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I'm in the kitchen cooking up bananas |
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Cameras on the roofs with the police scanners |
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By any means I'mma get these papers |
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Ride with a nigga or catch these vapours |
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Smooth melodic, cool water with butters on |
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Got beef with a nigga, save that for another song |
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Paz on point so he putting his brothers on |
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Steez still the same, get you murked by a gutter john |
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Head in the streets cause the whip is spacious |
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Benz stretched out legs feel like a spaceship |
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Cheques ain't clear, I'm hitting y'all with the facts |
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If the cheque never came I'd hit your mom and a cap |
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Got the streets on smash, key notes on wax |
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Hundred pack on iTunes trying to make cream back |
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Yeah, the key's cooked and the bricks is stovetop |
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It's Chef Boyardee flipping nicks on your whole block |
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[Verse 2: Des Devious] |
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Yeah, born in the coldest winter, live and I die a sinner |
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And while I'm here I'm hustling, get paper with my niggas |
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Last of a dying breed, Pharaoh clique in your section |
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Before I leave my rest, kiss my wiz, load my weapon |
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Yeah that's my right hand man, that fifty cal chrome |
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Off-safety when I roam, I ain't never alone |
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Won't catch a nigga slipping, won't catch a nigga dipping |
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Cause I done mastered my high, you out your mind tripping |
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Yeah you can come and try, won't be the smartest move |
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My bitch'll pull the hammer and make it do what it do |
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Hustler, a son of one, bitch I'm a son of one |
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My money it got right, copped me another gun |
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[Verse 3: Crypt The Warchild] |
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These punk bitches get the bozak the gas face |
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I feel like Earnhardt in his last race |
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This last lap in this game, I'mma hit the throttle |
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Syze, we celebrate new life, hit this bottle |
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Plan, I think the situation's getting hairy |
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We make them say the Our Father and their Hail Mary |
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Scary how niggas turn Judas, no trust |
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I take it back to 5-6 when it was only us |
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Snakes slither in the grass in the killing field |
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So I manoeuvre through them by sitting in a bigger wheel |
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You's a small time hustler, I'm a bigger deal |
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And that shit you spit will be the shit that get you killed |
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Ready for war, I'm in it for the long haul |
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Throwing a molotov sidearm |
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Yeah, holding my fort with my pipes drawn |
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I kill everything when this mic's on, believe it |
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[Chorus] |
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Yo f-u-c-k-f-b-i cops, you niggas don't like my shit |
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I tell them niggas suck a dirty dick with gonorrhea on the tip |
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I'm getting money courtesy of your bitch |
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Nigga it's the Army Of The Pharaohs, we hood American Idols |
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You don't like us? You can suck my dick |
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I got a long rope and an oxy if you feeling suicidal |
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See that window? Hop out that bitch |
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[Verse 4: Demoz] |
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Nigga think you can ease it then be it but see me not |
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I'm too heated and weeded to lose it so please be hot |
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They just fiending to be the most conceited team on the top |
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I'm leaning to be the most meanest as Biggie and Pac |
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Man these demons is dreaming ? for their spot |
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It's easy to see they just want to be me cause I'm hot |
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So **** my theme and my plot, smoking weed in your ? |
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And fall dummy to that casket cause they eat at you pop |
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You can believe it or not, I done sold weed to a cop |
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Caught a case, banged it and ran back to the fiends on my block |
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Fiends on my block? That's logical, my flow is phenomenal |
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I put a couple dots on your block like dominoes |
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Red beaming them, I stay with my team and them |
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I keep four nines in the tuck like Steve and them |
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This my track, a diss like that |
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Cause when you shoot like a freethrow you miss like Shaq |
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[Verse 5: Planetary] |
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I'm from Killadel county, the killers they all surround me |
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I'm losing my nigga slowly Poppa Large make him proud of me |
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If you see Nemi then tell your people to see me |
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I'm here for the take and holding these streets down, believe me |
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My nigga Balo, I know your halo is platinum |
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I'mma see you at the gates, I'll be rocking something ravishing |
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The Seven Sacraments made for the sacrificial |
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The baptismal of rap bristle to sacramental |
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My rap essentials is murder tracks and pencils |
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Gat utensils is only used for niggas acting simple |
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My syllable slice niggas like a caesarean |
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You killable right? I spit bars like a barbarian |
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[Verse 6: Reef The Lost Cauze] |
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I never thought I'd see the day hip hop would give birth to faggots |
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Mr. T mohawks and Urkel glasses, I'm from a hood where they rob cool kids |
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And I can't wear skinny jeans cause my Glock's too big |
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Yeah, I got the wildest style, death bears a childish smile |
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Beat you with soap in a sock, you a Private Pyle |
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I'm fear order from green onions I peel quarters |
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What's rap? I bump Foghat and Creedence Clearwater |
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Bad moon rising, I'm howling at the bitch |
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Haters baffled how he spent a thousand on the kicks |
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I get thousands just to spit, **** all the drama shit |
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I don't make statements, get bank statements and deposit slips |
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And it's always gonna be this way |
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C-notes like study hall in tenth grade |
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To this day I **** bitches and get paid |
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What's piff? I got the green monster like Fenway |
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[Chorus] |
