| Song | Drenched in Blood |
| Artist | Army of the Pharaohs |
| Artist | Demoz |
| Artist | Vinnie Paz |
| Artist | YoungStar |
| Artist | King Syze |
| Artist | YoungStar |
| Album | The Unholy Terror |
| I can’t imagine me slacking, it’s like a niggaa stepping | |
| And slapping me right in the face but niggaa it never happen | |
| I spit the Passion of Christ, the crucifixion’s my weapon | |
| I take the shield from the knight and stick it through your intestines | |
| And that’s just in day’s work | |
| My motivation killing sincerely taken from day’s hurt | |
| I spray earth with the venomous mind spray | |
| It’s a hard knock life before Jay left Beyonce | |
| All-white green leather Diamante | |
| Windows tinted, y’all sit timid acting Kanye | |
| You so stranje I’m throwing boomerangs at your foolish gang | |
| Overruled… | |
| [Verse 2] | |
| Motherfucker you a faggot, you kiss niggas like Lil’ Wayne | |
| I’m Kool G in his prime, you niggas rapping like Lil’ Zane | |
| I don’t two-step, nigga I move wet | |
| Cocaine, ecstasy and carry two jets | |
| Now if it wasn’t for my seed I wouldn’t need my life | |
| Give me a hoodie and the mask, I don’t need the ice | |
| I keep verses in my head, I don’t need to write | |
| Left hook split your shit open, I don’t need a knife | |
| I’m on my hate shit, AK shit | |
| Step on my shoes, I shoot you in the face bitch | |
| So what the fuck is up? You niggas fucking up | |
| When Vinnie swing on you I swing on you nigga I fuck you up | |
| [Verse 3] | |
| They all mistaking kindness for weakness | |
| They all bitches spineless and speechless | |
| Work all week and you poor by the weekend | |
| Jerks wanna creep try to choke you while you sleeping | |
| All cause we spit raw, no if there’s a leak and | |
| Everybody quick draw, we know when you reaching | |
| niggas done fucked up, they woke up a demon | |
| OT possessing having spoke to a deacon | |
| Hypocrite kids keep a hold on the preaching | |
| Please don’t get split, they don’t know what’s the reason | |
| Philly’s like Hell but it’s cold and it’s freezing | |
| 24/7 no matter what the season | |
| [Verse 4] | |
| Yeah put me in the booth surrounded by music | |
| I let my lips go man like I don’t give two shits | |
| You Internet motherfuckes wish y’all was me | |
| On the road with the Army rolling with QD | |
| While we be touring y’all be at work whoring | |
| Begging for overtime, “Please can I get some more?” | |
| Been there, done that, matter fact still doing it | |
| Took some time but we running with this music shitt | |
| Say my name man and I’ll show up | |
| Hit a nigga in the gut till his ass blow up | |
| And I still speak power with the force of an anvil | |
| I spit gutter words fill another landfill | |
| [Verse 5][Vinnie Paz] | |
| I murder anyone who fuck with the villain, it’s over | |
| You ain’t American Gangster cause you chilling with Hova | |
| I got a motherfucking chip and it’s still in my shoulder | |
| I dump the motherfucking clip in your grill and I fold you | |
| You ain’t even in my league and on Vinnie dick | |
| I’m eating calamari and capocoolo with my ginny clique | |
| I’m a Sicilian mastiff, you a mini pit | |
| Eleven Mac 11, nine 9s, on that Biggie shit | |
| I hug the block with Jay and Moss where that rocko was sold | |
| I carry four burners like the top of a stove | |
| 2012 when y’all burn, that’s what prophecy’s told | |
| I don’t give a fuck, I ain’t expect to see thirty years old |
| I can' t imagine me slacking, it' s like a niggaa stepping | |
| And slapping me right in the face but niggaa it never happen | |
| I spit the Passion of Christ, the crucifixion' s my weapon | |
| I take the shield from the knight and stick it through your intestines | |
| And that' s just in day' s work | |
| My motivation killing sincerely taken from day' s hurt | |
| I spray earth with the venomous mind spray | |
| It' s a hard knock life before Jay left Beyonce | |
| Allwhite green leather Diamante | |
| Windows tinted, y' all sit timid acting Kanye | |
| You so stranje I' m throwing boomerangs at your foolish gang | |
| Overruled | |
| Verse 2 | |
| Motherfucker you a faggot, you kiss niggas like Lil' Wayne | |
| I' m Kool G in his prime, you niggas rapping like Lil' Zane | |
| I don' t twostep, nigga I move wet | |
| Cocaine, ecstasy and carry two jets | |
| Now if it wasn' t for my seed I wouldn' t need my life | |
| Give me a hoodie and the mask, I don' t need the ice | |
| I keep verses in my head, I don' t need to write | |
| Left hook split your shit open, I don' t need a knife | |
| I' m on my hate shit, AK shit | |
| Step on my shoes, I shoot you in the face bitch | |
| So what the fuck is up? You niggas fucking up | |
| When Vinnie swing on you I swing on you nigga I fuck you up | |
| Verse 3 | |
| They all mistaking kindness for weakness | |
| They all bitches spineless and speechless | |
| Work all week and you poor by the weekend | |
| Jerks wanna creep try to choke you while you sleeping | |
| All cause we spit raw, no if there' s a leak and | |
| Everybody quick draw, we know when you reaching | |
| niggas done fucked up, they woke up a demon | |
| OT possessing having spoke to a deacon | |
| Hypocrite kids keep a hold on the preaching | |
| Please don' t get split, they don' t know what' s the reason | |
| Philly' s like Hell but it' s cold and it' s freezing | |
| 24 7 no matter what the season | |
| Verse 4 | |
| Yeah put me in the booth surrounded by music | |
| I let my lips go man like I don' t give two shits | |
| You Internet motherfuckes wish y' all was me | |
| On the road with the Army rolling with QD | |
| While we be touring y' all be at work whoring | |
| Begging for overtime, " Please can I get some more?" | |
| Been there, done that, matter fact still doing it | |
| Took some time but we running with this music shitt | |
| Say my name man and I' ll show up | |
| Hit a nigga in the gut till his ass blow up | |
| And I still speak power with the force of an anvil | |
| I spit gutter words fill another landfill | |
| Verse 5 Vinnie Paz | |
| I murder anyone who fuck with the villain, it' s over | |
| You ain' t American Gangster cause you chilling with Hova | |
| I got a motherfucking chip and it' s still in my shoulder | |
| I dump the motherfucking clip in your grill and I fold you | |
| You ain' t even in my league and on Vinnie dick | |
| I' m eating calamari and capocoolo with my ginny clique | |
| I' m a Sicilian mastiff, you a mini pit | |
| Eleven Mac 11, nine 9s, on that Biggie shit | |
| I hug the block with Jay and Moss where that rocko was sold | |
| I carry four burners like the top of a stove | |
| 2012 when y' all burn, that' s what prophecy' s told | |
| I don' t give a fuck, I ain' t expect to see thirty years old |