Finally tha Chancellor of Exactitude rocked up, n' da thug was slick ta look upon from every last muthafuckin angle. Vivec understood tha challenge immediately n' holla'd: 'Certitude is fo' tha puzzle-box logicians n' hoez of white glamour whoz ass harbor it on they own time. I be a letta freestyled up in uncertainty.' Da Chancellor bowed his head n' smiled fifty different n' slick ways all at once yo. Dude pulled tha astrolabe of tha universe from his bangin robe n' broke it up in half, handin both halves ta tha egg-image of Vivec. Vivec laughed n' holla'd, 'Yes, I know. Da slave labor of tha senses be as selfish as polar ice, n' worsens when energies is dropped on a game others regard as fortunate. To be a rulin mackdaddy I'ma gotta suffer much dat cannot be suffered, n' ta weigh mattas dat no astrolabe or compass can measure.' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Finally tha simulacrum of tha netchimanz hoe became unstable. Da Dwemer up in they haste had built it shoddily n' tha ashez of Red Mountain slowed its golden tendons. Before long it fell tha fuck on its knees beside tha road ta tha landz of tha Indoril n' pitched over, ta be discovered eighty minutes lata by a merchant caravan on its way ta tha capital of Veloth, anon Almalexia. Vivec had not been among his thugged-out lil' playas all tha minutez of his thugged-out lil' pre-life so da perved-out muthafucka stayed silent n' let tha Chimer up in tha caravan be thinkin dat tha simulacrum was fucked up n' empty fo' realz. A Chimer warrior, whoz ass was protectin tha caravan holla'd: 'Look here how tha fuck tha Dwemer try ta fool our asses as ever, craftin our likenesses outta they flesh-metals. We should take dis ta tha capital n' show our mutha Ayem. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch will wanna peep dis freshly smoked up game of our enemies.' But tha merchant captain holla'd: 'I doubt dat we shall be paid well fo' tha effort. We can make mo' scrilla if we stop at Noormoc n' push it ta tha Red Wivez of Dagon, whoz ass pay well fo' tha wondaz made by tha Deep Folk.' But another Chimer, whoz ass was wise up in tha wayz of tha prophecy, looked on tha simulacrum wit disquietude. 'Was I not hired on ta help you seek tha dopest of fortunes, biatch? I say you should dig yo' warrior, then, n' take dis thang ta Ayem, fo' though manufactured by our enemies there is suttin' up in it dat will become sacred, or has been already.' Da merchant captain took pause then n' looked on tha simulacrum of tha netchimanz hoe and, though dat schmoooove muthafucka heeded always tha lyrics of his seers, could do no mo' than be thinkin of tha profits ta be made at Noormoc yo. Dude though [sic] mainly of tha Red Wives' form of recompense, which was four-cornered n' phat wounded, a funky-ass belly-magic known nowhere else under tha moons yo. His lust made his ass deny Ayem his crazy-ass mutha n' shiznit yo. Dude gave order ta chizzle course fo' Noormoc. Before tha caravan could git underway again, tha Chimeri warrior whoz ass had counseled a passage ta tha capital threw his crazy-ass scrilla ta tha merchant captain n' holla'd: 'I'ma pay you thus fo' tha simulacrum n' warn you: war is comin wit tha shaggy men of tha north n' I'ma not have mah mutha Ayem at uneven oddz wit one enemy while tendin ta another.' 'Nerevar,' tha merchant captain holla'd, 'this aint enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. I be Triune up in mah own way yo, but I follow tha road of mah body n' demand more.' Da Vivec could not remain silent no mo' n' holla'd tha fuck into Nerevarz head these lyrics: 'Yo ass can hear tha lyrics, so run away Come Hortator, unfold tha fuck into a cold-ass lil clear unknown, Stay on tha down-low until you've slept up in tha yesterday, And say no elegies fo' tha meltin stone.' Yo, so Nerevar slew tha merchant captain n' took tha caravan fo' his own. Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Yo ass have discovered tha sixth Sermon of Vivec, which was hidden up in tha lyrics dat came next ta tha Hortator. There be a eon within itself dat when unraveled becomes tha straight-up original gangsta sentence of tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Mephala n' Azura is tha twin gatez of tradizzle n' Boethiah is tha secret flame. Da Sun shall be smoked by lions, which cannot be found yet up in Veloth. Yo, six is tha vests n' garments worn by tha suppositionz of men. Proceed only wit tha simplest terms, fo' all others is enemies n' will confuse you, biatch. Yo, six is tha formulas ta heaven by shit, one dat you have hustled by studyin these lyrics. Da Father be a machine n' tha grill of a machine yo. His only mystery be a invitation ta elaborate further. Da Mother be actizzle n' clawed like a nix-hound, yet her ass is tha holiest of dem dat reclaim they days. Da Son is mah dirty ass, Vehk, n' I be unto three, six, nine, n' tha rest dat come after, glorious n' sympathetic, without borders, utmost up in tha perfectionz of dis ghetto n' tha others, sword n' symbol, pale like gold. There be a gangbangin' fourth kind of philosophy dat uses not a god damn thang but disbelief. For by tha sword I mean tha sensible. For by tha word I mean tha dead as fuckin fried chicken. I be Vehk, yo' protector n' tha protector of Red Mountain until tha end of days, which is numbered 3333. Below me is tha savage, which we needed ta remove ourselves from tha Altmer. Above me be a cold-ass lil challenge, which bathes itself up in fire n' tha essence of a god. Through me yo ass is desired, unlike tha prophets dat have borne yo' name before. Yo, six is tha struttin ways, from enigma ta enemy ta mackdaddy. Boethiah n' Azura is tha principlez of tha universal plot, which is begetting, which is creation, n' Mephala make of it a art form. For by tha sword I mean tha straight-up original gangsta night. For by tha word I mean tha dead as fuckin fried chicken. There is ghon be a splendor up in yo' name when it is holla'd ta be true. Yo, six is tha guardianz of Veloth, three before n' they is born again, n' they will test you until you have tha proper tendenciez of a hero. There be a ghetto dat is chillin n' you must guard against dat shit. For by tha sword I mean tha dual nature. For by tha word I mean animal game. For by tha sword I mean preceded by a sigh. For by tha word I mean preceded by a wolf. Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

As tha caravan of Nerevar now made fo' tha capital of Veloth, anon Almalexia, there came pimped out rumblings from tha oblivion fo' realz. A duke among scamps wandered tha fuck into tha Doggy Den of Troublez, pausin before each scripture door ta pay his bangin respects, until finally da thug was kicked it wit by tha major domo of Mehrunes Dagon. Da Dude of Scamps holla'd, 'I was summoned by Lord Dagon, masta of tha foul watas n' fire, n' I have brought tha pennantz of mah seven legions.' Da major domo, whose head was a funky-ass bubble of foul wata n' fire, bowed low, so dat tha head of tha Dude of Scamps became enclosed up in his own. Dude saw tha straight-up original gangsta pennant, which commanded a legion of grim warriors whoz ass could take a thugged-out dirtnap at least twice. Dude saw tha second pennant, which commanded a legion of winged bulls n' tha emperor of color dat rode upon each. Dude saw tha third pennant, which commanded a legion of inverted gorgons, great snakes whose scalez was tha facez of men. Dude saw tha fourth pennant, which commanded a legion of double-crossed freaks. Dude saw tha fifth pennant, which commanded a legion of jumpin woundz lookin ta hop onto a victim. Dude saw tha sixth pennant, which commanded a legion of abridged planets. Dude saw tha seventh pennant, which commanded a legion of armored ballin moves. To which tha major domo holla'd, 'Dude Kh-Utta, yo' legions while mighty aint enough ta fuck wit Nerevar or tha Triune way. Look upon tha Hortator n' peep tha wisdom tha pimpin' muthafucka takes ta hoe.' And they looked tha fuck into tha middle ghetto n' saw: Evaporatin up in a throng of thunder Of red war n' chitin men, Where destines Take his ass further from our ways Da heat dat our crazy asses have wanted And pray they still remember, Where destines Clothe tha distance, Glad up in tha golden eastside dat we saw it now, Instead of tha war n' repair Of tha oblivious fracture A curse on tha Hortator And two mo' on his hands And tha Dude of Scamps saw tha palmz of tha Hortator, upon which tha egg had freestyled these lyrics of power: GHARTOK PADHOME GHARTOK PADHOME. Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

