Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 7th Ghost, artist - Army of the Pharaohs. Album song In Death Reborn, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 21.04.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Enemy Soil
Song language: English
7th Ghost |
Bring the light to the dark |
A-O-T-P, yeah! |
I Self, Lord and Master, I’m not a rapper |
The industry been in a nigga pockets, since Napster |
So me explainin' why I’m still grinding, I don’t have to |
I’d sell my masters, if the cash come |
'Cause my girl need a new car and baby need Pampers |
It’s real shit, y’all never know about it ask us |
Side jobs in retail, detail cars and ride trash trucks |
Never complain, we never had much |
The ends won’t justify the means, it don’t add up |
Rap, work, and sell dope, now that’s a mash-up |
Kids say they wanna do this? |
I just crack up |
I tell em stay in school, fool, you need a backup |
Ayo, I’m blowin' brown every day to keep the stress down |
And niggas that I seem to let 'round, they always let down |
So I’m building a bunch of young niggas like Brett Brown |
They all ballers, keepin' niggas in check so when I |
Big up my set I’m payin' homage to Pharaohs |
And when you hear me spit, acknowledge my vowels |
It’s probably foul |
I never change the language for change, It’s slang written |
Half my life gamblin' heists to keep that thang with 'em |
Suplex mangler, but it’s a cold word baby |
So I’m a North Face and Cumberland whore chasin' |
So knuckle up or get cutted up |
Or smacked with the butt end of the gun |
Buttercup, for trying to fuck with us |
Who dumb enough to try one of us? |
We peelin' your girl off the grill of a Hummer truck |
When the sun come up |
Who one of us? |
Raise your face to the skies |
And watch the mortals make way for the return of the Gods |
Pharaohs |
A-O-T-P cock the latch back, clack clack |
O-P-G got the straps in the back pack |
Bodies in the trunk of the '96 hatch-back |
Punch you in the face, slap your man out his snap back |
A-O-T-P cock the latch back, clack clack |
O-P-G got the straps in the back pack |
Bodies in the trunk of the '96 hatch-back |
Punch you in the face, slap your man out his snap back |
I’m John Allen Muhammad livin' out of a van |
Picking off bystanders with a rifle in hand |
I’m demented, I’m a couple cards short of a full deck |
I’m a liar, I’m the charismatic man in a pulpit |
I’m A-O-T-P, Demigodz, J-M-T |
A faith healer, healing through death on CD |
I am not a role model, you should raise your own kids (come on) |
I’m a dirty rap nigga with fruit flies in my crib |
I’m strange, I’m deranged, I’m fascinated with death |
I chain smoke cigarettes, I got terrible breath |
The show’s almost over, only two songs left |
So cop a T-shirt, find the exit and step, nigga |
Aye-o fuck being a good person, I’m in the hood workin' |
Smoking shit to numb my pain, I don’t know if you could nurse him |
Doctors can’t figure out what to do with him |
Once upon a time, he used to have screws in him |
Now Lucifer let loose in me, they not used to me |
I’m not what I used to be |
I used to be a young nigga, silly state of mind |
Now I’m just a nigga going crazy like he facing time (uhh) |
I’m from the hood where the young die |
If you don’t lay low, you get hung high |
Nigga I lay low, and still hang high |
In my head, shit only hit the fan when your man die |
I take a sip of this liquor inspired with hearses |
Nobody survivin', I smoke my weed out of Bible verses |
Inspire churches to sin, what? |
I inspire churches to bring niggas like me in, clear of my sins but |
Why would you ever try to be God with me? |
Why would you bother me, why don’t you ever see prophecy? |
Possibly honestly, Sodom, Gomorrah atrocity |
Mephistopheles at the door to door, a monopoly |
Why would you lie to me? |
Why would you see the Allah in me? |
Am I the only one who see comedy in monogamy? |
I lay back, eat mozzarella and sliced swordfish |
Put my feet up on the table in my nice office |
Black mask, black millimeter, white Porsches |
Every single rhyme Vinnie write, type gorgeous |
Hahahahaha listen, Pistolero Pazzie |
A-O-T-P cock the latch back, clack clack |
O-P-G got the straps in the back pack |
Bodies in the trunk of the '96 hatch-back |
Punch you in the face, slap your man out his snap back |
A-O-T-P cock the latch back, clack clack |
O-P-G got the straps in the back pack |
Bodies in the trunk of the '96 hatch-back |
Punch you in the face, slap your man out his snap back |