Lyrics Fed to the Lions - Army of the Pharaohs, Vinnie Paz, Celph Titled

Fed to the Lions

Boxcutter Pazzy alias Lucifer’s friend
Yahweh Ben Yahweh loosen the pen
I shoot it before I’m not against shooting again
I’m through with you buls, you not ever moving again
Y’all are bus riders, hoppin' the deuce to the ten
Vinnie a carnivore y’all is arugula fem
Mecca Medina followed by Jerusalem then
I’m a gorilla from the Biblical zoo with the pen
Kool G, Moe Dee, I’m a fusion of them
The physical manifestation of music from them
Pill bottles, Grey Goose and hallucinogens
The MC decapitated no uses for them
Round the clock shots I bang all year
Raise your guns and salute, 'cause the gang’s all here
Niggas had minor setbacks, but that’s all clear
It’s the Army of the Pharaohs: the sum of all fears
Ah yeah, I’m so focused, I’m damn near laser like
Sharp as a razor, you small fries like tater bites
McNugget MCs, popcorn chickens
The nine has arisen and I’m not gon' miss
I’m not gon' listen to anything rational
I’m hardheaded and indifferent
So I’m all in your kitchen
Looking through the silverware
The gaze of a killer’s stare, gorilla’s back with silver hairs
Keep the metal grungy like Silverchair
Drinking so much Vodka that I’m 'bout to have a liver scare
Low Life like the Skillionaire
And I bet it be a fucking riot whenever my niggas there
My code name is Cocaine
I’m propane with no flame
I make green like David Banner or a fake gold chain
I’m Cobain with no brain
It’s no pain, it’s no gain
I’m Conan, I’m Chopin, the dope man, I’m profane
I’m Xanax, I’m Prozac, I’m rap when it was pro black
I’m so crack I go back to parties playing Soul Clap
The old head Jamaicans with machine guns on mopeds
The «Oooh, you in trouble, when dad gets home, you’re so dead»
I’m more Timbs than Pro Keds
I’m Rakim, I know the ledge
I know the Feds go the lenghts to follow me, it’s code red
If hoes claim it’s «code red"it's all good, it’s all head
You want a problem? No sweat
I’ll body you, I’m Boba Fett
Yo, the raps are murderous and lethal
Flow, never ending like Fast and Furious sequels
Oh, now you’s a gangsta, what that sounding like?
My speed’s the Batmobile, your speed’s a mountain bike
Yeah, I write an album in a day
It takes you a week to come up with one clever thing to say
Too busy hashtaggin', too busy humble braggin'
Too busy sayin' that you workin' when you feet draggin'
Uh, we in Barcelona, you in bars alone… uh, plus your car’s a loaner
I’m back into focus, you jabronis splashin' on cologne the hopeless
You don’t know what women like, you know aromas
Your team’s a carcinoma, my team’s the Army soldiers
We all contribute to the game, I’m just the largest donor
The spit is sick dog, yeah I bark at owners
The Man of Steel, Superman without the Clark persona
Let’s take a trip inside the mind of a mobster
Let’s see a rare kind of monster (uurh)
Iron I’m palmin', I am Brian De Palma (aww)
If Bush hired Osama then fire the Llama (pow)
Light the ganja scoma and spit shine my armor (yea)
Want weed see the rasta man
Wanna get killed?
Come see the «put your noodles in your pasta"man
(And that’s me)
Backyard got snow in the summer
I mean I got ski slopes, I am in beast mode
Silly puddy my C-4 (uh-huh)
No dot com’s or dot nets
When I rock different links so stop and kiss the pinky ring (the boss)
Act tough and I might laugh, I’m a giant
Sit up out my chair and block your motherfuckin' flight path