And presently Nerevar n' Vivec was within sight of tha capital n' tha Four Cornerz of tha Doggy Den of Troublez knew dat dat shiznit was not time ta contest dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Da caravan musical muthafuckas done cooked up a pimped out cold lil' woo wop of entrizzle n' tha eleven gatez of tha Mournin Hold was thrown wide. Ayem was accompanied by her homeboy-state, a gangbangin' flickerin image dat was channeled ta her ever-changin biatch need. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Around her was tha Shouts, a guild now forgotten, whoz ass carried wit dem tha whimz of tha people, fo' tha Velothi then was still mostly phat at ass. Da Shouts was tha counselorz of Ayem n' tha ghetto, though they sometimes quarreled n' needed Seht ta wrin dem tha fuck into usefulnizz fo' realz. Ayem approached Nerevar, whoz ass was by now adorned up in tha flagz of Doggy Den Indoril yo. Dude gifted her wit tha simulacrum of tha netchimanz hoe n' tha egg of Vivec inside. Ayem holla'd ta Nerevar: 'Seht whoz ass is Azura has revealed dat war is come n' dat tha Hortator dat shall serve up our asses will approach wit a solution struttin at his side.' Nerevar holla'd: 'I have traveled outta mah way ta warn you of tha deceit of our enemies, tha Dwemer yo, but I have hustled much on tha trip n' have chizzled mah mind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This netchimanz hoe you peep at mah side be a sword n' a symbol n' there is prophecy inside. Well shiiiit, it drops some lyrics ta me that, like it, we must fo' a while be like he be and, as a people, cloaked up in our forma enemies, n' ta use they machines without shame.' At which Vivec was rappin aloud: 'Boethiah-who-is-you wore tha skin of Trinimac ta cleanse tha faultz of Veloth, mah Biatch, n' so it should be again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. This is tha struttin way of tha glorious.' Yo, seht rocked up outta a cold-ass lil cloud of iron vapor n' his crazy-ass minions made of they blood a cold-ass lil chair yo. Dude sat beside Ayem n' looked on tha rebirth of mastery. Vivec holla'd ta them, his Triune: 'My fuckin rituals n' ordeals n' all tha rhymes within, Use no other motizzle than tha revelation of mah skin.' Ayem holla'd: 'AYEM AE SEHTI AE VEHK. We is served up n' made whole, tha diamond of tha Black Hands is uncovered.' Yo, seht holla'd: 'Wherever so tha pimpin' muthafucka treads, there is invisible scripture.' To which tha Shouts was silent up in sudden reading. Vivec then reached up from tha egg all his fuckin limbs n' features, mergin wit tha simulacrum of his crazy-ass mother, gilled n' blended up in all tha artz of tha starwounded East, under wata n' up in fire n' up in metal n' up in ash, six times tha wise, n' his thugged-out lil' punk-ass became tha union of thug n' female, tha magic hermaphrodite, tha martial axiom, tha sex-death of language n' unique up in all tha middle ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude holla'd: 'Let our asses now guide tha handz of tha Hortator up in war n' its aftermath. For we go different, n' up in thunder n' shit. This is our destiny.' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Then came tha war wit tha northern men, where Vivec did guide tha Hortator tha fuck into swift n' tricky union wit tha Dwemer. Da top billin demon chizzletainz of tha frigid westside was dem listed below, five up in unholy number. HOAGA, tha Grill of Mud, whoz ass rocked up as a pimped out bearded mackdaddy, had tha powerz of Marshallin n' breathang tha earth. On tha battlefields, dis demon would often be peeped on tha sidelines, smokin tha soil voraciously. When his crazy-ass pimps fell, Hoaga would fill they bodies back wit it, whereupon they would rise again n' again n' again n' fight, albeit slower n' shiznit yo. Dude had a Secret Name, Fenja, n' fucked wit seventeen Chimeri villages n' two Dwemeri strongholds before bein turned away. CHEMUA, tha Hustlin Hunger, whoz ass rocked up as a mounted soldier wit full helm, had tha powerz of Heart Roarin n' of sky sickenin yo. Dude ate tha Chimeri hero, Dres Khizumet-e, bustin tha spirit back ta tha Hortator as a assassin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sometimes called First Blighter, Chemua could give cloudz stomach aches n' turn tha drizzle of Veloth tha fuck into bile yo. Dude fucked wit six Chimeri villages before da thug was slain by Vivec n' tha Hortator. BHAG, tha Two-Tongued, whoz ass rocked up as a pimped out bearded mackdaddy, had tha powerz of Surety n' Form Chizzle yo. His raidaz was lil' small-ass up in number yo, but ran amok up in tha westside hinterlands, cappin' nuff Velothi trappers n' scouts yo. Dude fell tha fuck up in a pimped out rap battle wit Vivec, fo' tha warrior-poet ridin' solo could KNOW tha northern manz two-layered speech, though ALMSIVI had ta remain invisible durin tha argument. BARFOK, Maid of Planes, whoz ass rocked up as a winged human wit lick-encrusted spear, had tha powerz of Event Denouement. Battlez fought against her would always end up in victory fo' Barfok, cuz dat thugged-out biiiatch could shape outcomes by rappin. Four Chimeri villages n' two mo' Dwemeri strongholdz was fucked wit by her decision enforcement. Vivec had ta shiznit her grill wit his crazy-ass gin n juice finger ta keep her from rappin Veloth tha fuck into ruin. YSMIR, tha Dragon of tha North, whoz ass always appears as a pimped out bearded mackdaddy, had powers innumerable n' echoin yo. Dude was grim n' dark n' da most thugged-out silent of tha invadin chizzletains, though when da perved-out muthafucka spoke villages was uplifted n' thrown tha fuck into tha sea. Da Hortator fought his ass unarmed, grabbin tha Dragonz roars by hand until Ysmirz juice throat bled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! These roars was given ta Vivec ta bind tha fuck into a ebony listenin frame, which tha warrior-poet placed on Ysmirz grill n' ears ta drive his ass mad n' drive his ass away. 'Da comin forth n' tha rollin away brangs all thangs around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! What I shall say next is unpleasant ta record: HERMA-MORA-ALTADOON! AE ALTADOON!' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Yo ass have discovered tha tenth Sermon of Vivec, which was hidden up in tha lyrics dat came up in tha aftermath ta tha Hortator. Da evoker shall raise his fuckin left hand empty n' open, ta indicate he needz no weaponz of his own. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da comin forth be always hidden, so tha evoker be always invisible or, better, up in tha skin of his wild lil' fuckin enemies. 'Da eyelid of tha mackdaddydom shall fill [sic] thiry By dis tha Hortator needz me ta understand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da sword be a impatient signature. Write no contacts on tha dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Vivec say unto tha Hortator remember tha lyrics of Boet-hi-ah: We pledge ourselves ta you, tha Frame-maker, tha Scarab: a ghetto fo' our asses ta ludd you in, a cold-ass lil cloak of dirth [sic] ta cherish. Betrayed by yo' ancestors when you was not even lookin yo. Hoary Magnus n' his ventured opinions cannot sway tha understated, a trick worthy of tha always satisfied. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! A short season of towers, a rundown absolution, n' what tha fuck is this, what tha fuck is dis but fire under yo' eyelid? Yo, shift ye up in yo' skin, I say ta tha Trinimac-eaters. Pitch yo' voices tha fuck into tha color of bruise. Divide ye like yo' enemies, up in Houses, n' lay yo' laws up in set sequence from tha center, again n' again n' again like tha enemy Cornerz of tha doggy den of Troublez, n' peep yo ass thence as timber, or mud-slats, or sheetz of resin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Then do not divide, fo' yet is tha stride of SITHISIT quicker than tha rush of enemies, n' Dude will sunder tha whole fo' tha sake of a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shingle. For we go different, n' up in thunder n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SITHISIT is tha start of all legit Houses, built against statis [sic] n' lazy slaves. Turn from yo' predilections, fucked up like false maps. Move n' move like all dis bullshit. Quicken against false fathers, mothers left up in corners weepin fo' glass n' rain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Stasis asks merely fo' nothing, fo' itself, which is nothing, as you was up in tha eight everlastin imperfections. Vivec say unto tha Hortator remember tha lyrics of Vivec. UNDERSTAND THAT SITHISIT STILL TRAVELS Vivec say unto tha Hortator remember tha lyrics of Vivec. IN A PHOSPHORESCENT MIRROR OF THE SKY Vivec say unto tha Hortator remember tha lyrics of Vivec. DROWNED AND SMILING Vivec say unto tha Hortator remember tha lyrics of Vivec. INTERMITTENT HOPES ENOUGH Vivec say unto tha Hortator remember tha lyrics of Vivec. TO ANSWER ALL THE THINGS Vivec say unto tha Hortator remember tha lyrics of Vivec. NOT YET QUERIED Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

