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Yeah, haha |
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Turn the lights on, party's over motherfuckers |
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Celph Titled the ammunition magician |
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The Esoterrorist |
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It's the Army of the Pharaohs for real for real |
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[Verse 1: Celph Titled] |
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Back with the "Kill-Death-Murder", you better check your computers |
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I won't ever cheat on my bitch but I'll still sleep with a luger |
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You can see my reflection in the chrome, it stays blazin' |
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I guess my gangsta's all smoke and mirrors |
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Kidnap you in the basement with hatchets and cleavers |
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So every time after that you hearin' the Wu-Tang torture skit, and you havin a seizure |
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Fuck your street cred, I'll turn your street red |
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I'll skin the head of a skinhead |
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Celph Titled and ES raisin' hell without Pinhead |
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It's been said the Pharaohs immortalize rhymes |
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We kept heist plans in a trapper keeper -- that's organized crime |
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You might arrive in a stretch limo, tinted out |
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But you'll leave on a stretcher linen with no mouth, neck broken and ribs stickin' out |
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[Verse 2: Esoteric] |
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We the gorillas, its the season of Ichi The Killer |
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Your CD is filler so we beef like manilla |
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My sneakers: peach and vanilla |
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Call me Michael Jordan while recordin' |
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Slide a sword inside your organs |
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Speak from the pillars |
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How real is ES for that scrilla?, I build with godzillas |
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Militant flotillas that believe in shootin' first like Reggie Miller |
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The illest of all sorts, he spit that fire motherfucker |
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To leave you lookin' like dude on the "Legacy of Blood" cover |
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[Chorus: Celph Titled] |
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Soldiers stand up [UP!] |
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Ready the artillery |
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SALUTE! your comrade |
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Eliminate the enemy |
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Fire in the hole [hole!] |
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We lettin our grenades [blow!] |
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It's like we pull the pins out every time we pull our pens out |
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[Bridge: Celph Titled] |
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By now you should know theres no fuckin' around |
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It's the Army and it's goin' down |
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We came to take it all |
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And there ain't no stoppin' when the cannons start poppin' |
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[Verse 3: Celph Titled] |
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I wish a motherfucker would yap their lips |
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'Cause whether I'ma rap or load a clip |
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Either way that you look at it, a mack's about to spit |
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At crackhouses, I'm out with, real killers not rappers |
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Who keep pumps on our lap like we inflicted with asthma |
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Addicted to disaster, every last bullet, I ain't savin' none |
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Can't say hi to my neighbors 'cause I might wave a gun |
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Aim at the sun and you can shoot for the stars |
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Put on your beat, we'll turn it off, won't even let it loop for a bar |
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We known to keep your head an obstruction |
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Preach death and destruction |
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Cop diesel when I cock the eagle, and thats not for nothin' |
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My shots always hit their target after the smoke sprays |
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'Cause we store bullets in cat shelters so there's no strays |
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[Verse 4: Esoteric] |
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We sinkin' arrows through your mink and pink apparel |
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The pharaoh, king of the battle, on the brink of insanity |
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Frantically, I'm sprayin' ink out the barrel |
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Your way of thinkin' is narrow |
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We breakin' bones baby, drinkin' the marrow |
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These psychics blink at my Tarot (You serious?) That's hilarious |
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You rollin' up in chariots and leave in wheelbarrows |
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I'll have you wrapped in plastic just like the food in fruit baskets |
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I'll have your crew in suit jackets, all sad when viewing the casket |
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Now they pursue and attack us to rep for you and get back at me |
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But I'm rollin' with the army, motherfucker you can ask for me |
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And even when I'm outnumbered, I shut 'em down |
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Like Teddy Bruschi and I proved it in the past so don't you fuck around |
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Call me stupendous with sentences, pen a genesis |
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Chemists with seven venomous menaces on your premesis |
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We write the Torture Papes, orchestrate ways to slaughter fakes |
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Formulate tapes and tour the states, I can ride with Norman Bates |
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(Chorus) |
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(Bridge) |
