Fa-Q - Keeper of the Plains feat. Yah hah

[Fa-Q]

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The ground is obese, where the dead wait, palms have read fate,
Where beside you, you could have a warrior or have a bed mate,
And as I sit in the graveyard, I wonder where the bones go today,
I wonder especially since they’re only a simple stones throw away,
Where spirits on the call, help to write songs and lyrics on the wall,
And within the heart of these plains, sits a dying, old chestnut tree,
It utters soft, yet confusing words, whispering only the best cut me,
With dances day and night, tryin’ their best just to try and raise rain,
Every day, death is knocking on the doorstep waiting for baisemain,
Forget a kiss on a cheek, cowboy’s saddle quakes for rattle snakes,
They hiss on a creek, let’s see how this beast and man battle takes,
The creek, where the scared run in canoes, until the paddle breaks,
Pistols and muskets are no match for the amassed sights of arrows,
They all fly in the sky, farther up then the past heights of sparrows,
With lips cracked, because they’re like dry basins of standin’ water,
They show no fear, hearing the claps and vibrations of cannon fodder,

Keeper of the plains, is drought, the grim reaper of the rains,
Cowboys and pioneers couldn’t stop, this sleeper of the range,
We are Kansas, we always protect the panhandle of Oklahoma,
He just awoke an’ choked a coma, and smelled the smoke aroma,

(Yahhah)
I am the keeper of the plains holding the sharpest knife,
I carve and slice your carcass twice until the harvest's right,
Father to these plains so I can't let my children keep starvin right?
Through the darkest night we march to fight you can't harm the tribe,
I'm marchin right to the beat of the drum,
eatin your tongue and your heart tonight,
Riding my pale horse with the darkest mane and bony, lean shoulders,
Ground rumbles from the sound of a thousand Muscogee Creek soldiers,
Shoshonee speak colder while Cherokee inherintly roaming, seek culture,
Hunt with the speed of leopards I became the Keeper and the Chief,
Deeper in my sleep with beads and feathers as the keeper of my dreams,
Of course with more horse they go,
covering the plains with the force of four tornadoes,
Stabbing through your white chest,the source where you formed your great hoax,
From the Dakotas to Arkansas I will never hold my 'razors back',
I'll crush your skull till my cup is full,
let you fade to ash but leave your brain intact
Pick up your body and slam you as if you were stabbed by a hundred blades of grass,
Go ahead and try to kill me, hit me in my face see it no longer hurts,
Cause I've been slaughtered and massacred since the day of my birth,
Forever I will be the Keeper of the plains, shoving knives deeper in your veins,
No matter how far and long you run I'm still the creature with the reins,

Keeper of the plains, is drought, the grim reaper of the rains,
Cowboys and pioneers couldn’t stop, this sleeper of the range,
We are Kansas, we always protect the panhandle of Oklahoma,
He just awoke an’ choked a coma, and smelled the smoke aroma,

The keeper of the plains, swings with swords, and sings with hordes,
Enemies dust is seen for miles, the keeper’s face too mean for smiles,
Tattooed bear track sits, on the chest of him as statued scare tactics,
Scars from war heal only to end another torn scab, salt in the wound,
The Spirits escape planning to never return to their fault in the tomb,
Arrowheads, make narrow beds, splintered spears, are wintered fears,
The blood taste’s faint, when you have sweat, smearing your face paint,
More feather than birds, as armor he uses, more leather than herds,
As the rain dancing slowly commences, soon the weather then stirs,
Now that the sunshine’s hidden, it’s like a horse, one time ridden,
Slowly the rain clouds form tornadoes, like the sky wore grey clothes,
Even the war prays those, swirling clouds leave right before they froze,
The keeper of the plains is the last darkness you’ll see, your last breath,
Will be drawn, as he kills thee dawn, as your fist reaches to grasp death,
You’re now out of gun powder you have, to put it simply, dry pockets,
His tomahawk, will be your last vision, until you see empty, eye sockets,

[Spyder]

was good shit, almost seemed like u guys took a slightly different direction. you had more of a poetic storytelling vibe while Yah had more of a grimmy battle type verse. lots of commas lol. would like to see what(if any) beat this was written to, i doubt you guys will transition to audio but its nice to write to a beat anyway. its just some long lines is the only reason.
other than that you guys know what your doing and its nice to see some vets around here