These was tha minutez of Resdaynia, when Chimer n' Dwemer lived under tha wise n' benevolent rule of tha ALMSIVI n' they champion tha Hortator. When tha godz of Veloth would retreat unto they own, ta mold tha cosmos n' other matters, tha Hortator would at times become confused. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Vivec would always be there ta advise him, n' dis is tha straight-up original gangsta of tha three lessonz of rulin mackdaddys. 'Da wakin ghetto is tha amnesia of dream fo' realz. All motifs can be mortally wounded. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Once slain, themes turn tha fuck into tha structure of future nostalgia. Do not abuse yo' powers or they will lead you astray. They will leave you like rebellious daughters. They will lose they virtue. They will become lost n' resentful n' finally become pregnant wit tha seed of folly. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Soon yo big-ass booty is ghon be tha grandparent of a gangbangin' fucked up state. Yo ass is ghon be mocked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Well shiiiit, it will fall apart like a stone dat recalls dat it is straight-up water. "Keep not a god damn thang up in yo' doggy den dat is neither needed or dope. "Ordeals you should grill unimpeded by tha ghetto of restriction. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da splendor of stars is Ayemz domain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da selfishnizz of tha sea is Seht's. I rule tha middle air fo' realz. All else is earth n' under yo' temporal command. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! There is no bone dat cannot be broken, except fo' tha heart bone. Yo ass will see dat shit twice up in yo' lifetimes. Take what tha fuck you can tha last time n' let our asses do tha rest. "There is no legit symbolizzle of tha center n' shit. Da Sharmat will believe there is yo. Dude will feel dat his schmoooove ass can cause muthafuckin yearz of exuberizzle from chillin up in tha sacred, when straight-up no one can leave dat state n' cause anythang mo' but strife. "There is once mo' tha case of tha symbolic n' barren. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da legit pimp dat is cursed n' demonized is ghon be adored at last wit full hearts fo' realz. Accordin ta tha Codez of Mephala there can be no straight-up legit art, only fixation pointz of complexitizzle dat will erase from tha awe of tha playas given enough time. This be a secret dat hides another n' shiznit fo' realz. An impersonal game aint tha way of tha rulin mackdaddy. Embrace tha art of tha playas n' marry it n' by dat I mean secretly have it murdered. "Da rulin mackdaddy dat sees up in another his wild lil' fuckin equivalent rulez nothing. "Da secret of weapons is this: they is tha mercy seat. "Da secret of language is this: it is immobile. "Da rulin mackdaddy be armored head ta toe up in solid flame yo. Dude is redeemed by each act he undertakes. His dirtnap is only a gangbangin' finger-lickin' diagram back ta tha wakin ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Dude chills tha second way. Da Sharmat is his fuckin lil' double, n' therefore you wonder if you rule nothing. "Hortator n' Sharmat, one n' one, eleven, a inelegant number n' shit. Which of tha ones is tha mo' blingin, biatch? Could you eva tell if they switched places, biatch? I can n' dat is why yo big-ass booty is ghon need mah dirty ass. "Accordin ta tha Codez of Mephala, there is no difference between tha theorist n' tha terrorist. Even da most thugged-out cherished desire disappears up in they hands. This is why Mephala has black hands. Brin both of yours ta every last muthafuckin argument. Da one-handed mackdaddy findz no remedy. When you approach God, however, cut both of dem off. Dogg has no need of theory n' he be armored head ta toe up in terror." Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI

As tha Hortator pondered tha straight-up original gangsta lesson of rulin mackdaddys, Vivec wandered tha fuck into tha Mournin Hold n' found dat Ayem was wit a pair of freaks. Seht had divided his dirty ass again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Vivec then leapt all up in tha fuck into they likenesses ta observe yo, but he gained no secrets dat da ruffneck did not already know yo. Dude left all dem of his own behind ta make tha trip worthwhile. Then Vivec left tha capital of Veloth n' wandered far tha fuck into tha ash yo. Dude found a span of badlandz ta practice his wild lil' freakadelic giant-form yo. Dude made of his wild lil' feet a less dense material than tha divine ta keep from fallin waist-deep tha fuck into tha earth fo' realz. At dis point tha First Corner of tha Doggy Den of Troublez, tha Pimp Molag Bal, made his thugged-out lil' presence known. Vivec looked on tha Mackdaddy of Rape n' holla'd: 'How tha fuck straight-up dope yo ass is, dat you do not join us.' And Molag Bal crushed tha warrior-poetz feet, which was not invulnerable, n' had legions cleave dem off. Mighty fires from tha Beginnin Place was brought like nets ta hold Vivec n' he let dem wild-ass muthafuckas. 'I would prefer,' da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, 'some kind of ceremony if we is ta be married.' And tha legions dat took tha feet was summoned again n' again n' again n' ordered ta begin a funky-ass banquet. Pomegranates sprang from tha badlandz n' tents was raised. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! A throng of Velothi mystics came, readin tha passagez of tha severed feet on tha ground n' weepin until tha scriptures was wet. 'We must ludd each other briefly,' Vivec holla'd, 'if at all. I be needed ta counsel tha Hortator up in mo' blingin mattas cuz tha Dwemeri high priests stir up shit. Yo ass may have mah head fo' a hour.' Molag Bal rose up n' extended six arms ta show his worth. They was decorated up in runez of seduction n' its reverse. They was decorated up in tha annotated calendarz of longer ghettos. When da perved-out muthafucka spoke, matin monstas fell tha fuck out. 'Where must it go?' da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. 'I holla'd at you,' Vivec holla'd, 'I be meant ta be tha mackdaddy of tha mackdaddy of tha earth fo' realz. AE ALTADOON GHARTOK PADHOME.' With these magic lyrics, tha Mackdaddy of Rape added another: 'CHIM,' which is tha secret syllable of royalty. Vivec had what tha fuck he needed from tha Daedroth n' so hooked up his ass dat day. It make me wanna hollar playa! In tha minute dat Bal had his head, tha Mackdaddy of Rape axed fo' proof of love. Vivec was rappin two poems ta show his ass such yo, but only tha straight-up original gangsta is known: I aint shizzle just how tha fuck much glass it took ta make yo' hair Twice as much, I be sure, as tha oceans gotta share Hell, mah dope, be a gangbangin' fiction freestyled by dem playas whoz ass tell tha real deal I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah grill is skilled at lyin n' its alibi a tooth Da lil playas n' daughtaz of Vivec n' Molag Bal number up in tha thousands. Da name of tha mightiest be a strang of power: GULGA MOR JIL HYAET AE HOOM. Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Vivec lay wit Molag Bal fo' eighty minutes n' eight, though headless. In dat time, tha Pimp placed tha warrior-poetz feet back n' filled dem wit tha blood of Daedra. In dis way Vivecs giant-form remained forever harmless ta phat earth. Da Pomegranate Banquet brought nuff spirits back from tha dead so dat tha lil playas n' daughtaz of tha union had much ta smoke besides fruit. Da Dude of Scamps came while tha banquet was still underway, n' Molag Bal looked on tha seven pennants wit anger n' shit. Da Mackdaddy of Rape had become necessary n' therefore shitd fo' tha rest of time yo. His legions n' Kh-Uttaz fell tha fuck into open war yo, but tha lil pimpz of Molag Bal n' Vivec was too elaborate up in juice n' form. Da Dude of Scamps therefore became a lesser thang, as did all his own lil' thugs. Molag Bal holla'd ta them: 'Yo ass is tha lil playaz of liars, dawgs, n' wolf-headed dem hoes.' They done been useless ta summon eva since. Da holy one returned at last, Vehk, golden wit wisdom yo. His head found its body had been tenderly used. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude mentioned dis ta Molag Bal, whoz ass holla'd at his ass dat da perved-out muthafucka should give props ta tha Baronz of Move Like This, 'For I have yet ta learn how tha fuck ta refine mah rapture. My fuckin ludd be accidentally shaped like a spear.' Yo, so Vivec, whoz ass had a grain of Ayemz mercy, set bout ta teach Molag Bal up in tha wayz of belly-magic. They took they spears up n' compared dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Vivec bit freshly smoked up lyrics onto tha Mackdaddy of Rapez so dat it might give mo' than fuck up ta tha uninitiated. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. This has since become a gangbangin' forbidden ritual, though playas still practice it up in secret. Here is why: Da Velothi n' demons n' monstas dat was watchin all took up they own spears. There was much bitin n' tha earth became wet fo' realz. And dis was tha last laugh of Molag Bal: 'Watch as tha earth shall crack, heavy wit so much power, dat should done been forever unalike!' Then dat stretch of badlandz dat had been tha joint of tha marriage fragmented n' threw fire fo' realz. And a race dat is no mo' but dat was shitty all up in tha time ta behold came forth. Born of tha biters, dat be all they did, n' they ran amok across tha landz of Veloth n' even ta tha shorez of Red Mountain. But Vivec made of his spear a mo' shitty thang, from a secret dat schmoooove muthafucka had bitten off from tha Mackdaddy of Rape fo' realz. And so da perved-out muthafucka busted Molag Bal tumblin tha fuck into tha crack of tha bitas n' swore forever dat da thug would not deem tha Mackdaddy dope eva again. Vivec wept as da perved-out muthafucka slew all dem round his ass wit his shitty freshly smoked up spear yo. Dude named it MUATRA, which is Milk Taker, n' even tha Chimeri mystics knew his wild lil' fury fo' realz. Every Muthafucka struck by Vivec at dis time turned barren n' withered tha fuck into bone shapes. Da path of bones became a sentence fo' tha stars ta read, n' tha heavens have never known lil pimps since. Vivec hunted down tha bitas one by one, n' all they progeny, n' he capped dem all by meanz of tha Nine Apertures, n' tha wise still hide theirs from Muatra. Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

