Army of the Pharaohs - Fed to the Lions lyrics

Yeah, this Spartan music man, this Sparta!
I'm a fuckin' Spartan man! Listen, yeah

Boxcutter Pazzy alias Lucifer's Friend
Yahweh Ben Yahweh, loosen the pen
I've shooted before
I'm not against shooting again
I'm through with you buls
You not ever movin' again
Y'all are bus riders
Hoppin' the deuce-to-the-ten
Vinnie a carnivore, y'all is arugula femme
Mecca Medina followed by Jerusalem then
I'm a gorilla from the Biblical
Zoo with the pen
Kool G, Moe Dee, I'm a fusion of them
The physical manifestation of music from them
Pill bottles, Grey Goose and hallucinogens
The MC decapitated, no uses for them

'Round the clock shots I bang all year


Raise your guns and salute
'cause the gang's all here (what up?)
Niggas had minor setbacks
But that's all clear
It's the Army of the Pharaohs
The Sum of All Fears
Ah yeah, I'm so focused
I'm damn near laser-like sharp as a razor
You small fries like tater bites
McNugget MCs, popcorn chickens
The nine has arisen and I'm not gon' miss
I'm not gon' listen to anything rational
I'm hardheaded and indifferent
So I'm all in your kitchen
Lookin' through the silverware
The gaze of a killer's stare
Gorilla's back with silver hairs
Keep the metal grungy like Silverchair
Drinkin' so much Vodka that I'm 'bout
To have a liver scare
Low Life like the Skillionaire
And I bet it be a fuckin'
Riot whenever my niggas there

My code name is Cocaine
I'm propane with no flame
I make green like David Banner
Or a fake gold chain
I'm Cobain with no brain, it's no pain
It's no gain
I'm Conan, I'm Chopin, the dope man
I'm profane i'm Xanax, I'm Prozac
I'm rap when it was pro-black
I'm so crack
I go back to parties playin' Soul Clap
The old head Jamaicans with
Machine guns on mopeds
The "Ooh, you in trouble when dad gets home
You're so dead"
I'm more Timbs than Pro-Keds, I'm Rakim
I know the ledge
I know the Feds photo lenses follow me
It's code red if hoes claim it's "code
Red" it's all good, it's all head
You want a problem? No sweat! I'll body you
I'm Boba Fett

Yo, the raps are murderous and lethal
Flow, never ending like Fast
And Furious sequels
Oh, now you's a gangsta
What that soundin' like?
My speed's the Batmobile
Your speed's a mountain bike
Yeah, I write an album in a day
It takes you a week to come up
With one clever thing to say
Too busy hashtaggin'
Too busy humble braggin'
Too busy sayin' that you
Workin' when you feet-draggin'
(you ain't workin')
Uh, we in Barcelona, you in bars alone uh
Plus your car's a loaner
I'm back into focus
You jabronis splashin' on
Cologne and hopeless
You don't know what women like
You know aromas your team's a carcinoma
My team's the Army soldiers
We all contribute to the game
I'm just the largest donor
The spit is sick dog, yeah, I bark at owners
The Man of Steel
Superman without the Clark persona

Let's take a trip inside the
Mind of a mobster
Let's see a rare kind of monster (uurh)
Iron I'm palmin', I am Brian De Palma (aww)
If Bush hired Osama then fire the Llama (pow)
Light the ganja scoma and spit shine my armor
(yeah) want weed? See the rastaman
Wanna get killed? Come see the "put
Your noodles in your pasta" man
(and that's me)
Backyard got snow in the summer
I mean I got ski slopes
I am in beast mode, silly putty my C-4
(uh huh) no dot com's or dot nets
When I rock different links
So stop and kiss the pinky ring (the boss)
Act tough and I might laugh, I'm a giant
Sit up out my chair and
Block your motherfuckin' flight path