Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Ultimatum , by - Army of the Pharaohs. Release date: 29.10.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Ultimatum , by - Army of the Pharaohs. The Ultimatum |
| The Ultimatum, let’s abbreviate em |
| The Ultimatum, let’s abbreviate em |
| You can’t fuck with the army |
| The ultimatum ain’t debated, ain’t the same as when you waitin' |
| For someone to keep their word or the paper from a payment |
| Ain’t negating nothin' |
| I can break their front and take it from them |
| Wait a month and take a pump and make 'em want to make up somethin' |
| Take an up-and-coming artist |
| Or classic figure |
| If you see me reaching out, it’s to smack a nigga |
| Melanin scheme is telling 'em squeeze, shell an MC to breeze |
| Ease G', tell like Aviv |
| Felony three on melody schemes |
| They selling them dreams |
| DMX is Nelly to me |
| Tellin' 'em please, just leave |
| Before I have to swell a person |
| It’s no question like playing the a capella version |
| Look I said it before, shouldn’t say it again |
| But in case you hard of hearing look you and your mans |
| Can get it in the worst way, run when killers thirsty |
| For a lame and his blood |
| Sweep it under the rug |
| Just like it never happened, we professional fighters |
| And I ain’t talking about scrapping |
| I’m talking pistol gripping |
| You know the rest, no need to, stress how my niggas live it |
| Just know we go so hard, for dough and lavish living |
| And since I had my taste can’t find nothing that’s better |
| Ridin' high gripping wood, ass on the softest leather |
| Oh, y’all some scary dudes? |
| Man I ain’t afraid of you |
| Murder you, crack a brew and watch it on the news |
| Get stabbed by the cuts on the Kwest beat, respect beef |
| Marty McFly shit, get knocked into next week |
| What does the future hold? |
| Bullets going through your clothes |
| My niggas is all large like a Jewish nose |
| Hold more arms than a hookah bowl |
| Y’all motherfuckers ain’t been nice since the Eagles won the Superbowl |
| Check your stat books, get your rat hooks |
| Out my rap books, biting-ass niggas get your snacks took |
| You in the scrapbook scrap shook |
| Y’all niggas think beef is what these dudes type on they Macbooks |
| I’ll smash your Hewlett-Packard |
| You fucking doofus rapper |
| A.O.T.P. |
| fuckers, it’s the newest chapter |
| Catch me in the street dressed pretty as hell |
| But when it comes to these raps I get gritty for real |
| Knock 'em out the box Syze |
| I spin your motherfucking head counterclockwise |
| Y’all niggas is not Syze |
| You full of shit like a pot pie |
| Labels better cross them T’s, dot them I’s or them shots fly |
| Pass the Master, have to blast you |
| Chokin' the track like please excuse the asthma |
| Please excuse my French, fuck the Spanish |
| Talking ghetto language the hood can understand it |
| A wrath of God, Satan; |
| fuck the apostles |
| Army of the Pharaohs back ready to rock you |
| Vinnie fucking smash your jaw |
| It ain’t nobody rapping half as raw |
| I was writing rhymes over loops by Stacy Lattimore |
| Guess you wondering what Vinnie need all the assassins for |
| Guess you wondering if I’m a communist or fascist bol |
| Shoot three at you and push the rock like this was basketball |
| Chop your body up in little pieces with my plastic saw |
| Y’all need to overstand the jux is real |
| I run with ghetto boys and I ain’t talking Bushwick Bill |
| If looks could kill then y’all would be kaputs for real |
| We drink your blood and hang your body up on hooks of steel |
| I push the pills, call me Vinnie the psychiatrist |
| And y’all are gonna have to see defeat like a podiatrist |
| In the dice game you say I won’t place those bets |
| That’s like saying you know the Wu, but call that dude Ghostface Deck |
| I leave your whole face wet like you got hit with a water balloon |
| The size of a propane jet |
| Altercations I took place and no police was involved |
| If I’m beefin' we ain’t greetin', I’m deleting you, pal |
| I keep my weed in a jar |
| And roll it in a Philly wrapper |
| I’m A.O.T.P. |
| so I roll with Philly rappers |
| And will kill a rapper |
| Don’t believe us? |
| Try us |
| We the illest out believe it I’m not biased |
| At best you’re a rookie |
| Your show’s like a Catwoman audition |
| 'Cause we’ll see who plays the best pussy |
| It’s the ultra (ultra) |
| Magnetic like I’m seven foot |
| Outsmart your art of rhyme though I’ve never read a book |
| Off with your head, you shook in the corner shiverin' |
| Delivering a dosage of the most potent Ritalin |
| You must be kiddin' nigga, this ain’t no Kid 'n Play |
| More like N.W.A |
| Fuck you kids gonna say? |
| Hola Hola aye |
| Oh God hold my trey pound |
| You rap clowns sit around in broad day |
| Broad Street Bully rap |
| Yo Kwest you took me back |
| To the scuffed trees and the Champion hoodies in black |
| I blacked out |
| Snap in a packed house |
| The gallon of Jack’s out |
| That stout got my passed out |
| You can’t take the word on the street from a bird on the wire |
| And you’ll never hear the truth in the church of a liar |
| Real men converse, you prefer to conspire |
| Give it a year you’ll be the first to retire |
| We don’t roll with snakes, we curse a pariah |
| You’re mad at your people over earthly desires |
| You don’t believe it? |
| Just peep the verses |
| Presidential, we roll deep as secret service |
| Too many niggas claim they O. G |
| But most of them won’t approach me |
| Catch me everywhere, my niggas like to play low key |
| I’m mostly surrounded by apes, gorillas |
| Out of a broken home so they label us hateful niggas |
| Never take a nation of mills, it takes a killer |
| On medication chasin' their pills with haze and liquor |
| Bad lieutenant in a black whip, black shottie |
| Dragging a safety net only 'cause we catch bodies |
| We act snotty and rap godly and clap loudly |
| They don’t want hardcore 'cause they fags probably |
| I don’t make shit to make you want to paint a canvas |
| I spit fatal language only to cause pain and anguish |
| Don’t bring drama to the old-timers |
| When it calls for a time you catch Alzheimer’s |
| And turn into Carl Thomas |
| I’ll pack a Llama |
| Separate the lions from llamas and alpacas if I pow pow at ya |
| Ali bumaye |
| Zoom by clappin' ya |
| Wound guys, the room guys, Mumbai massacre |
| Verse so raw I’m trying to tell ya |
| I’ll salmonella poison any these boys in the path of the craft |
| Lean on the Craftmatic |
| Paralyzed from ass to your calf |
| Half radish for half of the cabbage |
| Five and a half hours, dime bags is sour |
| Get twisted, niggas get high as the Comcast tower |
| Lifted |
| Like a dumbbell, inhale; |
| your lungs swell |
| Whiff of the piff bury the gun smell |
| Either you run well, the shells stick in you like a thumbtack |
| Pistol clip you like a thumbnail |
| Won’t get caught for a thumbprint |
| The lawyer eat the case like roast |
| Deploy you and your boy, ain’t payin' one cent |
| Hide your charms |
| Firearms, will rip through the bone and the marrow |
| It’s the Army of the Pharaohs |
| Check |
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