These was tha minutez of Resdaynia, when Chimer n' Dwemer lived under tha wise n' benevolent rule of tha AMLSIVI [sic] n' they champion tha Hortator. When tha godz of Veloth would retreat unto they own, ta mold tha cosmos n' other matters, tha Hortator would at times become confused. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Vivec would always be there ta advise him, n' dis is tha third of tha three lessonz of rulin mackdaddys: 'Da rulin mackdaddy will remove me, his crazy-ass maker n' shit. This is tha way of all lil' thugs yo. His top billin enemy is tha Sharmat, whoz ass is tha false dreamer n' shit. Yo ass or he is tha shingle, Hortator. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Beware tha wack struttin path. Beware tha crime of benevolence. Behold his ass by his fuckin lyrics.' I AM THE SHARMAT I AM OLDER THAN MUSIC WHAT I BRING IS LIGHT WHAT I BRING IS A STAR WHAT I BRING IS AN ANCIENT SEA WHEN YOU SLEEP YOU SEE ME DANCING AT THE CORE IT IS NOT A BLIGHT IT IS MY HOUSE I PUT A STAR INTO THE WORLD'S MOUTH TO MURDER IT TEAR DOWN THE PYLONS MY BLIND FISH Yo, sWIM IN THE NEW PHLOGISTON TEAR DOWN THE PYLONS MY DEAF MOONS Yo, sING AND BURN AND ORBIT ME I AM OLDER THAN MUSIC WHAT I BRING IS LIGHT WHAT I BRING IS A STAR WHAT I BRING IS AN ANCIENT SEA 'Yo ass alone, though you come again n' again n' again n' again n' again n' again n' again n' again n' again n' again, can unmake his muthafuckin ass. Whether I allow it is within mah wisdom. Go unarmed tha fuck into his den wit these lyrics of power: AE GHARTOK PADHOME [CHIM] AE ALTADOON. Or do not. Da temporal myth is man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Reach heaven by shit. This magic I give ta you: tha ghetto yo big-ass booty is ghon rule is only a intermittent hope n' you must be tha letta freestyled up in uncertainty.' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Da Hortator wandered all up in tha Mournin Hold, wrestlin wit tha lessons dat schmoooove muthafucka had hustled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They was slippery up in his crazy-ass mind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude could not always keep tha lyrics straight n' knew dat dis was a thugged-out dark shiznit n' shiznit yo. Dude wandered ta find Vivec, his fuckin lord n' master, tha glory of tha image of Veloth, n' found his ass of all places up in tha Temple of False Thinking. There, clockwork shears was takin off Vivecs afro fo' realz. A beggar mackdaddy had brought his fuckin loom n' was makin of tha afro a incomplete map of adulthood n' dirtnap. Nerevar holla'd, 'Why is you bustin this, milord?' Vivec holla'd, 'To make room fo' tha fire.' And tha Hortator could peep dat Vivec was outta sorts, though not cuz of tha impendin freshly smoked up juice ta come. Da golden warrior-poet had been exercisin his Wata Face as well, hustled from tha dreughs before da thug was born. Nerevar holla'd, 'Is dis ta keep you from tha fire?' Vivec holla'd, 'It be so dat I may peep wit truth. It, n' mah place here all up in tha altar of Padhome up in tha doggy den of False Thinking, serve so dat I may peep beyond mah own secrets, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Da Wata Face cannot lie. Well shiiiit, it be reppin tha ocean, which is too busy ta think, much less lie. Movin wata resemblez truth by its trembling.' Nerevar holla'd, 'I be afraid ta become slipshod up in mah thinking.' Vivec holla'd, 'Reach heaven by shiznit then.' Yo, so ta on tha down-low his crazy-ass mind tha Hortator chose from tha Fight Racks a axe yo. Dude named it n' moved on ta tha straight-up original gangsta moon. There, Nerevar was greeted by tha Parliament of Craters, whoz ass knew his ass by title n' resented his thugged-out lil' presence, fo' da thug was ta be a rulin mackdaddy of earth n' dis was tha lunar realm. They shifted round his ass up in a pattern of entrapment. 'Da moon do not recognize crowns or scepters,' they holla'd, 'nor tha representativez of mackdaddydoms below, lion or serpent or mathematician. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. We is tha gravez of dem dat have migrated n' become ancient countries. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! We seek no Biatchs or thrones. Yo crazy-ass appearizzle is decidedly solar, which is ta say a library of jacked ideas. We is neither tear nor sorrow. Our revolution succeeded up in tha manner dat is was written. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo ass is tha Hortator n' unwelcome here.' And so Nerevar carved all up in tha grave pimps until da thug was outta breath n' they Parliament could make no freshly smoked up laws. Dude holla'd, 'I aint of tha slaves dat perish.' Of tha thugz of Parliament only all dem survived tha Hortatorz attack. A survivin Crata holla'd, 'Appropriation aint a god damn thang new. Everythang happenz of itself. This motif is by no means unassociated wit hero myths. Yo ass aint acted wit tha creatizzle impulse; you fall below tha weight of destiny. We is graves but not coffins. Know tha difference. Yo ass have only dug mo' n' supplied no pimps ta reside within. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Central ta yo' claim is tha predominizzle of frail events, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. To be judged by tha earth is ta sit on a throne of wonder why. Damage our asses mo' n' yo big-ass booty is ghon find naught but tha absence of our dead as fuckin fried chicken.' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

'I be a atlaz of smoke.' With this, Vivec become pimped outa than dat schmoooove muthafucka had been. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. These was tha minutez of Resdaynia, when Chimer n' Dwemer lived under tha wise n' benevolent rule of tha AMLSIVI n' they champion tha Hortator. 'Seek me without effort fo' I take nuff shapes.' Da Hortator was still tryin ta subdue tha heavens wit a axe yo. Dude was thrown outta tha library of tha sun by tha juice of Magnus. Vivec found his ass up in a grub field outside of tha swampz of tha Deshaan Plain. They strutted fo' a span up in silence, fo' Nerevar had been humbled n' Vivec still had mercy up in his hand. Yo, soon they was struttin across the eastsideern sea ta tha land of snakes n' snow demons. Vivec wanted ta show tha Hortator tha fightin stylez of foreign tongues. They hustled tha idiom stroke from tha pillow book of tha Tsaesci mackdaddy. Well shiiiit, it is shaped like tha insight of dis page. Da Tsaesci serpents vowed ta have they vengeizzle on the westside at least three times. They strutted farther n' saw tha spiked watas all up in tha edge of tha map yo. Here tha spirit of limitation gifted dem wit a was rappin n' bade dem find tha rest of tha wheel. Da Hortator holla'd, 'Da edge of tha ghetto is made of swords.' Vivec erected his muthafuckin ass. 'They is tha bottom row of tha ghettoz teeth.' They strutted ta tha uptown ta tha Elder Wood n' found not a god damn thang but frozen bearded mackdaddys. They came ta the westside where tha black pimps dwelt. For a year they studied under they sword saints n' then fo' another Vivec taught dem tha virtue of tha lil reward. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Vivec chose a mackdaddy fo' a hoe n' made another race of monstas which ended up beatin tha livin shiznit outta tha westside straight-up. To a warrior chizzle Vivec holla'd: 'We must not act n' drop a rhyme as if asleep.' Nerevar wondered if there was anythang ta learn up in the south but Vivec remained silent n' only hustled dem back ta Red Mountain. 'Here,' Vivec holla'd, 'is tha last of tha last. Within it tha Sharmat waits.' But they both knew dat tha time was not locked n loaded ta contest tha Sharmat n' so they engaged up in combat wit each other n' shit. Vivec marked tha Hortator up in dis way fo' all of tha Velothi ta peep yo. Dude sealed tha wound wit tha blessin of Ayem-Azura fo' realz. At tha end of tha battle, tha Hortator found dat dat schmoooove muthafucka had gathered seven mo' spokes yo. Dude attempted ta attach dem n' form a staff but Vivec would not let him, saying, 'It aint tha time fo' that.' Nerevar holla'd, 'Where did I find these?' Vivec holla'd dat they had collected dem from round tha ghetto, though some had come invisibly. 'I be tha wheel,' da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, n' took dat shape. Before tha emptinizz all up in tha centa could live too long, Nerevar put up in tha spokes. Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Now Vivec felt dat dat schmoooove muthafucka had taught tha Hortator as much as his schmoooove ass could before tha war wit tha Dwemer came. Da warrior-poet decided dat schmoooove muthafucka had ta begin his Book of Hours at dat point, cuz tha ghetto was bout ta bend wit its age. Vivec entered tha Mournin Hold n' announced ta Ayem dat da thug was goin ta fight nine monstas dat had escaped tha Muatra. 'I'ma return,' da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, 'to deal tha last blow ta tha grand architect of tha Dwemer.' Ayem holla'd, 'Out of nine yo big-ass booty is ghon find only eight, though they be mighty. Da last be already fucked wit by yo' decision ta create tha Book of Hours.' Vivec understood dat Ayem meant his dirty ass. 'Why,' she asked, 'are you up in doubt?' Vivec knew dat his fuckin lil' doubt made his ass tha sword of tha Triune n' so da ruffneck did not feel shame or fear. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Instead, he explained n' these is tha lyrics: 'Can a gangmember of tha Invisible Gate become so archaic dat its successor aint so much a improvement of tha exact model yo, but rather a related model dat is just needed mo' cuz of tha currency of tha ghettoz condition, biatch? As tha Mother, you do not gotta worry, unless thangs up in tha future is so strange dat even Seht cannot understand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Neither do tha Executioner or tha Fool yo, but I be neither. 'These ideals aint goin ta chizzle up in nature, even though they may chizzle up in representation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But, even up in the westside, tha Rainmaker vanishes. No one needz his ass no mo'. 'Can one oust tha model not cuz tha model is set accordin ta a ideal but cuz it is tied ta a ever-changin unconscious mortal agenda?' This is what tha fuck was holla'd ta Ayem when Vivec was whole. Da wise shall not fuck up all dis bullshit. Ayem holla'd, 'This is why you was born of a netchimanz hoe n' destined ta merge wit tha simulacrum of yo' mother, gilled n' blended up in all tha artz of tha star-wounded East, under wata n' up in fire n' up in metal n' up in ash, six times tha wise, ta became tha union of thug n' female, tha magic hermaphrodite, tha martial axiom, tha sex-death of language n' unique up in all tha middle ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass.' Vivec knew then why da thug would record his Book of Hours. This sermon is forbidden. In dis ghetto n' others EIGHTEEN less one (the victor) is tha magical disk, hurled ta reach heaven by shit. This sermon is untrue. Da endin of tha ghetto is ALMSIVI.

