Music Video

Henry the 8th
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Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Jedi Mind Tricks
Jedi Mind Tricks
Performer
Army of the Pharaohs
Army of the Pharaohs
Performer
Vinnie Paz
Vinnie Paz
Performer
Chief Kamachi
Chief Kamachi
Performer
Reef the Lost Cauze
Reef the Lost Cauze
Performer
Planetary
Planetary
Performer
Vincent Luviner
Vincent Luviner
Rap
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
E. Littlepage
E. Littlepage
Songwriter
S. Lacey
S. Lacey
Songwriter
M. Collazo
M. Collazo
Songwriter
M Henzey
M Henzey
Songwriter
Vincent Luviner
Vincent Luviner
Songwriter

Lyrics

Yeah... it's murders... plenty murders Blood... We spell doom Pharaoh clique, baby For whom the bells toll, Vinnie Paz, I call hell home Put the ratchet to the side of your face like a cell phone Any way you wanna look at it, it spell doom Vinnie Pazienza be proud that you you fell to him Me and Shareef, we stronger than pillars in Greece You need to over-stand that pharaohs are still in the streets You need to know that we got beef but we willin' to peace You need to know that we got hate and it's still for police It's Juju Mob, and Army of the Pharaoh clique We on some revolution Amadou Diallo shit I like to watch your brain explodin' when the hollow hit It's Vinnie Paz, Louie Dogs, Kamachi follow it Yo its my house like RUN! controllin the 80's Flow very crazy like I spit the blood of Rosemary's baby Slang fire like a hustle in Haiti Couple holes for the souls, pitchfork for the daisies Ashes for urns, I'm a murderer maybe A lavish little Lucifer burnin' the hazy Faced out, still could get a hold of the ladies Hit from Madam Bavaskier in a older Mercedes This is death speakin', the smell of fresh flesh wreakin' Get a funeral organ and the best dressed deacon Juju tongue, voodoo come, eye of the pharaohs Blood pour, heart of a chump, jump from the arrows We got a message for ya Yeah, our squads ain't checkin' for ya And if its beef, we'll produce the Smith and Wesson's on ya AOTP, Juju Mob, we bossin' ya clique Rain fire on this hip hop shit The king Reef raw, on the streets I'm King Cauze Wild the fuck out, beat my chest like King Kong Is this thing on? I'm tryin' to channel the youth I rock the crown of Caesar, and Hannibal's boots They call me animal tooth Use your bones as a back scratcher I'm allergic to dirt weed and wack rappers My hand's too gritty, I just let the gat smack ya I dropped outta school, motherfuck a backpacker Double cross us and we'll bomb on you bitches You a fuckin' fruitcake like what my aunt sent for Christmas My dogs relentless and we ain't tryin' to be friends My gun attach to my hip like a siamese twin It's a critical beatdown, QD niggas hit the street now Bangin beats out, thug niggas throw they heaters out It's pussy niggas like y'all scared to leave the house Once they retrieve 'em out, (BLAAT) Let 'em see the clouds I make the most gangsta nigga hit the concrete And start snitchin', pointin' fingers like they on Wall Street My squad deep, we the "Gods and Generals" Type of niggas too drunk, we dodge the interviews We came a long way from cipherin' all day When days was all play, now we rhymin' for strong pay Outerspace got a strong hold on the game We reign, you minor leaguers, we breezin' the Hall of Fame
Writer(s): Vincent Luviner, Edward El Littlepage, Lacey Sharif Talib, Mario Collazo, Michael Henzey Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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