Lyrics Crooked Angels - Chief Kamachi

Crooked Angels

Yeah, this that Section-8 Egyptian slang
Mic Messiah
Yo should I do some evil?
Because my whole squad illegal
They want that street shit tell me I’m too cerebral
Take Illmatic mixed with some Beanie Sigel
Islamic flag in a window of a Buick Regal
Niggas ministers hustle from a crack Cathedral
Been on a cross, fell off, snapped the steeple
But who cares if Kingdom Come
Old glass of gin and rum, the sin is done
In life’s lottery, all I wanna win is one
But my record’s in a red
Finger’s still connected to the lead
Put down that one-two checker to ya head
Chief Kamachi known as Osura Ucha Eb
Tryna give you the science and the principals
Kill my body but the spirit is invincible
Hold my own on a soldier throne
Kamalah back to the Vatican exposing Rome
Ayo I’m doing this for crooks with arms
Corner store Priest with their books of charms
And all of the ahki’s that give salam’s
And all the Black magicians that wave their wands
It’s the rap Dikembe
Back in my African kente
80's gold chain rock Sergio Valente
I’m a hustler, ways of the mystics I use
They don’t understand, say I’m contradicting my views
I look the preacher in his eyes
Spit on his shoes, he’s a liar
Who the Messiah?
Nigga sit on the pews
My resurrection pay some unforgettable dudes
It’s so deep, sometimes I gotta spit it in clues
They say I’m crazy, mental, Kamachi is confused
I say I’m Angelic, God-body, how can you choose?
They say I’m drunk off eagle in the booth with the booze
I say I don’t drink, sit up like a King when he rule
Take a stroll around my castle and pick up a jewel
Like it’s an Easter egg hunt in elementary school
Think deep like a building penitentiary tools
Around the globe, they use to see me for centuries rule
Yo, beware when the serpent’s tongue scorched the script
The torture’s lit, I fiend pitchfork your clique
Lord of the crip, skeleton absorbing the grip
An 012 astronaunt forced to strip
You stoneage gangsta old Porsche with a stick
I’m in a lightmobile, deal with a force that is sick
Pharaoh mind, you the soft Christmas carol kind
Mic Messiah, my authentic apparel shine
Bulletproof aura, look at what your arrows find
You should try walking the stairs that the sparrows climb
My pyramids is closed for guest
Why take time to study and expose the rest
Hip-Hopper slash witch doctor of finesse
Gold king Tut coffin when they put me to rest
Frankincense and an Ankh tattoo to my chest
Screaming «Section-8 Egyptian did it the best»
Messiah!!!
Yeah, c’mon
For my crooked angels worldwide
Yeah, Mic Messiah, Chief Kamachi
Yeah, Philadelphia