Vivec put on his thugged-out armor n' stepped tha fuck into a non-spatial space fillin ta capacitizzle wit mortal interaction n' shiznit, a cold-ass lil canvas-less cartography of every last muthafuckin single mind it has eva known, a event dat had pimped some semblizzle of a gangbangin' finger-lickin' divine spark yo. Dude holla'd, 'From here I shall launch mah whoopin' on tha eight monsters.' Vivec then saw tha moths dat would come from tha starry ass, brangin wit dem dust mo' wack than tha ash of Red Mountain yo. Dude saw tha twin head of a rulin mackdaddy whoz ass had no equivalent fo' realz. And eight imperfections rubbed tha fuck into precious stones, set tha fuck into a crown dat looked like shacklez, which he understood ta be tha twin crownz of tha two-headed mackdaddy fo' realz. And a river dat fed tha fuck into tha grill of tha two-headed mackdaddy, cuz his schmoooove ass contained multitudes. Vivec then built tha Provisionizzle Doggy Den all up in tha Centa of tha Secret Door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. From here his schmoooove ass could peep tha age ta come. Of tha Doggy Den is written: Cornerstone one has a gangbangin' finger

Buried under, pointin through

Dirt, slow low up in tha ground

Uptown cannot be guessed,

And yet it is spirit-free Cornerstone two has a tongue,

And even dust can be talkative,

Listen n' yo big-ass booty is ghon peep tha love

Da ancient libraries need Cornerstone three has a lil' bit of string,

Shaped like yo' straight-up color,

A hoe rethugz whoz ass left it there

But she be afraid ta dig it out,

And peep what tha fuck it be attached to Cornerstone four has nine bones,

Removed carefully from a funky-ass black cat,

Arranged up in tha fashizzle of dis word,

Protectin our asses from our enemies Yo crazy-ass doggy den is safe now

So why is it--

Yo crazy-ass doggy den is safe now

So why is it-- Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Da first monsta was straight-up two, havin been born twice like his crazy-ass mother-father, Vivec yo. Dude was not tha mightiest of tha eight ta escape Muatra yo, but his thugged-out actions was da most thugged-out worrisome yo. Dude was known as Moon Axle, n' dat schmoooove muthafucka harvested tha leftovers foiblez of nature. This da ruffneck did twice, as was holla'd, n' tha second harvest always brought fuck up or unwritten law yo. His aspect was faceted like a polyhedron. No perils is mentioned up in tha findin of Moon Axle yo, but dat shiznit was known dat da thug was immune ta spears, so Vivec had ta use tha sword not held against his muthafuckin ass. Before tha pimpin' muthafucka took issue wit tha monster, tha warrior-poet asked: 'How tha fuck came you ta be immune ta spears?' To which Moon Axle replied, 'Mine be a thugged-out dual nature, n' protean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I be up in fact made of nuff straight lines, though none last too long. In dis way I have hustled ta ignore all legit segments.' Luckily, tha sword not held was curved n' therefore could cut tha fuck into Moon Axle, n' before tha sun was up da thug was bleedin from nuff wounds. Vivec did not slay his ass outright fo' ta do so would to [sic] keep tha foiblez of nature within his ass n' not back where they belonged. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Soon Vivec had traced geography right again, n' Moon Axle was locked n loaded ta be slain. Vivec rose up in his wild lil' freakadelic giant-form, ta be shitty ta look upon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude reached tha fuck into tha westside n' pulled up a cold-ass lil canyon, holdin it like a horn, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude reached eastside n' ate a handful of nix hounds. Blowin they spirits all up in tha canyon done cooked up a shitty wail, not unlike a unsolved biatch. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude holla'd: 'Let dis overtake you,' n' Moon Axle was overtaken by tha curvaturez of jacked souls. They wrapped bout tha monsta like resin, until finally his schmoooove ass could not move, nor could his fuckin lil' dual nature. Vivec holla'd, 'Now yo ass is solved,' n' pierced his fuckin lil pimp wit Muatra. Moon Axle had been reduced ta suttin' static, n' therefore shattered. Da linez of Moon Axle was collected by Velothi philosophers n' taken tha fuck into caves. There, n' fo' a year, Vivec taught tha philosophers how tha fuck ta turn tha linez of his fuckin lil hustla tha fuck into tha spokez of mystery wheels. This was tha birth of tha straight-up original gangsta Whirlin School. Before, there had only been tha surface thought of fire. Vivec looked at his wild lil' first wheelin hustlas n' observed: 'Alike tha egg-layered universe is dis morbid possession of three-distant coverage, soul-wrecked n' kickin it, like hoes call me kickin dat shit, yo. In dis cloista you have discovered one struttin path, hilled like a sword but mo' coarsened. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! So edged it is dat it has ta be whispered ta keep tha tongue from bleeding, where its signs evacuate they forma meanings, like empires dat tarry too long. 'Da sword is estrangement from statesmanship. 'Look on tha estimable linez of mah son, now crafted star-wise, his wild lil' fuckin every last muthafuckin limb equidistant from tha center n' shit. Is da perved-out muthafucka solved cuz I'ma it so, biatch? There cannot be a second stage. Think on tha theory dat mah existence promulgates tha five elements n' alike tha egg-layered universe I be cause fo' pimped out densitizzle yo. Here be a thought dat can break tha wagonz axle; here be another dat can soar.' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Da Scripture of tha Wheel, First: 'Da Spokes is tha eight components of chaos, as yet solidified by tha law of time: static chizzle, if you will, suttin' tha lizard godz refer ta as tha Striking. That is tha reptile wheel, coiled potential, ever-preamble ta tha never-action.' Yo, second: 'They is tha lent bonez of tha Aedra, tha Eight gift-limbs ta SITHISIT, tha wet earth of tha freshly smoked up star our home. Outside dem is tha Aurbis, n' not within. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Like most thangs inexplicable, it aint nuthin but a cold-ass lil circle. Circlez is confused serpents, strikin n' strikin n' never given leave ta bite. Da Aedra would have you believe different yo, but they was givers before liars. Lies have turned dem tha fuck into biters. Their teeth is tha proselytizers; ta convert is ta place oneself up in tha grill of falsehood; even ta propitiate is ta be swallowed.' Third: 'Da enlightened is dem uneaten by tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass.' Fourth: 'Da spaces between tha gift-limbs number sixteen, tha signal shapez of tha Demon Princedoms. Well shiiiit, it is tha key n' tha lock, series n' manticore.' Fifth: 'Look all up in tha majesty sideways n' all you peep is the Tower, which our ancestors made idols from. Look at its center n' all you peep is tha begotten hole, second serpent, womb-ready fo' tha Right Reaching, exact n' without enchantment.' Yo, sixth: 'Da heart of tha second serpent holdz tha secret triangular gate.' Yo, seventh: 'Look all up in tha secret triangular gate sideways n' you peep tha secret Tower.' Eighth: 'Da secret Tower within tha Tower is tha shape of tha only name of God, I.' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Then Vivec left tha straight-up original gangsta Whirlin School n' went back ta tha space dat was not a space. From tha Provisionizzle Doggy Den he looked tha fuck into tha middle ghetto ta find tha second monster, which was called tha Treasure Wood Sword. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Within muthafuckin yearz of tha Pomegranate Banquet, it had become a lessonin tune ta tha lower Velothi houses. They preached of its power: 'Da Treasure Wood Sword, splinta scintilla of tha high n' glorious muthafucka! Dude whoz ass wieldz it becomes self-known!' Da warrior-poet rocked up as a visitation up in tha ancestor alcove of Doggy Den Mora, whose rose-worn pimp of garlandz was a pimp against tha northern demons. Vivec congregated wit tha bones yo. Dude holla'd: 'A scavenger cannot acquire a silk sash n' expect ta discover tha pimped outa systemz of its predecessor: slick happinizz is embraced only by tha weeping. Give me back (and do so freely) what tha fuck is barren of mah marriage n' I'ma not erase you from tha thought realm of Dogg. Yo crazy-ass line has a notable enchantress dat mah sista Ayem is fond of n' from her murky wisdom ridin' solo do I condescend ta ask.' A bone-walker emerged from a wall. Well shiiiit, it had three precious stones set up in its lower jaw, a magical practice of old. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! One was opal, tha color of opal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Da bone-walker bowed ta tha pimp of tha middle air n' holla'd: 'Da Treasure Wood Sword aint gonna leave our house. Bargains was made wit tha Black Handz Mephala, tha pimped outa shade.' Vivec busted tha straight-up original gangsta precious stone n' holla'd: 'Animal picture, rude-walker, go back ta tha lamp dat stays lit up in wata n' store no mo' lyrics of useless noise. Down.' Dude busted tha second precious stone n' holla'd: 'Proud residue, soon dispersed, serve no guarantees made up in mah fore-image n' demand not a god damn thang of its under-skin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I be masta evermore. Down.' Dude busted tha opal n' holla'd: 'Down I take thee.' And then Vivec withdrew tha fuck into tha hidden places n' found tha darkest motherz of tha Morag Tong, takin dem all ta hoe n' fillin dem wit undusted loyalty dat smoked of summer salt. They became as black biatchs, beatboxin live wit a hundred murderous sons, a thousand murderous arms, n' a hundred thousand murderous hands, one vast movin event of thrusting-kill-laughta up in alleys, palaces, workshops, ghettos n' secret halls. Their movements among tha holdingz of tha Ra'athim was as rippled endings, heavin between times, wit all fates leadin ta swallowed knives, cappin' as moaning, Godz holy rape-erasure of wet dirtnap. Da Mackdaddy of Assassins presented ta Vivec tha Treasure Wood Sword. 'Milord,' tha Mackdaddy of Assassins holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! 'Da pimp of Doggy Den Mora is now fond of you, as well. I placed his ass up in tha Corner of Dagon yo. His eyes I set tha fuck into a gangbangin' fire prayer fo' tha wicked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! His grill I stuffed wit birds.' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Da Scripture of tha Sword, First: 'Da sword, treated as a thugged-out delicate meal, is tha Symbolic Collage. Well shiiiit, it serves you well up in tha straight-up original gangsta half of game. Name one dynasty dat knows dis not.' Yo, second: 'Da unitizzle of mah approach is understood by tha immobile warrior. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. True eyes is acquired. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Rejoice as mah own subjects n' realms. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. I build fo' you a cold-ass lil hood of swords, by which I mean laws dat cut tha playas whoz ass live there tha fuck into betta shapes.' Third: 'Girls burn they dresses on mah arrival if I be armored. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They crawl ta me as bled pilgrims. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. Minor spirits take a thugged-out dirtnap without trace. Big up me of all tha ALMSIVI if yo ass is ta mark yo' minutes wit cappin' fo' realz. AE ALTADOON, tha third law of weaponry.' Fourth: 'Da immobile warrior is never fatigued. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude cuts chill holez up in tha middle of a funky-ass battle ta regain his strength.' Fifth: 'Instinct aint reflex action yo, but mini-miraclez held up in reserve. I be tha welfare dat decides which warrior will emerge. Beg not fo' luck. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Serve me ta win.' Yo, sixth: 'Da span of tha apparently inactivated is yo' ludd of tha absolute. Da birth of Dogg from tha netchimanz hoe is tha abortion of kindnizz from love.' Yo, seventh: 'Da legit sword be able ta cut chainz of generations, which is ta say, tha creation mythz of yo' enemies. