Cookin' Keys Lyrics - Army Of The Pharaohs: The Unholy Terror - Jedi Mind Tricks

I'm in the kitchen cooking up bananas 

Cameras on the roofs with the police scanners 

By any means I'ma get these papers 

Ride with a nigga or catch these vapors 

Smooth melodic, cool water with butters on 

Got beef with a nigga, save that for another song 

Paz on point so he putting his brothers on 

Steeze still the same, get you murked by a gutter jawn 

Head in the streets cause the whip is spacious 

Benz stretched out legs feel like a spaceship 

Checks ain't clear, I'm hitting y'all with the facts 

If the check never came I'd hit your mom in the cap 

Got the streets on smash, kilos on wax 

Yeah, the key's cooked and the bricks is stove-top 

It's Chef Boyardee flipping nicks on your whole block 

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Yeah, born in the coldest winter, live and I die a sinner 

And while I'm here I'm hustling, get paper with my niggas 

Last of a dying breed, Pharaoh clique in your section 

Before I leave my rest, kiss my Wess, load my weapon 

Yeah that's my right hand man, that fifty cal chrome 

Off-safety when I roam, I ain't never alone 

Won't catch a nigga slipping, won't catch a nigga dipping 

Cause I done mastered my high, you out your mind tripping 

Yeah you can come and try, won't be the smartest move 

My bitch'll pull the hammer and make it do what it do 

Hustler, a son of one, bitch I'm a son of one 

My money done got right, copped me another gun 

Photos 

These punk bitches get the bozak, the gas face 

I feel like Earnhardt in his last race 

This last lap in this game, I'ma hit the throttle 

Syze, we celebrate new life, hit this bottle 

Plan, I think the situation's getting hairy 

We make them say the Our Father and the Hail Mary 

Scary how niggas turn Judas, no trust 

I take it back to 5-6 when it was only us 

Snakes slither in the grass in the killing field 

So I maneuver through them by sitting in a bigger wheel 

You's a small time hustler, I'm a bigger deal 

And that shit you spill gon' be the shit that get you killed 

Ready for war and I'm in it for the long haul 

Throwing a molotov sidearm 

Yeah, holding my fort with my pipes drawn 

I kill everything when this mic's on, believe it 

Ayo, f-u-c-k F-B-I cops and niggas who don't like my shit 

I tell them niggas suck a dirty dick with gonorrhea on the tip 

I'm getting money courtesy of your bitch 

Nigga it's the Army Of The Pharaohs, we hood American Idols 

You don't like us? You can suck my dick 

I got a long rope and an oxy if you feeling suicidal 

See that window? Hop out that bitch 

Now if you think you can easily be it then be it but see me not 

I'm too heated and weeded to lose it so please be hot 

They just fiending to be the most conceited team on the top 

I'm leaning to be the most meanest as Biggie and Pac 

Man these demons is dreaming like I just grieve for their spot 

It's easy to see they just want to be me cause I'm hot 

So fuck my theme and my plot, smoking weed in your rock 

And fall dummy to that casket cause they eat at you pop 

You can believe it or not, I done sold weed to a cop 

Caught a case, banged it and ran back to the fiends on my block 

Fiends on my block? That's logical, my flow is phenomenal 

I put a couple dots on your block like dominoes 

Red beaming them, I stay with my team and them 

I keep four nines in the tuck like Steve and them 

Diss my track, I'll diss like that 

Cause when you shoot like a free-throw you miss like Shaq 

I'm from Killadelph county, the killers they all surround me 

I'm losing my nigga slowly, Poppa Large make him proud of me 

If you see Nemi then tell your people to see me 

I'm here for the take and holding these streets down, believe me 

My nigga Balo, I know your halo is platinum 

I'ma see you at the gates, I'll be rocking something ravishing 

The Seven Sacraments made for the sacrificial 

The baptismal of rap bristle to sacramental 

My rap essentials is murder tracks and pencils 

Gat utensils is only used for niggas acting simple 

My syllable slice niggas like a cesarean 

You killable right? I spit bars like a barbarian 

I never thought I'd see the day hip hop would give birth to faggots 

Mr. T mohawks and Urkel glasses, I'm from a hood where they rob cool kids 

And I can't wear skinny jeans cause my Glock's too big 

Yeah, I got the wildest style, death bears a childish smile 

Beat you with soap in a sock, you a Private Pyle 

I fear order, from green onions I peel quarters 

What's rap? I bump Foghat and Creedence Clearwater 

Bad moon rising, I'm howling at the bitch 

Haters baffled how he spent a thousand on the kicks 

I get thousands just to spit, fuck all the drama shit 

I don't make statements, get bank statements and deposit slips 

And it's always gonna be this way 

C-notes like study hall in tenth grade 

To this day I fuck bitches and get paid 

What's piff? I got the green monster like Fenway 

Mmmkay?