Lyrics Wrath Prophecy - Army of the Pharaohs, Celph Titled, Planetary

Wrath Prophecy

Motherfuckers always wanna talk slick man\nTill they be in front of you man you know what I mean\nYo, Army Of The Pharaohs man\nIt’s ya boy Zilla right now you know what I mean?\nSee I’m a fire breathing monster Zilla stomp them and eat em\nSlap you out of your skeleton melon swelling from beatings\nCame from an era of dookie chains and skeezers\nMemorex type cassettes recording my favorite heathens\nPapa used to call them that I ain’t never believe em\nBefore Run was a reverend I used to rev engines and steal em\nThe coat hanger told her what chop shops in the region\nThe heavy metal was loading where wack rappers was beefing\nHold it, this is a moment and I ain’t planning on leaving\nMy planet is an ocean of alien type excretion\nExcerpts of my life that I ain’t bothered deleting\nThat’s also why I’m sicker than half of you niggas speaking\nY’all losin' to older heads bleeding crayola red\nMy team all over the web Charolette kept all of us fed\nGuillotine off with your head walk with the dead\nBust off with the lead I see these niggas talking to feds\nOff of the ledge, off of the hook and off of the meds\nOff of the leash I’m not your average dog in the shed\nI’m more of a beast a wolf that stray away from the sheep\nI pray for the weed I need to be paid every week\nI’d rather push yay on the street than play with these beats\nThis pharaoh shit is in me so I’m playing for keeps\nEveryday I hunt for prey that I could savour to eat\nI’m a lion no denying I’m not case on a beat\nStudied the Art of War perpetually\nSlang polo and cheddar thats the recipe\nCream get the best of me\nI’m army certified never question my pedigree\nBroke nights, cokeheads, snow white, amphetamines\nIt’s like J tom got dudes in the cobra clutch\nThey got niggas so broke they can’t break a dutch\nOff a fudgie for brothers who wasn’t so lucky\nRoosters, stashing chickens in they’re own yucky\n23 and 1 never going to see the sun\nA man ain’t a man if he can’t feed his son\nI got work for these young punks\nKeep hoes come drunk chop a general monk monk\nGet more eyes the bar reflect my shining star\nNo need to resurrect if everybody see the god\nSo pay homage my royalties is imminent\nEnergy can’t be destroyed that means I’m infinite\nYou just a bitch and you scared\nStarted throwing up your set so\nYou just fixed your hands like you was fixing your hair\nI’ll potato a haters head and chop sui a flamer dead\nI always hit the brain, when you shoot you barely graze a leg\n(You ready killa?)\nAbout to send a gift in a gift basket\nPink bow and shrink wrap plastic\nJust cause I think you’re a faggot (pussy)\nAOTPwe on a new com wave\nEvery web that we weave no disarming code bomb case\nExtort your block for that work and come back on the first\nTry us at all and ride off in a Cadillac hearse\nThe state attorney made it seem like I went extra hard\nAll I did was show my fists and I caught a weapons charge