Sword and Bullet - Army of the Pharaohs, Vinnie Paz, Crypt the Warchild

I can’t let my guard down all around these losers

Been drunk of the Sake, Purple Haze and hookahs

Gone for a second so you better get used to

The illest nigga, keep codeine up in this juice cup

This beat banging so I’m right in my lane?

I’m from the same streets where broke niggas fight over change

It’s obvious, (What?) Y’all show the Pharaohs respect

You see niggas getting handled than you’re probably next

This is for my now y niggas, send a copy to Flex

But Philly been getting it in since they popping cassettes

It’s a drama theme, MC’s just don’t get it

Till you pistol whip a nigga right out of existence

So hurry hurry you’re the next contestant

Giving niggas the real me without the aggression

Gotta finesse it, the game loves when we spit

Like a pussy whip nigga when he cuffing his bitch (whoa)

Pussies better run

I’mma keep the story short cause the plot heavy

I’m Lee Malvo riding dirty in a box Chevy

Pop crown, pop Henny, pop clowns, pop steady

Calm deadly, palms sweaty, every time I count fetti

We’re coming for blood, money power respect

Pharaoh’s general so I devour rejects

Got these chickens turned out

Never been turnt up

I don’t do things twice, mistakes gotta learn from

Air these niggas out, rappers are a danger

Feeling resurrected, bloody jumping out the manger

Zero tolerance, start fucking up these haters

If I don’t see you now pussy I’mma see you later

AOTP we back nigga

Nigga I don’t even like to rap (NO)

I like to snap grab the mic and wrap the cord around your neck

The shit will burn you like a lighting match

I meet a bitch and leave a bitch, really I don’t need a bitch

It’s cold outside, it’s common sense to let your heaters spit

Ironically I’m rational cause all of my music is past classical

My classical music is not national

I’m somewhere out on Mars with it

Car tinted, arsenic

Burn you till you dark skinned, I’m hard headed but marketed

Retarded with this artist shit

You starting shit I’m past the finish line

My mind is on some other shit like a horror flick

Calling through to your fraud or groupie or broad with dookie

Coming out the mouth when I see 'em it’s gon' be Call Of Duty

Keep staring, you gon' be blind soon

After tearing your eyes out I’m terrorizing your iTunes

Bulletproof rap, I supply goons

This a bottle of you gon' die soon, nigga

How many bodies have I passed through?

Possibly five

Before we ascend to the one of the posthumous lives

After all the blood gone, the commodity dies

Why Vinnie ill?

That’s just geography, Pa

The ape man, the space man, the Carl Sagan

With the knowledge of an intellectualized pagan

I’ve got shooters from Richmond Island to Moore Haven

The perfection is the accomplishment of starvation

You can’t be a general without having soldiers

That’s the perfection of rhythm, it’s a magnum opus

Talent doesn’t mean anything if you lacking focus

That’s why most of you motherfuckers is rather hopeless