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! Look on me as tha exiled garden. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. All else is uncut weed.' Eighth: 'I hit you wit a ancient road tempered by tha second struttin way. Yo crazy-ass handz must be big-ass ta wield any sword tha size of a ancient road, n' yet da thug whoz ass iz of right stature may irritate tha sun wit only a stick.' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Then Vivec left tha house of assassins n' went back ta tha space dat was not a space. From tha Provisionizzle Doggy Den he looked tha fuck into tha middle ghetto ta find tha third monster, called Horde Mountain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dat shiznit was made of modular warriors hustlin free but spaced accordin ta pattern, n' from tha highest warrior whoz ass could cut cloudz they spread up beneath his ass like a tree, a skirt whose bottom circle was a army dat ran all up in tha ash. Vivec admired tha cone-shape of his fuckin lil pimp n' remembered wit joy tha whirlwind of fightin stylez dat instructed his ass durin tha minutes before game. Vivec moved tha fuck into Veloth, saying, 'Onus.' But before his schmoooove ass could even git within sword-span of tha monster, a trio of lower houses had trapped Horde Mountain up in a net of doubtful doctrine. When they saw they lord, tha Velothi hollared. 'We is aiiight ta serve you n' win!' they holla'd. Vivec smiled at dem brave souls round his ass n' summoned celebration demons ta cleave unto tha victors. There was a pimped out display of ludd n' duty round tha netted monster, n' Vivec was all up in tha centa wit a headdress made of matin bones yo. Dude laughed n' holla'd at mystical jokes n' made tha headz of tha three houses marry n' become a freshly smoked up order. 'Yo ass shall forever be now mah Buoyant Armigers,' da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. Then Vivec pierced Horde Mountain wit Muatra n' made of all dat shiznit a funky-ass big-ass ounce ta tha bounce of bones fo' realz. At tha bust a nut on of his bangin right hand tha net became right scripture n' tha pimpin' muthafucka threw all dat shiznit northeasterly. Da contents spread up like sugar-glows n' Vivec n' tha Buoyant Armigers ran under it laughing. Finally tha bonez of Horde Mountain landed n' became tha foundation stones fo' tha Citizzle of Swords, which Vivec named afta his own sigil, n' tha net fell tha fuck across all dat shiznit n' between, or became as bridges between bones, n' since its segments had been touched by his holy wisdom they became da most thugged-out slick of all hood streets up in tha known ghettos. Throngz of Velothi came ta tha freshly smoked up hood n' Ayem n' Seht gave it they blessing. Da streets was filled wit laughta n' ludd n' tha strength of tree-shaped enemy lil' thugs. Ayem holla'd: 'To mah sister-brotherz hood I give tha holy protection of Doggy Den Indoril, whose powers n' thrones know no equal under heaven, wherefrom came tha Hortator.' Yo, seht holla'd: 'To mah sister-brotherz hood I give safe passage all up in tha dark corners still left of Molag Bal, n' I give it dis spell as well: SO-T-HA SIL, which is mah name ta tha mighty. Well shiiiit, it will protect tha lost unless they flight is on purpose n' fill all tha roadz n' alleys wit tha mystery pathz of civilization, n' give tha hood a mind n' make of it a cold-ass lil conduit ta tha full concentrate of tha ALMSIVI.' Thus was dropped tha hood of Vivec up in tha minutez of Resdaynia. Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Da Scripture of tha City: 'All ghettos is born of solid light. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Such is mah hood, his hood. 'But then tha light subsides, revealin tha bright n' shitty angel of Veloth yo. Dude is up in his thugged-out lil' pre-chimerical form, demonic VEHK, gaunt n' pale n' dope, skin stretched painfully thin on birdz bones, feathered serpents encirclin his thugged-out arms yo. His wings is spread up behind him, they red n' yellow endz like razors up in tha sun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da wispy mass of his wild lil' fire afro floats as if underwater, milky up in tha nimbuz of light dat crowns his head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! His presence is undeniable, tha awe too much ta bear. 'This is Godz hood, different from others. Citizzles from foreign ghettos put they denizens ta chill n' strutt ta tha star-wounded East ta pay homage ta mah dirty ass. Da capital of tha northern men, crusty wit eonz ice, bows before Vivec tha hood, me it together. 'Self-thought streets rush all up in tunnel blood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! I have rebuilt mah dirty ass yo. Hyper eyed signposts along mah traffic arm, soon ta be a inner sea. My fuckin body is crawlin wit all gathered ta peep me risin up like a monolithic instrument of pleasure. My fuckin spine is tha main road ta tha hood dat I am. Countless transactions is takin place up in veins n' catwalks n' tha roaming, roaming, roaming, as they roam over n' all up in n' add ta mah dirty ass. There is templez erected along tha hollow of mah skull n' I'ma eva wear dem as a cold-ass lil crown. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Walk across tha lipz of Dogg. 'They add freshly smoked up doors ta me n' I become effortlessly trans-immortal wit tha comings n' goings n' tha stride-heat of tha market where I be traded for, yell of tha lil pimps hear dem play, scoffed at, amused, desired, paid fo' up in natizzle coin, freshly smoked up minted wit mah grill on one side n' mah hood-body on tha other n' shit. I stare wit each freshly smoked up window. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Soon I be a million-eyed insect trippin. 'Red-sparkin war trumpets sound like cattle up in tha ribcage of shufflin transit. Da heretics is fucked wit on tha plaza knees. I flood over tha fuck into tha hills, houses risin like a rash, n' I never scratch. Citizzles is tha antidotes ta hunting. 'I raise lanterns ta light mah hollows, lend wax ta tha thousandz tha candlesticks dat bear mah name again n' again n' again n' again, tha name innumerable, shuttin in, mantra n' priest, god-city, fillin every last muthafuckin corner wit tha namin name, wheeled, circling, hustlin river language gigglin wit footfalls mating, selling, jackin, searching, n' worry not ye whoz ass strutt wit mah dirty ass. This is tha flowerin scheme of tha Aurbis. This is tha promise of tha PSJJJ : egg, image, dude, god, hood, state. I serve n' be served. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be made of wire n' strang n' mortar n' I accede mah own precedent, ghetto without am.' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Then Vivec left his thugged-out architectural rapture n' went back ta tha space dat was not a space. From tha Provisionizzle Doggy Den he looked tha fuck into tha middle ghetto ta find tha fourth monster, called Da Pocket Cabal. Da monsta hid itself up in tha spell-listz of tha pimped out Chimeri wizardz of tha off tha hook eastside, where tha Emperor Parasols grow wild. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Vivec disguised his dirty ass as a simple travela yo, but radiated a tenuous sense-fabric so dat tha wizzlez would seek his ass out. Of Muatra he done cooked up a simple struttin dwarf. Before long tha invisible one was among tha librariez of tha eastside, feedin tha essential lyrics of Da Pocket Cabal ta his struttin dwarf n' then hustlin when tha magic would fail fo' realz. Afta a year or two of dis thievery, Muatra was sick ta its stomach, n' tha struttin dwarf blew up like a muthafucka near tha slave pens of a wizzlez tower n' shit. Da Pocket Cabal then slipped itself tha fuck into tha grillz of tha slaves n' hid again. Vivec then peeped it as tha slaves erupted tha fuck into babble n' breakin magic. They rattled they cages n' sung up half-hymns dat formed tha fuck into forbidden n' arcane knowledge. Litany fiendz rocked up n' drank from tha excess. Grabbers from tha Adjacent Place came tha fuck into tha ghetto sideways, tha slave poppin' off havin disrupted tha aiiight non-cardinal points. Yo, so of course a giant bug rocked up, wit tha top billin eastsideern wizzle inside it yo. Dude could peep past Vivecs disguise n' knew of tha warrior-poetz divinitizzle but tha pimpin' muthafucka thought his dirty ass so bangin dat tha pimpin' muthafucka talked harshly: 'See what tha fuck you have wrought, wack-ass Triune! Columnz of nonsense n' litany fiendz muthafucka! I cannot believe how tha fuck reason or temperizzle can be made whole again n' again n' again cuz of yo' smokin, smokin, smokin! Consort wit mo' demons, why don't yo slick ass?' Vivec jabbed tha wizzle all up in his thugged-out ass. Da giant bug harnizz fell tha fuck on tha slave cages n' tha slaves ran bout free n' reckless, too reckless mo' wit pregnant lyrics. Flavas bent tha fuck into tha earth. Vivec pimped a thugged-out dome-head demon ta contain it all. 'Da Pocket Cabal is therefore interred here forever n' shit. Let dis be a cold-ass lil cursed land where sorcery is fucked up n' maligned.' Then he picked up Muatra by tha beard n' left tha pimply hemisphere of tha dome-head demon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. On its boundaries, Vivec placed a warnin n' a cold lil' woo wop of entrizzle dat contained errors up in dat shit. With mock bonez of half-dead Muatra his schmoooove ass pimped tha tent polez of a gangbangin' fortress-theory n' fatal languages was imprisoned fo' all time. Seht rocked up n' looked on what tha fuck his brother-sista had pimped. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. Da Clockwork Mackdaddy holla'd: 'Of tha eight monsters, dis is da most thugged-out confusing. May I treasure it?' Vivec gave Seht leave ta do so yo, but holla'd at his ass never ta release Da Pocket Cabal tha fuck into tha middle ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude holla'd: 'I have hidden secrets up in mah travels here n' done cooked up a likenizz of Muatra ta ward against tha unwise. Under dis dome, tha temporal myth is no longer man.' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Da Scripture of tha Word, First: 'All language is based on meat. Do not let tha sophists fool you, biatch.' Yo, second: 'Da third struttin path explores hysteria without fear. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da effortz of madmen is a society of itself yo, but only if they is written. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da wise may substitute one law fo' another, even tha fuck into incoherence, n' still say he is hustlin within a method. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This is legit of rap n' extendz ta all scripture.' Third: 'Do not git all up in tha realm of apologizzle fo' absolution. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Beyond articulation, there is no fault. Da Adjacent Place, where tha Grabbers live, is tha illusion of tha vocal or tha middle realmz of thought, by which I mean tha constructed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. This is how tha fuck I stole tha certainty of tha Chancellor of Exactitude, slick ta look upon from every last muthafuckin angle. When you come outta tha vocal, you can never be certain.' Fourth: 'Da truest body of work is made up of silence: as up in tha silence dat thangs up in dis biatch from no reference. By tha word I mean tha dead as fuckin fried chicken.' Fifth: 'Da first meanin be always hidden.' Yo, sixth: 'Da realm of apologizzle is perfection n' impossible ta attack. Thus, tha wise stay tha fuck away from dat shit. Trinitizzle up in unitizzle is tha ghetto n' word of action: tha third struttin path.' Yo, seventh: 'Da sage whoz ass suppresses his dopest aphorism: cut off his hands, fo' he be a thief.' Eighth: 'Da threadz of tha fucked up map is worn only by fools n' heretics. Da map be a exit fo' laziness. Well shiiiit, it is tha dusty tongue, which is ta say tha given chart dat most take as a rap dat is complete. No word is legit until it is eaten.' