Lyrics Visual Camouflage - Army of the Pharaohs, Vinnie Paz, King Magnetic

Visual Camouflage

I lay puzzled as I backtrack to earlier times
When Amen-Ra constructed temples of unearthly design
Astrologists who follow us attempt to search for a sign
Now cops bother us, follow us to search for a .9
Asking Apathy to kill it in a verse or a rhyme
Is ridiculous — would you ask the Silver Surfer to shine?
I would murk you, murder you, turn you burgundy with the burner
Burst you bubble, snuff you, uppercut you like you had nerve to
Touch a Kurdish virgin in a burqa, yelling «Derka Derka»
Insert you inside the dirt vertical from the inertia
Of falling out a 30 story building like a steel worker
Sipping bourbon and burpin', wobbling, bobbing — it’s curtains
Straight to the ground, hard enough to crack through the crust
I don’t care if you black or a cracker, you rappers get crushed
Even as a whippersnapper, no one badder than us
Cursing and cussing, flipping cars off from the back of the bus
Pharaohs
Yeah, I got a reason to slaughter these villians
I kept the diary of all of these officer killings
Fuckin' Moranos keep harassing my dogs in the village
But I got vet that I no OG’s that’ll clap on a piglet
I see the fiends, don’t get mine they’ll just burn they cells
Grimy niggas that be pissing on floors in the jail
Couple family members selling their soul for a pill
I felt betrayal in a physical form of a deal
They shoulda kept me on my fuckin' leash
In the backyard with them brawlers that be crushin' teeth
I never been a Houston Oiler, just a fuckin' beast
Flushing careers down the toilet, understand?
Capisce
I’m the God of rap, Paz is just evil
Shut your motherfuckin' mouth while I’m speakin'
Vinnie snatch a motherfucker, I’ll steal a capresso
Slaughter-cal article Oracle, he gets a vessel
Why would I ever question whether he was successful?
Murder rapper, you dirty rapper eatin' the cesspool
I have a hundred motherfuckers that’s eager to check you
And a bunch of Sicilianos that’s eager to get you
I never felt any remorse, never seen me regretful
The nine circles of Hell is for the demon essential
I feel like 'Pac when he see through the threshold
I’m Bray Wyatt dummy, you ain’t too eager to wrestle
Squeeze the pretzel, reason I met you
Was either to wet you or breath in your mental
And leave your essentials
The reason I treat 'em like suckas
They fucking suckas B
It’s not a feature list, it’s names of people that can’t fuck with me
Ruptured teeth, structured beef more than Epic Meal does
Crack your egg with a 40, watch what Eric Steel does
Kitchen cuisine, position supreme
Sick with the scheme, the victim’s your team
I don’t need liquor and lean to make 'em viciously scream
Rather use the muffle
You sell drugs and use drugs and confuse it with hustle
Them steroids big you up while abusing your muscle
Break your circle, turn around and then use it to cut you
Oh you a UFC fighter?
(Word)
Let’s see if you could be a Uzi survivor
I’ma shoot on arrival
Get money and rob jewelry (Ya heard)
Let them shots turn your Diddy Bop to a Funky Watusi
You will contort and have a seizure (Yup)
No barbers here but we’ll put a part in your Caesar
Scan our QR code and see an AR scope
You won’t be seen again 'til we do a Séance show
And my AK though?
Got a knife on the tip
For anybody want action, put a price on the bitch
I pay marketing teams to promote my records
I get paid to promote gun violence and talk reckless (what?)
My Saint Bernard keep a artillery in his barrel (good boy)
This ain’t a magic wand or baton, it’s just that Tec with the airholes
I spray that Tec in the AM, make you Sway In The Morning
And at night it’s just your family — cryin', prayin' and mourning
Verses ain’t biased yo, Eso ain’t hired help
You can find Zeus die himself, I’m a hunter
Orion’s Belt wrapped around my waist
Lion’s pelt wrapped around my face
Seamus Ryan melts tracks, your lord
I don’t pop molly or rock Tom Ford
You riding shotty in a hoopty, you in Tom’s Ford
I don’t listen to that new shit, I’m a psychopathic vinyl addict
Put the needle on a record, let me grab it
Bars are automatic, no casual listeners
Their all fanatics, no actual prisoners — they gotta have it
Like ghetto, I didn’t grow up listening to heavy metal
I was on a Rakim diet, but find me in that metal mask from Quiet Riot
I incite a riot when I spit bull, dressed like Pitbull
Walkin' a lab that swears to God he’s a pitbull
Servin' 'em well, you could get touched
I got the reach of Nerlens Noel
Scalp them, scalp them and hang them up high
Scalp them, scalp them and hang them up high
Scalp them, scalp them and hang them up high
Scalp them 'cause tonight them all gon' die