Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Demon's Blade, artist - Army of the Pharaohs. Album song In Death Reborn, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопThe Demon's Blade |
| «The king of the ring, undisputed |
| There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide» |
| Yeah, one-two, one-two |
| It’s like one-two, one-two |
| Listen |
| Pharoah clique, man stop playing |
| Cartier weaponry, chain gang recipe |
| Punch you in your face after we exchange pleasantries |
| I always understood that the pain was a necessity |
| Put the pressure on you until we exchange densities |
| Stupid motherfucker thinking he can change destiny |
| It’s a different game, man, need the same referee |
| Me and Marciano, different people, same legacy |
| Brought a motherfucker back, still the same treachery |
| How could you ever be a leader and bring less than me? |
| That’s the type shit that make a motherfucker dead to me |
| Nineteen eighty-eight, back when death made leprosy |
| Life is hard money, and the pain, the accessory |
| You catch a heart attack, coming fatter, gravy spinach |
| Carjack your whip, put your baby in it |
| I rock a navy fitted, AV leather, custom stitchwork |
| My constituent more accurate, aim training in the Navy given |
| Early with the Dirty Harry pistol |
| Rarely my words miss you |
| 'Til your area’s crippled, and buried where the worms’ll get you (fucker) |
| When I click mine, your whole clique dying |
| Flick a slam, ricochet through hips and it’s blam (blam) |
| Bulldozer through your house (Celph, pave the way) |
| He the hardest non-graffiti artist (that sprays a K) |
| Titanium pop screen, my voice be ice cold |
| Cause just a slight tone’ll burn a hole through the mic-phone |
| Chemicals in the lab, mixed up, cause explosions |
| Wizards in cloaks, breathe, focus, sip potions |
| FBI profile is going through the motions |
| Psychoanalyze my behavior and emotions |
| Alien from the abyss coming out the ocean |
| Cops lick shots, bullets travel in slow motion |
| Bare flesh exposed to state cause corrosion |
| Frost bit and frozen, bodies get ripped open |
| The pack of wolves close in, claws exposed skin |
| The crows would sing for the leftovers the bones bring |
| Scavengers with bags full of jewelry and old rings |
| Wash the blood off of the gold in a cold spring |
| This ain’t nothing new, it’s an ancient, old thing |
| When man chases money, but only the ghost win |
| Don’t say that it don’t sting when walking in cold winds |
| Just fade into the forest homie, tighten your coat strings |
| I design profound takes over rugged soundscapes |
| Niggas bugging, go apes when they open the drapes |
| We kill niggas, and leave bodies soaking in lakes |
| I compose another opus as the locus awaits |
| 'Til I exist above the clouds with the past time greats |
| I’m in a booth pounding my chest like wild primates |
| A black Ayatollah Khomeini, don’t ever think you can play me |
| I kidnap rappers and tell they broke families to pay me |
| With EBT, warehouse is full of CDs |
| So I can package sixteens like I’m packaging keys |
| You need practice, your raps ain’t fucking with these |
| So in a word, you’re Johnny Blaze, nigga, you know my steez |
| Fresh is what it means to be, illegally |
| I’m lashing out these lyrics so easily |
| At least you see the beast in me |
| So melodic, yet malicious when it manifest |
| A manifold of manpower, quick to put your man to rest |
| The melancholy after the mention of severed bodies |
| Settles in the devil’s skin so who’s next to stop me? |
| I couldn’t imagine a loss |
| Back with an immaculate force |
| Ratchet with the action, a torch |
| Actually the baddest of all |
| Superhero, zero loss |
| Planetary, presidential |
| Actually a Killer Priest who walks with a Heavy Mental |
| A cut above what you love, yeah I know I said it |
| What you rapping about? |
| I’m cashing out without a line of credit |
| I slaughter rappers and autograph all their coffins after |
| Demonic master, your raps are good, for yawns and laughter |
| Find me standing on your lawn with two machetes, seven Pharaohs |
| Fifty tanks, eighty guns, your piss your pants and your lady comes |
| This way, the capital E |
| Capital S, happened to be |
| At the Capital Grille, with your girl |
| She wants to pay the bill |
| Be my guest, you regress |
| It drives me crazy like the DJ |
| Khaled saying «We The Best» |
| When A.O.T.P. |
| spit that nastiness |
| My rap attack lives in a habitat that shatters kids |
| That work at Lids |
| Embroidering hats for pussy gangs, that did no bids |
| And pay no dues, guts and glory |
| Spit ya sob story |
| Esoteric’s bars are Cannibal Holocaust |
| Level gory |
| «Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide» |
| We blacking out, we mobbing on you motherfucker |
| Four in the morning out here, we drunk out here |
| We acting a fool, you nahmean? |
| Yeah, Philly in the motherfucking building |
| Yo Stallone, how you living papa? |
| AOTP |
Artist lyrics: Army of the Pharaohs
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Artist lyrics: Esoteric