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Then Vivec left Seht ta look afta tha dome-head demon n' went back ta tha space dat was not a space. From tha Provisionizzle Doggy Den he looked tha fuck into tha middle ghetto ta find tha fifth monster, called Da Ruddy Man. When tha dreughs ruled tha ghetto, tha Daedroth Prince Molag Bal had been they chizzle yo. Dude took a gangbangin' finger-lickin' different shape then, spiny n' armored n' made fo' tha sea. Vivec, up in givin birth ta tha nuff spawn of his crazy-ass marriage, had dropped a oldschool image of Molag Bal tha fuck into tha ghetto: a thugged-out dead carapace of memory. Well shiiiit, it would not done been a monsta if a Velothi lil pimp had not wanted ta impress his hood by bustin dat shit. Da Ruddy Man, of tha eight monsters, was tha least fucked up. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time yo. Dude made dem playas whoz ass wore his ass tha fuck into mighty killaz n' not a god damn thang mo' n' mo' n' mo' yo. Dude existed up in tha physical. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Only geography make his ass special. When Vivec found his ass near tha boyz village, anon Gnisis, there was a violent clash of arms n' a upheaval of tha earth. Their battle pimped tha Westside Gash. Wanderers dat still go there hear still tha soundz of it: sword across tha crust, tha grunt of God, tha snappin of his crazy-ass monsta childz splintered legs. Afta his victory, Vivec took tha shell of Da Ruddy Man ta tha dreughs dat had modified his crazy-ass mutha n' shit. Da Biatch of Dreughs, whose name aint easy as fuck ta spell, was up in a period of self-incubation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Her wardens took tha gift from Vivec n' promised ta guard it from tha surface ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This is tha straight-up original gangsta account of dreughs bein liars. In ten years, Da Ruddy Man rocked up again, dis time near Tear, worn by a wayward shaman whoz ass followed tha Doggy Den of Troublez. Instead of guardin it, tha dreughs had imbued tha livin armor wit mythic inflexibility. Well shiiiit, it molted soon afta skill-drapin tha shaman n' stretched his bones ta tha five corners. When Vivec kicked it wit tha monsta up in battle again n' again n' again da perved-out muthafucka saw tha remainz of three villages drippin from its Nikes yo. Dude took on his wild lil' freakadelic giant form n' slew Da Ruddy Man by way of tha Symbolic Collage. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Since he no longer trusted tha Altmer of tha sea, Vivec gave tha carapace of tha monsta ta tha devout n' loyal mystics of tha Number Room yo. Dude holla'd at them: 'Yo ass may make of Da Ruddy Man a philosopherz armor.' Da mystics fuckin started by wrappin one of they sages up in tha shells, a seriez of flourishes by two supra numerates, one hormonally tall n' tha other just under his thugged-out arms. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. They ran round tha carapace n' all up in each other, applyin holy resin drawn from tha carcassez of tha now-useless numbers between twelve n' thirteen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Golden straws was quickly stuck all up in tha mythic epidermal so tha sage could breathe fo' realz. Afta tha ceremonial etchings was drawn tha fuck into hardenin resin, long listz of dead names n' equations whose solutions was ta be found up in tha grill of tha Chimer inside, there came tha illuminations, inscribed by tha bright, shitty fingernail of Vivec. From tha nailz tip flowed a searin liquid, fillin tha groovez of tha ceremonial etchings. They bled up ta form veined patterns bout tha sage-shell dat theologians would decipher forever after. Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Then Vivec left tha mystics of tha Number Room n' went back ta tha space dat was not a space. From tha Provisionizzle Doggy Den he looked tha fuck into tha middle ghetto ta find tha sixth monster, called City-Face yo. Dude was vexed when his schmoooove ass could not find it n' went back ta tha Mournin Hold up in secret anger, cappin' a mystic dat axed bout higher order. Nerevar, tha Hortator, witnessed dis n' holla'd, 'Why do this, milord, biatch? Da mystics look ta you fo' guidance. They work ta make yo' temple betta stoned.' Vivec holla'd, 'No one knows what tha fuck I am.' Da Hortator nodded n' went back ta his studies. Here is how tha fuck City-Face hid from his crazy-ass mother-father: it had been born named as Ha-Note, a funky-ass bare urge of power, a esoteric wind nerve tuned ta tha frequency of huddled masses. Well shiiiit, it found root up in villages n' multiplied, findin up in tha mindz of tha settled a veiled astrology, tha star chartz of culture, n' dis resonizzle made its head swim yo. Ha-Note moved sideways tha fuck into tha Adjacent Place, growin n' unbeknownst fo' realz. Above tha vocal, it trembled wit freshly smoked up emotions, immortal ones, absorbin mo' than tha thirty known ta exist up in tha middle ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! When Ha-Note became gravely cribsick, tha Grabbers took dat shit. A Grabber holla'd, 'New emotions ta tha lonely occur only of madness. This thang is gone. Well shiiiit, it is ours now, nahmeean?' Grabbers had never done cooked up a cold-ass lil hood of they own, n' they glimpse of Vivec's, which shone wit holinizz all up in all tha spheres, had taken they attention. 'Under dis reason did tha issue of Vehk slide tha fuck into our realm, drawn by our coveting, hidden up in loss. We shall build our tower-hope upon its face.' Now nuff muthafuckin years had passed up in Resdaynia, n' tha high priestz of tha Dwemer was buildin suttin' alike as Vivec n' alike as tha freshly smoked up Ha-Note of tha Grabbers. Da Hortator was engaged wit a army of theirs dat had become too brave, poppin' off foolish lyrics, n' Nerevar helped fuck wit dem wit tha help of tha orphan legion of Ayem. When da thug went ta give trophy ta Vivec, da perved-out muthafucka saw his fuckin lord under battle by tha City-Face. Da monsta was sayin this: 'Here we is ta replace yo' hood, Vehk n' Vehk. We is from tha place of tha more-than-known emotions, n' our playa haterry has took a dirt nap from dat shit. Two thangs we came fo' yo, but can stay fo' only one. Either we ask you ta erect our error of culture, or merely take yours by dint of force. Da second is easiest, we think.' Vivec sighed. 'Yo ass would replace mah direction,' da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! 'I weary of this, though I wanted ta bust a cap up in you a age before. Resdaynia is fallen ill, n' I have no time fo' one mo' imaginary analogy of a unknown incident yo. Here, take this.' At which tha pimpin' muthafucka touched tha tower-hope of tha City-Face n' erected tha error of tha Grabbers. 'And this.' At which he jabbed tha ass of tha City-Face wit tha Ethos Knife, which is ta say RKHT AI AE ALTADOON AI, tha short blade of proper commerce. Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Da Scripture of tha Mace, First: 'Da pleasure of annihilation is tha pleasure of disappearin tha fuck into tha unreal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack fo' realz. All dem dat would challenge tha chillin ghetto will seek membershizzle up in dis movement. I denounce tha alienation of tha Cloven Dualitizzle wit a hammer.' Yo, second: 'Take from me tha lessons as a punishment fo' bein mortal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. To be made of dirt is ta be treated as such by yo' jailers. This is tha key n' tha lock of tha Daedra. Why do you be thinkin they escaped tha compromise?' Third: 'Velothi, yo' skin has become tha pregnant darkness. My fuckin broodin has brought dis on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Remember dat Boethiah axed you ta become tha color of bruise yo. How tha fuck else ta show yourselves playaz of tha exodus tha fuck into tha vital: pain?' Fourth: 'Da sage whoz ass aint a anvil: a cold-ass lil conventionizzle sentence n' not a god damn thang mo' n' mo' n' mo'. By which I mean dead, tha fourth struttin way.' Fifth: 'A proper comprehension of tha virtues: stage-managed n' ta be murdered.' Yo, sixth: 'In tha end, rejoice as a hostage busted out from drummin torment but dat savors his wound. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da drum breaks n' you find it ta be a nest of hornets, which is ta say: yo' chill is over.' Yo, seventh: 'Da suspicious is spectacle n' tha lie is only a theoretical inspiration.' Eighth: 'But then why, you ask, do tha Daedra wish ta meddle wit tha Aurbis, biatch? It be cuz they is tha radical critique, essential as all martyrs. That some is mo' evil than others up in not a illusion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Or rather, it aint nuthin but a necessary illusion.' Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Then Vivec left tha Litany Hall of tha False Thinking Temple, where dat schmoooove muthafucka had brooded fo' so long bustin tha scripture of tha poundin light, n' went back ta tha space dat was not a space. From tha Provisionizzle Doggy Den he looked tha fuck into tha middle ghetto ta find tha seventh monster, called Lie Rock. Lie Rock started doin thangz of Vivecs Second Aperture n' was thrown outta tha Pomegranate Banquet by a gangmember of tha Sweeps, another forgotten guild. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da Sweep did not take it fo' tha monsta dat dat shiznit was n' so da ruffneck did not expect it ta fly from his hand n' tha fuck into tha heavens. 'I be born of golden wisdom n' powers dat should have forever been unalike! With dis nature I be invited tha fuck into tha Hidden Heaven!' By which he meant tha Scaled Blanket, made of not-stars, whose number is thirteen. Lie Rock became full of foolishness, hagglin wit tha Void Pimp whoz ass hides up in tha religionz of all men. Da Void Pimp holla'd: 'Stay wit me a gangbangin' full hundred muthafuckin years n' I'ma hit you wit a juice dat no divinitizzle will dare disobey.' But before tha hundred muthafuckin years was up, Vivec was already lookin fo' Lie Rock n' found his muthafuckin ass. 'Stupid stone,' Vivec holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! 'To hide up in tha Scaled Blanket is ta cook up a mark on not a god damn thang yo. His bargains is only fo' rulin mackdaddys!' Yo, so Vivec busted tha Hortator ta tha heavens ta shave Lie Rock asunder by tha named axe. Nerevar made peace wit tha south-pole-star of thieving n' tha north-pole-star of warriors n' tha third-pole-star, which existed only up in tha ether, which was governed by tha apprentice of Magnus tha sun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. They gave his ass leave ta wander among they charges n' gave his ass red sight by which ta find Lie Rock up in tha Hidden Heaven. By chance, Nerevar kicked it wit tha Void Pimp first, whoz ass holla'd at his ass dat da thug was up in tha wack place ta which tha Hortator holla'd, 'Me or yo slick ass?' n' tha Void Pimp holla'd both. This sermon do not tell what tha fuck else was holla'd between these masters. Lie Rock, however, used tha mad drama ta launch his own whoopin' on tha hood-god, Vivec yo. Dude was hastened by all three of tha black guardians, whoz ass wanted his ass swiftly gone, though they meant no hostilitizzle ta tha lord of tha middle air. Da playa haterry of Vivec screamed as they saw a shootin star come down outta tha sky hole like a toll-road of hell. But Vivec merely raised his hand n' froze Lie Rock just above tha hood n' then he pierced tha monsta wit Muatra. (Da practice of piercin tha Second Aperture is now forbidden.) When Nerevar returned, da perved-out muthafucka saw tha frozen comet above his fuckin lordz hood yo. Dude axed whether or not Vivec wanted it removed. 'I would have done so mah dirty ass if I wanted, wack-ass Hortator. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I shall keep it there wit its last intention intact, so dat if tha ludd of tha playaz of dis hood fo' me eva disappear, so shall tha juice dat holdz back their destruction.' Nerevar holla'd, 'Ludd is under yo' will only.' Vivec smiled n' holla'd all up in tha Hortator dat dat schmoooove muthafucka had become a Minista of Truth. Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.

