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Yeah...it's murders...plenty murders |
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Blood...We spell doom |
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Pharaoh clique, baby |
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[Verse 1: Vinnie Paz] |
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For whom the bells toll, Vinnie Paz, I call hell home |
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Put the ratchet to the side of your face like a cell phone |
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Any way you wanna look at it, it spell doom |
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Vinnie Pazienza, be proud that you you fell to him |
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Me and Shareef, we stronger than pillars in Greece |
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You need to over-stand that pharaohs are still in the streets |
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You need to know that we got beef but we willin' to peace |
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You need to know that we got hate and it's still for police |
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It's Juju Mob, and Army of the Pharaoh clique |
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We on some revolution Amadou Diallo shit |
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I like to watch your brain explodin' when the hollow hit |
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It's Vinnie Paz, Louie Dogs, Kamachi follow it |
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[Verse 2: Chief Kamachi] |
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Yo its my house like RUN! Controllin' the 80's |
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Flow very crazy like I spit the blood of Rosemary's baby |
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Slang fire like a hustle in Haiti |
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Couple holes for the souls, pitchfork for the daisies |
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Ashes for urns, I'm a murderer maybe |
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A lavish little Lucifer burnin' the hazy |
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Faced out, still could get a hold of the ladies |
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Hit from Madame Blavatsky in a older Mercedes |
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This is death speakin', the smell of fresh flesh wreakin' |
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Get a funeral organ and the best dressed deacon |
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Juju tongue, voodoo come, eye of the pharaohs |
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Blood pour, heart of a chump, jump from the arrows |
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[Chorus: Chief Kamachi] |
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We got a message for ya |
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Yeah, our squads ain't checkin' for ya |
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And if its beef, we'll produce the Smith and Wesson's on ya |
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AOTP, Juju Mob, we bossin' ya clique |
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Rain fire on this hip hop shit |
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[Verse 3: Reef The Lost Cauze] |
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The king Reef raw, on the streets I'm King Cauze |
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Wild the fuck out, beat my chest like King Kong |
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Is this thing on? |
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I'm tryin' to channel the youth |
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I rock the crown of Caesar, and Hannibal's boots |
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They call me animal tooth |
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Use your bones as a back scratcher |
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I'm allergic to dirt weed and wack rappers |
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My hand's too pretty, I just let the gat smack ya |
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I dropped outta school, motherfuck a backpacker |
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Double cross us and we'll bomb on you bitches |
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You a fuckin' fruitcake like what my aunt sent for Christmas |
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My dogs relentless and we ain't tryin' to be friends |
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My gun attach to my hip like a siamese twin |
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[Verse 4: Planetary] |
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It's a critical beatdown, QD niggas hit the street now |
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Bangin beats out, thug niggas throw they heaters out |
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It's pussy niggas like y'all scared to leave the house |
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Once they retrieve 'em out, *BLAAT* |
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Let 'em see the clouds |
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I make the most gangsta nigga hit the concrete |
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And start snitchin', pointin' fingers like they on Wall Street |
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My squad deep, we the "Gods and Generals" |
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Type of niggas too drunk, we dodge the interviews |
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We came a long way from cipherin' all day |
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When days was all play, now we rhymin' for strong pay |
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Outerspace got a strong hold on the game |
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We reign, you minor leaguers, we breezin' the Hall of Fame |
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(Chorus) |
