Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Ultimatum, artist - Army of the Pharaohs.
Date of issue: 29.10.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
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 |