Army of the Pharaohs — Battle Cry

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Текст Army of the Pharaohs — Battle Cry

I put you up on the IV, not the Roman Numeral 4
But the IV that leads to the funeral floor
Wax gets melted, breaks bones, fractures pelvics
Speeds through space and cracks glass Astronaut helmets
Face it, motherfucker I could pay to get rid of you!
I’ve got more heads in the hood than Pagan rituals
A new tyrannical force for you to fear
Known to kill and keep human ears as souvenirs
A shape-shifter, face slitter, paper getter, tape your sister
Wake your sister, make your sister, take it in the face
And if you’re facing us, block off a thirty-block radius
I throw more blows than boxing Doctor Octavius

Ever since we made some noise I learned people love a winner
We the quality of deep dish rims, y’all the hub spinners
Tough sinners, break bread with Jesus at dinner
Protected by a heavenly force, fuck a minister!
Niggas know better, no one’s letter is better than mine
Every time I rhyme, it’s metal, the terror level is high
Plus I testify, it’s best you die
Then to find the truth deep down in a mountain of lies
Downsize, I’m ousting you guys deep in the dirt
Clocking in and out of rap, have y’all fiending for work
When I’m breeding, yo it’s treason what the semen is worth
Non-believing, make me steaming, make you meeting the earth

Ayo, it’s my world and I won’t stop
And if you stand in my way you bound to get popped
In the land where you lay and fade from stray shots
I demand that you pay and stray from strange blocks
I’m the man that you pray don’t spray the flames hot
I could tan in the blaze for days and stain cops
I astound and amaze, y’all praise the same God
I’mma pound out your brain and scrape the graveyard
Have you shout out in pain, y’all say y’all Bravehearts?
I’mma box up your frame and play the same card
And I’m out for fame, space-bars, and quasars
Pharaohs locked the game, no shame, we hate y’all

Yeah! Raw motherfucking rap!
Hardcore shit! ’94 shit!
Shoot the fucking place up, yeah!

A-O-T-P, blast through your army fatigues
Damage your team, the competition done it with ease
Gun in my sleeve ’cause nowadays homicide is my steez
Collecting my cream, I’m living your dream and peeping your scheme
Put you on lean from right hooks, pausing your jux
You fake crooks need to hit them books
Learn the rules of the game, two to your brain, three to your frame
Incredible pain, you getting drenched in that «November Rain»
We the opposite of that wack shit, trash man, the clack rapid
You die tragic, five-six professional assassins
Rocking these mics and repping my fam with passion
Remember its Q-Dement’, you bastards!

Tell your man and your parents
We be demanding ten grand an appearance
At the minimum, my venom damage your lyrics
We be like Manny Ramirez, compatible with the radical
Magical and emphatical, I’ma battle ’til I shatter your clavicle
Call me admiral, raising the temp of the room
I’m the emperor, remember I’ll never surrender
I dismember platoons, your petty men are buffoons
We send ’em to their doom the second my venom enters their wounds
I mentally bloom, exhume tombs with dope lyrics
2Pac is alive and well, Big L «The Devil’s Son»
Rise from hell with dope lyrics
Live in regret, A-O-T-P these shook rappers hit the deck

Courtesy of the streets, make it a microphone Middle East
My specialty, only rhymer enveloping my lyric sheets
Knock turbans off of sheikhs, use a pipe bomb
Downtown Israeli boutiques, full of dead tourists
With they dreams no longer in arms’ reach, that’s what I call
Dealing with calm speech, when I alarm your peeps
Inscribed in a peasant’s palm is a blessed psalm
If you draw and your weapons wrong, there ain’t no stepping on
My forty-five is my weapon, my culture’s a holster
Where seven-inch slugs is kept in, squarely I step in
Tilting my clips and blue Stetson, God is my essence
So you could check these rhymes for reference, adept to any preference, pussy!

Yeah, baby!
Kings of the motherfucking underground!
Y’all motherfuckers don’t want it with us!
This that raw shit!
Throwback shit!

I make Evel Knievel music, I come through stunting
Every verse is the same, just flipped a little something-something
Baby, I’m crazy, a crazy baby, a sick infant
Born with an intent to spit slick sentences with sick penmanship
Shoot at your Chicago fitted and knock your socks off
Aimed at your door but hit your head, shot your locks off
I heard you was afraid to say my name on your record
Cause you’s afraid I’d put your motherfucking frame on a stretcher
I can’t change laws son, that’s a government issue
But I’ll break laws with a gun that’s a government issue
It’s the Army, we got power in numbers
And that’s nines, forty-fives, three-five-sevens, and M-500s

Some people say I’m superior when I shit it
Vivid visionary spit, vocabulary ridiculous
I am a tyrant, I’m Violent by Design
I silence the scientific with every line of the rhyme
Mozart of street rap, breaking the barriers
Space Harrier, filled with forties and pit terriers
Ready to mangle, anybody cross a line
I saw the sign then ran with the Army, lost in time
Ready for war, but won’t rock no dick trees
I rock mics, you think it’s a hundred and sixty degrees
Who stomp crews, batter and bruise cliques
Kill bitches and stab you tricks
With loose lips

I’m slightly disturbed, Pazienza is nice with the words
That’s the reason that I’m fly, like the life of a bird
I don’t care if you dead, let God have ya
Cause I’mma stay rugged and raw like Marv Hagler
That’s something you don’t know about you small rapper
Nice with the left, nice with the right, the jaw tapper
Allah backer, murder every track that I’m on
You just spit a fucking verse wack, then you gone
Fuck fame, I studied the fame closely
They build you up, then you get rocked like Shane Mosley
It’s pain, homie, and your blood in my pen
It’s Army of the Pharaohs and we flooded with gems