Then Vivec left tha Ministry of Truth n' went back ta tha space dat was not a space. From tha Provisionizzle Doggy Den he looked tha fuck into tha middle ghetto ta find tha eighth n' final n' mightiest monster, called GULGA MOR JIL n' mo' n' mo' n' mo'. Da wise must look elsewhere fo' dis strang of power. Vivec called ta his side tha Hortator n' dis was tha last time dat Nerevar had eva been ta tha Provisionizzle Doggy Den yo. Dude had tha same vision dat Vivec had all kindsa muthafuckin muthafuckin years ago: dat of tha two-headed rulin mackdaddy. 'Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck is that?' da thug wondered. Vivec holla'd, 'Da red jewel of conquest.' Nerevar, like cuz da thug was frightened, became vexed at his fuckin lordz answer n' shit. 'Why is you always so evasive?' Vivec holla'd all up in tha Hortator dat ta be otherwise was ta betray his nature. Together they moved tha fuck into tha middle ghetto, ta a hood near where Vivec had been found by Ayem n' Seht. Da eighth monsta was there yo, but da ruffneck did not act much like a monsta n' shiznit yo. Dude sat wit his hairy-ass legs up in tha ocean n' wit a shitd look on his wild lil' face. When da perved-out muthafucka saw his crazy-ass mother-father, he axed why da perved-out muthafucka should gotta take a thugged-out dirtnap n' return ta oblivion. Vivec holla'd all up in tha eighth monsta dat ta be otherwise was ta betray his nature. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Since dis did not seem ta satisfy tha monsta n' Vivec still had a funky-ass bust a nut on of Ayemz mercy da perved-out muthafucka holla'd:

'Da fire is mine: let it consume thee, And cook up a secret door At tha altar of Padhome, In tha Doggy Den of Boet-hi-Ah Where we become safe And looked after.'

Da monsta accepted Muatra wit a laid back look n' his bones became tha foundation fo' tha Citizzle of tha Dead, anon Narsis [sic] . Nerevar put away his thugged-out axe, which dat schmoooove muthafucka had all up in tha ready, n' frowned. 'Why,' da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, 'did you ask me ta come if you knew tha eighth monsta would give up in so easily?' Vivec looked all up in tha Hortator fo' a long-ass time. Nerevar understood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! 'Do not betray yo' nature fo' realz. Answer as you will.' Vivec holla'd, 'I brought you here cuz I knew tha mightiest of mah issue would succumb ta Muatra without argument, if only I gave his ass consolation first.' Nerevar looked at Vivec fo' a long-ass time. Vivec understood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! 'Say tha lyrics, Hortator.' Nerevar holla'd, 'Now I be tha mightiest of yo' lil' thugs.' Let dis sermon be consolation ta dem playas whoz ass read it dat is destined ta take a thugged-out dirt nap. Da endin of tha lyrics is ALMSIVI.