Who’s rapping? Dovahkiin
Dragon’s? I’m not over keen.
I’ll dice them like a knife slicing through an aubergine.
My dragon shout flow is sweeter than a soda stream.
You won’t believe your eyes I’m like an overload of dopamine.
A broadsword in one hand, and a magic spell in the other.
I’m the last of the dragonborn. There’s no other, my brother so run for cover. If you’ve got scales then I’m on your tail and I will not fail.
Like a free-roaming sandbox game, I’m off the rails. I’ll walk the trail through awful gales and storms of hail ‘til all the nails are knocked into your coffin.
I’m not stopping ‘til you’re impaled and I’ve prevailed. In the name of the nords I pray to the lords you all get a taste of the blade of my sword.
I’m taking on hordes of enemies, I face them with hoards of weaponry. They’re draining my force so chemistry comes into play with retorts and recipes alchemixing like a DJ.
Restoration, restore my energy. Legacy. Odyssey. Elegy. Prophecy’s written in heavenly bodies and buried with every body that ever did bother to mess with me deading them, terribly, horribly.
I’m a celebrity, honestly. You’re a wannabe I’m a prodigy. The suggestion you’re better than me at being a warrior? Ha! Comedy.
It’s a gift to me. I don’t just spit flames lyrically, but literally.
And the Elder Scrolls are scripts in which I’ve written your obituary.
I am the dragonborn, wearing a hat, with badass horns. I’m Dovahkiin, known globally. You’re nobody at all.